Mr. Armitage looked rather surprised.
"I thought you did your own developing and printing," he remarked.
"Usually, sir," replied the lad, "but I've taken something that might be a bit exciting, and I'm in a hurry to see the result."
The Olivette was lying off Poole, in an anchorage locally known as "off Stakes".
It was well above the approach-channel to the quays, and consequently, out of the way of traffic, except for a few yachts and fishing-boats and an occasional barge engaged in carrying clay.
"Right-o," agreed Mr. Armitage. "I'm going ashore now to make inquiries. Anyone else for the beach?"
At length the dinghy pushed off, Hepburn and Warkworth rowing, and the Scoutmaster in the stern-sheets. The rest of the crew elected to remain on board, especially after seeing a man in a neighbouring yacht hook a couple of flounders in quick succession. They, too, meant to try their luck with hook and line.
"How about bait?" inquired Flemming. "There's a youngster digging for ragworms on the mud-flats. We'll hail him and get him to sell us some."
The boy quickly responded to the hail, and plodding along on mud-pattens to the water's edge, jumped into a flat-bottomed punt and rowed off to the Olivette.
A bargain was soon struck, and for the sum of sixpence Flemming obtained a rusty tin containing between thirty and forty slimy, writhing worms. The hooks were baited and the lines paid out. Patiently the "band of hope" waited, but save for the quivering of the lines in the tideway, the ground tackle was quite idle.