A Bid for Fortune - Guy Boothby (ready player one ebook TXT) 📗

no sooner left his mouth than the old woman seized her charge and bundled her out of the room, moaning as before. I can tell you there was at least one person in that apartment who was heartily glad to be rid of her.

When the door had closed upon them my host came back to his seat, and with another sigh refilled my glass. I wondered what was coming next. It was not long, however, before I found out.

“Now you know everything,” he said. “You have seen my home, you have seen my poverty, and you have seen my daughter. What do you think of it all?”

“I don’t know what to think.”

“Well, then, I’ll tell you. That child wants doctors; that child wants proper attendance. She can get neither here. I am too poor to help her in any way. You’re rich by your own telling. I have today taken you into the bosom of my family, recognized you without doubting your assertions. Will you help me? Will you give me one thousand pounds towards settling that child in life? With that amount it could be managed.”

“Will I what?” I cried in utter amazement⁠—dumbfounded by his impudence.

“Will you settle one thousand pounds upon her, to keep her out of her grave?”

“Not one penny!” I cried; “and, what’s more, you miserable, miserly old wretch, I’ll give you a bit of my mind.”

And thereupon I did! Such a talking to as I suppose the old fellow had never had in his life before, and one he’d not be likely to forget in a hurry. He sat all the time, white with fury, his eyes blazing, and his fingers quivering with impotent rage. When I had done he ordered me out of his house. I took him at his word, seized my hat, and strode across the hall through the front door, and out into the open air.

But I was not to leave the home of my ancestors without a parting shot. As I closed the front door behind me I heard a window go up, and on looking round there was the old fellow shaking his fist at me from the second floor.

“Leave my house⁠—leave my park!” he cried in a shrill falsetto, “or I’ll send for the constable to turn you off. Bah! You came to steal. You’re no nephew of mine; I disown you! You’re a common cheat⁠—a swindler⁠—an impostor! Go!”

I took him at his word, and went. Leaving the park, I walked straight across to the rectory, and enquired if I might see the clergyman. To him I told my tale, and, among other things, asked if anything could be done for the child⁠—my cousin. He only shook his head.

“I fear it is hopeless, Mr. Hatteras,” the clergyman said. “The old gentleman is a terrible character, and as he owns half the village, and every acre of the land hereabouts, we all live in fear and trembling of him. We have no shadow of a claim upon the child, and unless we can prove that he actually ill-treats it, I’m sorry to say I think there is nothing to be done.”

So ended my first meeting with my father’s family.

From the rectory I returned to my inn. What should I do now? London was worse than a desert to me now that my sweetheart was gone from it, and every other place seemed as bad. Then an advertisement on the wall of the bar parlour caught my eye:

For Sale or Hire,

The Yacht, Enchantress,

Ten Tons.

Apply, Screw & Matchem, Bournemouth.

It was just the very thing. I was pining for a breath of sea air again. It was perfect weather for a cruise. I would go to Bournemouth, inspect the yacht at once, and, if she suited me, take her for a month or so. My mind once made up, I hunted up my Jehu, and set off for the train, never dreaming that by so doing I was taking the second step in that important chain of events that was to affect all the future of my life.

IV I Save an Important Life

To a man whose life has been spent in the uttermost parts of the earth, amid barbaric surroundings, and in furtherance of work of a kind that the civilized world usually denominates dangerous, the seaside life of England must afford scope for wonderment and no small amount of thoughtful consideration. And certainly if there is one place more than another where, winter and summer alike, amid every sort of luxury, the modern Englishman may be seen relaxing his cares and increasing his energies, the name of that place is Bournemouth. Built up amid pine-woods, its beauties added to in every fashion known to the fertile brain of man, Bournemouth stands, to my mind, preeminent in the list of British watering-places.

Leaving Lyndhurst Road, I travelled to this excellent place by a fast train, and immediately on arrival made my way to the office of Messrs. Screw & Matchem with a view to instituting enquiries regarding the yacht they had advertised for hire. It was with the senior partner I transacted my business, and a shrewd but pleasant gentleman I found him.

Upon my making known my business to him, he brought me a photograph of the craft in question, and certainly a nice handy boat she looked.

She had been built, he went on to inform me, for a young nobleman, who had made two very considerable excursions in her before he had been compelled to fly the country, and was only three years old. I learned also that she was lying in Poole harbour, but he was good enough to say that if I wished to see her she should be brought round to Bournemouth the following morning, when I could inspect her at my leisure. As this arrangement was one that exactly suited me, I closed with it there and then, and thanking Mr. Matchem for his courtesy, betook myself to my hotel. Having dined, I spent the evening upon