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diff --git a/20532-h/20532-h.htm b/20532-h/20532-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..45838f4 --- /dev/null +++ b/20532-h/20532-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7432 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Love Among the Chickens, by P. G. Wodehouse + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + a[name] { position:absolute; } + a:link {color:#0000ff; background-color:#FFFFFF; + text-decoration:none; } + a:visited {color:#0000ff; background-color:#FFFFFF; + text-decoration:none; } + a:hover { color:#ff0000; background-color:#FFFFFF; } + + table { width:80%; padding: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + .tocch { text-align: right; vertical-align: top;} + .tocpg {text-align: right; vertical-align: bottom;} + .f1 { font-size:smaller; } + .f2 { margin-left:10%; } + .f3 { margin-left:60%; } + .sig { margin-left:70%; } + .sig1 { margin-left:65%; } + .sig3 { margin-left:28%; } + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + font-style:normal; + } /* page numbers */ + + + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + + .caption {font-weight: bold; + font-size: smaller; + } + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .figleft {float: left; clear: left; margin-left: 0; margin-bottom: 0em; margin-top: + 0.3em; margin-right: 0.25em; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Love Among the Chickens, by P. G. Wodehouse + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Love Among the Chickens + A Story of the Haps and Mishaps on an English Chicken Farm + +Author: P. G. Wodehouse + +Illustrator: Armand Both + +Release Date: February 6, 2007 [EBook #20532] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LOVE AMONG THE CHICKENS *** + + + + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Arthur Robinson, Sankar +Viswanathan, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team +at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="center"><img src="images/cover.jpg" alt="Cover Page" width="500" height="566" /></div> + +<p> </p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"><a name="pic_1" id="pic_1"></a> +<img src="images/image_01.jpg" width="500" height="721" alt=""Never mind the ink, old horse. It'll soak in."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"Never mind the ink, old horse. It'll soak in."</span> +</div> + + +<p> </p> + +<div class="center"><img src="images/image_001.jpg" alt="Frront Page" width="400" height="664" /></div> +<p> </p> +<h1>LOVE AMONG<br /> +THE CHICKENS +</h1> + +<h3>A STORY<br /> +OF THE HAPS AND MISHAPS ON<br /> +AN ENGLISH CHICKEN FARM +</h3> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<h2><span class="smcap">By</span> P. G. WODEHOUSE</h2> +<p> </p> +<p class="center"><img src="images/image_002.jpg" alt="Seal" /></p> +<p> </p> +<h3>ILLUSTRATED BY</h3> +<h2>ARMAND BOTH</h2> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<h3>NEW YORK</h3> +<h3>THE CIRCLE PUBLISHING COMPANY</h3> +<h3>1909</h3> +<p> </p> + +<p class="center"><img src="images/image_08.jpg" alt="Seal" width="200" height="241" /></p> + +<p class="center"><i>Copyright, 1908, by</i><br /> +A. E. BAERMAN +</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + + + + + + + +<table summary="Contents"> +<tr><td class="tocch f1">CHAPTER</td><td> </td><td class="tocpg f1">PAGE</td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch">I.</td><td>—<span class="smcap"><a href="#A_LETTER_with_a_POSTSCRIPT">A Letter with a Postscript</a></span></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch">II.</td><td>—<span class="smcap"><a href="#UKRIDGES_SCHEME">Ukridge's Scheme</a></span></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_17">17</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch">III.</td><td>—<span class="smcap"><a href="#A_GIRL_WITH_BROWN_HAIR">Waterloo, Some Fellow-travelers, and a Girl with Brown Hair</a></span></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_33">33</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch">IV.</td><td>—<span class="smcap"><a href="#THE_ARRIVAL">The Arrival</a></span></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_48">48</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch">V.</td><td>—<span class="smcap"><a href="#BUCKLING_TO">Buckling to</a></span></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_65">65</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch">VI.</td><td>—<span class="smcap"><a href="#A_REUNION">Mr. Garnet's Narrative. Has to do with a Reunion</a></span></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_80">80</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch">VII.</td><td>—<span class="smcap"><a href="#THE_ENTENTE_CORDIALE">The Entente Cordiale is Sealed</a></span></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_93">93</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch">VIII.</td><td>—<span class="smcap"><a href="#A_LITTLE_DINNER">A Little Dinner at Ukridge's</a></span></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_110">110</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch">IX.</td><td>—<span class="smcap"><a href="#DIES_IRAE">Dies Iræ</a></span></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_127">127</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch">X.