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    Dead tired, he slept much better. Once or twice he was conscious of shouts and music. Then after what seemed a century of sleep he heard again the drunken voice singing as it climbed the stairs to bed.
    No song of a ghostly rider tonight. This time it was about, a lady called Aluetta.

Chapter Four
    The next day was a Sunday, and even Smoky Joe’s was compelled to remain closed. Shortly after breakfast Joe himself appeared in an old frock coat with a grey woollen muffler wound round his throat and a straw hat in his hand. He beckoned to Anthony.
    â€˜Can you row?’
    Anthony shook his head. ‘I rowed on a lake once, that’s all.’
    â€˜Never mind. You’ll soon learn. I want you to row me out to a ship in the roads. It’s a nice morning. You’ll enjoy it.’
    Anthony was of the same opinion. He rushed upstairs for his cap and joined his uncle on the quay. Joe was pulling in a small dinghy by its painter, and Aunt Madge with folded arms was watching.
    â€˜Currents,’ she observed didactically. ‘No experience. Tide is going out. You should send over …’
    â€˜Fiddlesticks,’ said Joe, breathing heavily with the effort. ‘Anybody can row. And I haven’t forgotten how. Here, boy, down this ladder and jump in.’
    Swelling with responability, Anthony climbed down the iron ladder attached to the quay and got into the boat. After a moment Joe joined him.
    â€˜Cold wind on the water,’ said Mrs Veal to the doorpost. ‘ No coat …’
    This remark was ignored until they drew jerkily away from the land; then Joe said:
    â€˜Women. They coddle you. Your aunt wants to make a baby of me. See that she doesn’t make one of you.’
    It occurred to Anthony, straggling, with the oars; that his aunt had taken no noticeable step in that direction so far. So he just smiled, showing his good regular teeth, and nodded. When they were about a hundred yards out Uncle Joe pointed over the boy’s shoulder.
    â€˜See that barquentine. No, there, letting go her heads’ls. That’s where you’re to row me.’
    Anthony caught a crab in his effort to do two things at the same time, and operations were suspended while Joe gave him one or two lessons. Anthony thought how thin and old and dry his uncle looked in the morning light. After each sentence his moustache clamped down like a trap door from which nothing more must be allowed to escape. His small eyes were like gimlets in the sun, glinting as they turned to stare about the bay.
    The ship indicated was well out in the roadstead, almost halfway across to St Mawes. She had only recently arrived, and between her and them there were all manner of craft. Anthony was in a fever of concern lest he should run into or be run down by one of these vessels.
    â€˜You stick to your rowing, boy; I’ll tell you what to do,’ said Joe, pulling his hat lower over his eyes. ‘Don’t pull your guts out; take it slow and steady. He-eave-o-o-o. He-eave-o-o-o. That’s it.’
    Joe was in a better mood than he had previously seen him, more human and approachable out here than when crouched like a terrier over the till. None of the Veals, except Patricia once, had offered the boy any word of sympathy on the loss of his mother, and barely consciously the boy resented it. Joe at least, who knew her, might have said something. Instead of that he had asked about the money, nothing more. Not even a word on Anthony’s prospects of joining his father. The prospects might be discussed, but Anthony was of no account in them, no more than a mere chattel.
    â€˜Where did you get that funny pipe, Uncle Joe?’ he asked, as Veal took the object from his pocket and began to fill it.
    â€˜Funny? There’s nothing funny about it except to the ignorant. Many a man smokes a pipe like this out East.’
    â€˜Oh,’ said Anthony, and was silent for some time. He was already hot