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."