</td><td>—<span class="smcap"><a href="#I_ENLIST_A_MINIONS_SERVICES">I Enlist the Services of a Minion</a></span></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_137">137</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch">XI.</td><td>—<span class="smcap"><a href="#THE_BRAVE_PRESERVER">The Brave Preserver</a></span></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_155">155</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch">XII.</td><td>—<span class="smcap"><a href="#SOME_EMOTIONS">Some Emotions and Yellow Lubin</a></span></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_169">169</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch">XIII.</td><td>—<span class="smcap"><a href="#TEA_AND_TENNIS">Tea and Tennis</a></span></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_185">185</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch">XIV.</td><td>—<span class="smcap"><a href="#A_COUNCIL_OF_WAR">A Council of War</a></span></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_200">200</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch">XV.</td><td>—<span class="smcap"><a href="#XV">The Arrival of Nemesis</a></span></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_215">215</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch">XVI.</td><td>—<span class="smcap"><a href="#A_CHANCE_MEETING">A Chance Meeting</a></span></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_231">231</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch">XVII.</td><td>—<span class="smcap"><a href="#OF_A_SENTIMENTAL_NATURE">Of a Sentimental Nature</a></span></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_245">245</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch">XVIII.</td><td>—<span class="smcap"><a href="#UKRIDGE_GIVES_ME_ADVICE">Ukridge Gives Me Advice</a></span></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_256">256</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch">XIX.</td><td>—<span class="smcap"><a href="#I_ASK_PAPA">I Ask Papa</a></span></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_273">273</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch">XX.</td><td>—<span class="smcap"><a href="#SCIENTIFIC_GOLF">Scientific Golf</a></span></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_284">284</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch">XXI.</td><td>—<span class="smcap"><a href="#THE_CALM_BEFORE_THE_STORM">The Calm Before the Storm</a></span></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_301">301</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch">XXII.</td><td>—<span class="smcap"><a href="#THE_STORM_BREAKS">The Storm Breaks</a></span></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_313">313</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch">XXIII.</td><td>—<span class="smcap"><a href="#AFTER_THE_STORM">After the Storm</a></span></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_330">330</a></td></tr> +<tr><td></td><td><a href="#EPILOGUE"> EPILOGUE</a></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_341">341</a></td></tr> +</table> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/image_02.jpg" width="600" height="244" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<h2>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> +<table summary="Illustrations"> +<tr><td></td><td class="tocpg f1">Page</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#pic_1">"Never mind the ink, old horse. It'll soak in"</a></td> +<td><i><a href="#pic_1">Frontispiece</a></i></td> +</tr> +<tr><td><a href="#pic_2">They had a momentary vision of an excited dog, framed in the doorway</a></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_56">56</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#pic_3">"I've only bin and drove 'im further up," said Mrs. Beale</a></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_120">120</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#pic_4">Things were not going very well on our model chicken farm</a></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_140">140</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#pic_5">"Mr. Garnet," he said, "we parted recently in anger. I hope that bygones +will be bygones"</a></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_160">160</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#pic_6">"I did think Mr. Garnet would have fainted when the best man said, 'I +can't find it, old horse'"</a></td> +<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_340">340</a></td></tr> +</table> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="A_LETTER_with_a_POSTSCRIPT" id="A_LETTER_with_a_POSTSCRIPT"></a><i>A LETTER with a <br /> +POSTSCRIPT</i></h2> + + + +<p><img src="images/chap_1.jpg" alt="Chap_1" width="200" height="207" /></p> + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_m.jpg" alt="M" width="60" height="50" /></div> +<p>r. Jeremy Garnet stood with his back to the empty grate—for the time +was summer—watching with a jaundiced eye the removal of his breakfast +things.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Medley," he said.</p> + +<p>"Sir?"</p> + +<p>"Would it bore you if I became auto-biographical?"</p> + +<p>"Sir?"