THE CURMUDGEON
BOTH Sea Scouts revelled in the experience. Nor was Mr. Clifton less
delighted with the experiment. Provided his new crew kept up to
their present form he could afford to congratulate himself upon
having dismissed a drunken and untrustworthy paid hand in favour of
two keen lads who already possessed a sound knowledge of seamanship.
Three hours later the _Thetis_ rounded the bar-buoy at the entrance
to Winkhaven. Peter was rather sorry that the sea passage was over
so soon. He was also rather disappointed at the appearance of
Winkhaven--a wide expanse of land-locked water surrounded by low,
treeless ground fringed with mud-banks. There was a quay and a
collection of houses, but they lacked the picturesque aspect of
either Aberstour or Sablesham.
"Do we bring up here, sir?" he enquired.
"No, we are going right up the river as far as we can go," replied
Mr. Clifton. "It's a tidal river for nearly five miles, with a small
town--Ravensholm--at the end. Edge her off a bit, Peter. There's a
mud-spit extending a good ten yards outside that beacon."
Presently Craddock noticed a narrow gap in the shore that marked the
mouth of Ravensholm River. Here the wind headed the yacht and the
_Thetis_ had to make a number of short tacks.
It was exhilarating work beating to wind'ard in a stiff breeze, and
for a considerable time both Sea Scouts had plenty to do to tend
sheets, since Mr. Clifton had taken the helm.
Then the river took an abrupt turn. The wind was now abeam, and the
_Thetis_ travelled fast, "full and bye." The land, too, was
beginning to assume a hilly nature, with yellowish cliffs here and
there where countless ages ago the river had cut a passage through.
On the banks were several people who regarded the yacht with
considerable interest, since strangers who came to Ravensholm by
water were few and far between.
To one of these, a burly bearded farmer, the skipper of the _Thetis_
waved a greeting.
"Afternoon, Mr. Thorley," he shouted. "How are you?"
"Muddlin', thank you," was the reply. "Will you be wanting any milk
tonight, sir?"
"Rather," shouted Mr. Clifton. "We'll be coming along as soon as
we've moored up."
On glided the yacht past an ever-changing panorama. To port lay a
snug red-tiled farm. On the ground in front, sloping down to the
river, were between fifty and sixty sleek cows just in from the
rich, grassy meadows. On the gentle rise of the hillside were fields
heavy with golden wheat and barley waving in the breeze. Fat
hay-ricks and long, rambling barns were visible behind the house,
while ducks and geese were either swimming on the river or else
grubbing amongst the sedges and reeds.
Another bend brought the _Thetis_ in sight of the little town of
Ravensholm, nestling under the Norman church, the square tower of
which, surmounted by a recently-added spire, was a landmark for
miles around.
"Stand by to let go," ordered Mr. Clifton as a grey, seven-arched
bridge appeared in sight. "There's only one spot where we can anchor
here without taking ground at low water--and we don't want to do
that."
For the next twenty minutes Craddock and Carline were far too busy
to take stock of their surroundings, but when sails were stowed, and
the _Thetis_ moored fore and aft they were able to enjoy a
well-earned spell.
On the opposite side of the river was a modern glaring red-brick
house that seemed aggressively foreign to the mellowed buildings
that comprised the rest of the town. But it was not the house that
attracted the Sea Scouts' attention--it was the squat, ungainly
figure of a man standing on the lawn and staring fixedly at the
yacht.
He was between fifty and sixty years of age. His face was fat, he
appeared to have no neck. Rolls of adipose tissue puffed out his
cheeks to such an extent that his eyes were scarcely visible. His
complexion was of a dull, pasty-white hue, while his clothes hung on
him like sacks.
"Why's that fellow staring so?" asked Peter.
"Looking at the yacht, I suppose," replied Carline.
"He's not: he's looking at us," declared Craddock. "Wonder if he
knows Mr. Clifton?"
"Who's that? Another friend of mine?" exclaimed the skipper emerging
from his cabin. "No, thanks," he continued after a brief inspection.
"Never seen him before. All right, lads, let him look. We'll go
below and have tea."
The crew of the _Thetis_ were about half way through the meal when
Peter put down his cup and sniffed.
"Something burning," he announced.
"By Jove! There is," agreed Mr. Clifton, getting up and disappearing
into the fo'c'sle.
"No," he said, as he re-entered the cabin. "There's nothing
smouldering there. I thought that perhaps the stove was still
alight. See if everything's all right on deck, Carline."
Carline, who was sitting nearest the companion, went up the steps.
"It's a big bonfire, sir," he reported. "They're burning rubbish
across the river."
