"And how will you set about it, cousin?"
"Don't know, for my life!" said Jack with a laugh. "But there are forty ways of catching flies, and about the same number of tying knots; and we'll find out a way, you may be sure. By the by, cousin, can you tell me how to get to the cottage of an old tar named Joe Gumley? I had a chat with him yesterday as I came here, and I'd like to look him up."
"Yes, I can tell you. He's a tenant of mine. But he won't see you."
"What do you mean?"
"Just what I say. He won't see you. He lives by himself and never admits a visitor. He's most unpopular with the village folk, and has to tramp to Wynport to sell his garden stuff."
"Why don't they like him?"
"Ah, well! The truth is he's an oddity, a very queer fellow."
This explanation by no means satisfied Jack, and he made up his mind to visit Gumley as he had intended. The sailor's cottage stood some distance farther along the cliff. After breakfast he set off alone toward it. Within ten minutes he came to a stout wooden fence tipped with nails, and so high that he could only just see over it. Then the view of the cottage itself was hidden by a mass of bushes and trees, the foliage of which, though tinged with autumn brown, was still thick. There was a gate in the fence, but no latch and no bell.
"An 'I'm-the-king-of-the-Castle' look about this," thought Jack. He lifted his cane and dealt the gate several smart raps. Immediately he heard a dog rushing down the garden, barking angrily. Standing on tiptoe he peered over, and saw an immense bulldog, thick-set, broad-chested, with an enormous and most ugly head, showing his teeth viciously. The moment the dog caught sight of Jack he redoubled his barking and dashed forward against the fence, as if furious to get at him.
"Good dog, good dog!" said Jack soothingly. "What's the matter with you, you son of a ten-pounder? I say, Gumley—ahoy! ahoy! Gumley!"