</p> + +<p>"Never mind. I merely wish to sketch for your benefit a portion of my +life's history. At eleven o'clock last night I went to bed, and at +once sank into a dreamless sleep. About four hours later there was a +clattering on the stairs which shook the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span> house like a jelly. It was +the gentleman in the top room—I forget his name—returning to roost. +He was humming a patriotic song. A little while later there were a +couple of loud crashes. He had removed his boots. All this while +snatches of the patriotic song came to me through the ceiling of my +bedroom. At about four-thirty there was a lull, and I managed to get +to sleep again. I wish when you see that gentleman, Mrs. Medley, you +would give him my compliments, and ask him if he could shorten his +program another night. He might cut out the song, for a start."</p> + +<p>"He's a very young gentleman, sir," said Mrs. Medley, in vague defense +of her top room.</p> + +<p>"And it's highly improbable," said Garnet, "that he will ever grow +old, if he repeats his last night's performance. I have no wish to +shed blood wantonly, but there<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span> are moments when one must lay aside +one's personal prejudices, and act for the good of the race. A man who +hums patriotic songs at four o'clock in the morning doesn't seem to me +to fit into the scheme of universal happiness. So you will mention it +to him, won't you?"</p> + +<p>"Very well, sir," said Mrs. Medley, placidly.</p> + +<p>On the strength of the fact that he wrote for the newspapers and had +published two novels, Mrs. Medley regarded Mr. Garnet as an eccentric +individual who had to be humored. Whatever he did or said filled her +with a mild amusement. She received his daily harangues in the same +spirit as that in which a nurse listens to the outpourings of the +family baby. She was surprised when he said anything sensible enough +for her to understand.</p> + +<p>His table being clear of breakfast and his room free from disturbing +influences,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span> the exhilaration caused by his chat with his landlady +left Mr. Garnet. Life seemed very gray to him. He was a conscientious +young man, and he knew that he ought to sit down and do some work. On +the other hand, his brain felt like a cauliflower, and he could not +think what to write about. This is one of the things which sour the +young author even more than do those long envelopes which so +tastefully decorate his table of a morning.</p> + +<p>He felt particularly unfitted for writing at that moment. The morning +is not the time for inventive work. An article may be polished then, +or a half-finished story completed, but 11 A.M. is not the hour at +which to invent.</p> + +<p>Jerry Garnet wandered restlessly about his sitting room. Rarely had it +seemed so dull and depressing to him as it did then. The photographs +on the mantelpiece irritated him. There was no change in them.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span> They +struck him as the concrete expression of monotony. His eye was caught +by a picture hanging out of the straight. He jerked it to one side, +and the effect became worse. He jerked it back again, and the thing +looked as if it had been hung in a dim light by an astigmatic +drunkard. Five minutes' pulling and hauling brought it back to a +position only a shade less crooked than that in which he had found it, +and by that time his restlessness had grown like a mushroom.</p> + +<p>He looked out of the window. The sunlight was playing on the house +opposite. He looked at his boots. At this point conscience prodded him +sharply.</p> + +<p>"I won't," he muttered fiercely, "I will work. I'll turn out +something, even if it's the worst rot ever written."</p> + +<p>With which admirable sentiment he tracked his blotting pad to its +hiding place (Mrs. Medley found a fresh one every day), collected ink +and pens, and sat down.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span></p> + +<p>There was a distant thud from above, and shortly afterwards a thin +tenor voice made itself heard above a vigorous splashing. The young +gentleman on the top floor was starting another day.</p> + +<p>"Oi'll—er—sing thee saw-ongs"—brief pause, then in a triumphant +burst, as if the singer had just remembered the name—"ovarraby."</p> + +<p>Mr. Garnet breathed a prayer and glared at the ceiling.</p> + +<p>The voice continued:</p> + +<p>"Ahnd—er—ta-ales of fa-arr Cahsh-meerer."</p> + +<p>Sudden and grewsome pause. The splashing ceased. The singer could +hardly have been drowned in a hip bath, but Mr. Garnet hoped for the +best.</p> + +<p>His hopes were shattered.</p> + +<p>"Come," resumed the young gentleman persuasively, "into the garden, +Maud, for ther black batter nah-eet hath—er—florn."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span></p> + +<p>Jerry Garnet sprang from his seat and paced the room.</p> + +<p>"This is getting perfectly impossible," he said to himself. "I must +get out of this. A fellow can't work in London. I'll go down to some +farmhouse in the country. I can't think here. You might just as well +try to work at a musical 'At Home.'"</p> + +<p>Here followed certain remarks about the young man upstairs, who was +now, in lighter vein, putting in a spell at a popular melody from the +Gaiety Theater.</p> + +<p>He resumed his seat and set himself resolutely to hammer out something +which, though it might not be literature, would at least be capable of +being printed. A search through his commonplace book brought no balm. +A commonplace book is the author's rag bag. In it he places all the +insane ideas that come to him, in the groundless hope that some day he +will be able to convert<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span> them with magic touch into marketable plots.