It appeared that Mr. Parkinson Chenney's father was a rich but

eccentric man, who had a grudge against a certain popular seaside

resort for some obscure reason, and had initiated a movement to found a

rival town. So he had started Lynhaven, and had built houses and

villas and beautiful assembly rooms; and then, to complete the

independence of Lynhaven, he had connected that town with the main

traffic line by railway, which he built across eight miles of

marshland. By all the rules of the game, no man can create

successfully in a spirit of vengeance, and Lynhaven should have been a

failure. It was, indeed, a great success, and repaid Mr. Chenney,

Senior, handsomely.

But the railway, it seemed, was a failure, because the rival town had

certain foreshore rights, and had employed those to lay a tramway from

their hustling centre; and as the rival town was on the main line, the

majority of visitors preferred going by the foreshore route in

preference to the roundabout branch line route, which was somewhat

handicapped by the fact that this, too, connected with the branch line

at Tolness, a little town which had done great work in the War, but

which did not attract the tourist in days of peace.

These were the facts about the Lynhaven line, not as they were set

forth by Mr. Pyeburt--who took a much more optimistic view of the

possibilities of the railway than did its detractors--but as they

really were.

"It's a fine line, beautifully laid and ballasted," said Mr. Pyeburt,

shaking his head with melancholy admiration. "All that it wants behind

it is a mind. At present it's neglected; the freights and passenger

fares are too high, the rolling-stock wants replacing, but the

locomotive stock is in most excellent condition."

"Does he want to sell it?" asked the interested Bones, and Mr. Pyeburt

pursed his lips.

"It is extremely doubtful," he said carefully, "but I think he might be

approached. If he does want to sell it, and you can take it off his

hands----"

He raised his own eyebrows with a significant gesture, which expressed

in some subtle way that Bones's future was assured.

Bones said he would think the matter over, and he did--aloud, in the

presence of Hamilton.

"It's a queer proposition," said Hamilton. "Of course, derelict

railways can be made to pay."

"I should be general manager," said Bones more thoughtfully still. "My

name would be printed on all the posters, of course. And isn't there a

free pass over all the railways for railway managers?"

"I believe there is something of the sort," said Hamilton, "but, on the

whole, I think it would be cheaper to pay your fare than to buy a

railway to get that privilege."

"There is one locomotive," mused Bones. "It is called 'Mary Louisa.'

Pyeburt told me about it just as I was going away. Of course, one

would get a bit of a name and all that sort of thing."




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