The skipper went on deck. From the garden of the glaring red-bricked
house dense clouds of vile-smelling smoke were drifting in the
direction of the _Thetis_, enveloping the yacht in a pall of acrid
vapour.
"Our friend the pasty-faced gentleman evidently resents our
presence," he remarked with a laugh. "Apparently he thinks he can
smoke us out. He won't."
"Dirty trick," commented Peter.
"But it won't affect us," added Carline. "'There's not much smoke
coming into the cabin. Besides, we've nearly finished tea."
Having completed the repast and cleared away, Mr. Clifton suggested
a spell ashore.
"We'll give Rex a run," he added. "And I'll call at the post office
in case there are any letters sent on for me."
The crew went ashore. On the bank were several people interested in
the yacht and the now diminishing smoke-screen.
"Measly old gent that, sir," remarked one jerking his thumb in the
direction of the cantankerous owner of the river-side property.
"'Think 'e owns all Ravensholm 'e do. Drat'n; if 'e wur to fall in
river this very minute I for one wouldn't fish 'im out."
The other onlookers supported this sentiment. Evidently Mr. Horatio
Snodburry, the obnoxious individual under discussion, was far from
being popular with his fellow-townsfolk.
At the post office, Mr. Clifton was handed three letters and a
newspaper. These he thrust into his pocket for future perusal. Then
by a circuitous route, including a visit to Mr. Thorley's farm for
milk, the crew of the _Thetis_ returned to the yacht.
There was still a knot of sightseers, dividing their attention
between the strange craft and the vindictive old fellow across the
river, who was still staring at the little yacht as if to mesmerise
her out of existence.
"Excuse me, sir," courteously exclaimed a well-dressed individual
standing on the bank. "Might I have a word with you?"
"Certainly," replied Mr. Clifton. "Come on board."
The gentleman accepted the invitation.
"My name is Brightwell," he announced. "I don't suppose that will
interest you. What is more to the point is that I am a solicitor
acting on behalf of Mr. Horatio Snodburry."
The skipper grinned cheerfully.
"Carry on, please," he said encouragingly.
"To be brief my client wants you to shift your berth lower down the
river."
"Does he own the river?"
"Oh, no. But, you see, you are rather obstructing his view."
"Precisely," agreed Mr. Clifton dryly. "This, being a tidal river,
is, I take it, under Admiralty jurisdiction. 'As far as the tide
shall flow' is the proper phraseology. And I think you, as a legal
man, will admit that no individual can possess or claim the sole
right to a view."
"That is so," admitted Mr. Brightwell. "The law does not admit of
such a thing, as a 'prescriptive right of view'. But my client
insisted that I should press his claim, although I told him he
hadn't a leg to stand on. Without people of that type," he added in
a burst of confidence, "the legal profession would be very, very
slack."
"We are not shifting our berth," declared Mr. Clifton. "For one
thing, I object to attempted coercion to the extent of trying to
smoke us out. For another, this is the only spot where my yacht can
lie afloat at low water, and a berth that for several years I have
occupied on every previous occasion."
The lawyer nodded approvingly.
"In the circumstances there is nothing further for me to say. I will
report the result of my interview with you to my client," he said,
and wishing Mr. Clifton good evening he went ashore.
"This is going to be exciting, lads," remarked the skipper. "I've
heard of Mr. Horatio Snodburry, but I haven't been up against him
before. We'll sit tight and enjoy the fun. By the bye, I mustn't
forget to read my correspondence."
Mr. Clifton read the first letter, which was evidently of little
importance. Then he ripped open the envelope of the second.
"Lads!" he exclaimed. "I've had bad news. My brother has been taken
seriously ill. 'Fraid I must catch the first train home. Look here,
will you do me a Good Turn? Stand by the yacht till I can get back.
It won't be more than a few days. This is most unfortunate."
"Of course we will, sir," replied both Sea Scouts.
"That's the sort," said Mr. Clifton. "You've taken quite a load off
my mind. There's a time-table in that rack over your head, Peter. Do
you mind?"
Craddock handed Mr. Clifton the time-table. A hasty examination
showed that there was a train at 7.15. It was now a quarter to
seven.
"I can just do it," declared the skipper, hastily packing a small
handbag. "Hope you'll have a good time. Sorry to leave you to the
tender mercies of Mr. Horatio Snodburry. Here are a couple of pound
notes for current expenses. Well, good-bye for the present and good
luck. I know Rex will be quite safe with you."
The next moment he had gone, leaving the boys with mixed feelings as
to what was to be the outcome of the report of the solicitor to his
client, Mr. Horatio Snodburry.