In a white heat of anger, I started off for that house, the letter in my hand, and in due course came in sight of the house and of a man walking in front of me.

‘Pardon me’, I said, ‘but can you tell me if that is the House?’

‘It is,’ he answered, ‘and I am—————.’

‘You wrote this letter?’

‘I did.’

And so the debate was joined.

It lasted all the way to the house and for some time at the house. There was thus ample time to go into the relevant points, and even some irrelevant ones, with considerable pith and precision. In some persons, curiously enough, a white heat of anger rising from a sense of injustice can occasionally induce a logical drive as notable for its restraint as for its ruthlessness. Nothing trivial, so to speak, is allowed to deflect the fine edgel For a time I toyed with the idea of attempting to detail that conversation here, but was dissuaded for several reasons, not least that, the important facts being on my side, it was, in the film phrase, relatively easy for me to register. Though I do regret the loss of certain passages touching our social life, because of their redeeming humour.

However, in so far as this may be considered a matter of public interest, perhaps I should mention at least two of these important facts. First, then, I was anchored in a sea bay (an anchorage, as it happened, recommended by an official book of sailing directions—a book on public sale). From such an anchorage, no landlord had the right to order my removal, either forthwith or at any other time. Fact second: the foreshores, like the bays, of our country are still a common heritage and possession. My dinghy was tied below high-water mark, and while she lay in that position no one had any right, legal or otherwise, to interfere with her in any way, much less remove her only valuable gear, namely the oars.

One fact on the personal side: we had not been ‘bathing in front of the house’. Actually we had never even entered the bay in front of the house. Therefore we had not committed ‘the nuisance’. (Later, we discovered a bathing pair who had doubtless been mistaken for us.)

For the rest, in such encounters---especially for those, like myself, who hate them—the perfect retorts are thought of afterwards—and generally in sleepless hours. This stands out as one of those happier occasions to which I still find I could have added nothing.

I marched away from that house with the three oars over one shoulder and probably well cocked in the air, for the final passages had not altered the temper of the occasion. Hm! had been a frequent comment. Hm! indeed!

‘Hml’ and the Crew emerged from behind a tree.

She had been following us up, afraid of the worst.

‘I heard your voices,’ she said, with a valiant effort to meet my high mood. Then she burst into laughter and caught my arm. ‘You didn’t do bad,’ she said, and shook again. She looked as if she might dance. Clearly our little altercation had had its amusing side.