</p> + +<p>This was the luminous item which first met Mr. Garnet's eye:</p> + +<p><i>Mem.</i> Dead body found in railway carriage under seat. Only one living +occupant of carriage. He is suspected of being the murderer, but +proves that he only entered carriage at twelve o'clock in the morning, +while the body has been dead since the previous night.</p> + +<p>To this bright scheme were appended the words:</p> + +<p class="blockquot">This will want some working up.</p> + +<p class="sig3">J. G.</p> + +<p>"It will," thought Jerry Garnet grimly, "but it will have to go on +wanting as far as I'm concerned."</p> + +<p>The next entry he found was a perfectly inscrutable lyric outburst.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There are moments of annoyance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Void of every kind of joyance,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the complicated course of Man's affairs;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the very worst of any<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He experiences when he<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Meets a young, but active, lion on the stairs.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Sentiment unexceptionable. But as to the reason for the existence of +the fragment, his mind was a blank. He shut the book impatiently. It +was plain that no assistance was to be derived from it.</p> + +<p>His thoughts wandered back to the idea of leaving London. London might +have suited Dr. Johnson, but he had come to the conclusion that what +he wanted to enable him to give the public of his best (as the +reviewer of the <i>Academy</i>, dealing with his last work, had expressed a +polite hope that he would continue to do) was country air. A farmhouse +by the sea somewhere ... cows ... spreading boughs ... rooks ... +brooks ... cream. In London the day<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span> stretches before a man, if he has +no regular and appointed work to do, like a long, white, dusty road. +It seems impossible to get to the end of it without vast effort. But +in the country every hour has its amusements. Up with the lark. +Morning dip. Cheery greetings. Local color. Huge breakfast. Long +walks. Flannels. The ungirt loin. Good, steady spell of work from +dinner till bedtime. The prospect fascinated him. His third novel was +already in a nebulous state in his brain. A quiet week or two in the +country would enable him to get it into shape.</p> + +<p>He took from the pocket of his blazer a letter which had arrived some +days before from an artist friend of his who was on a sketching tour +in Devonshire and Somerset. There was a penciled memorandum on the +envelope in his own handwriting:</p> + +<p><i>Mem.</i> Might work K. L.'s story about<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span> M. and the W—s's into comic +yarn for one of the weeklies.</p> + +<p>He gazed at this for a while, with a last hope that in it might be +contained the germ of something which would enable him to turn out a +morning's work; but having completely forgotten who K. L. was, and +especially what was his (or her) story about M., whoever he (or she) +might be, he abandoned this hope and turned to the letter in the +envelope.</p> + +<p>The earlier portions of the letter dealt tantalizingly with the +scenery. "Bits," come upon by accident at the end of disused lanes and +transferred with speed to canvas, were described concisely but with +sufficient breadth to make Garnet long to see them for himself. There +were brief <i>résumés</i> of dialogues between Lickford (the writer) and +weird rustics. The whole letter breathed of the country and the open +air. The atmosphere of Garnet's sitting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> room seemed to him to become +stuffier with every sentence he read.</p> + +<p>The postscript interested him.</p> + +<p>"... By the way, at Yeovil I came across an old friend of yours. +Stanley Featherstonhaugh Ukridge, of all people. As large as +life—quite six foot two, and tremendously filled out. I thought he +was abroad. The last I heard of him was that he had started for Buenos +Ayres in a cattle-ship. It seems he has been in England sometime. I +met him in the refreshment room at Yeovil station. I was waiting for a +down train; he had changed on his way to town. As I opened the door I +heard a huge voice in a more or less violent altercation, and there +was S. F. U., in a villainous old suit of gray flannels (I'll swear it +was the same one that he had on last time I saw him), and a +mackintosh, though it was a blazing hot day. His pince-nez were tacked +onto his ears with wire as usual.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> He greeted me with effusive shouts, +and drew me aside. Then after a few commonplaces of greeting, he +fumbled in his pockets, looked pained and surprised.</p> + +<p>"'Look here, Licky,' he said. 'You know I never borrow. It's against +my principles. But I <i>must</i> have a shilling, or I'm a ruined man. I +seem to have had my pocket picked by some scoundrelly blackguard. Can +you, my dear fellow, oblige me with a shilling until next Tuesday +afternoon at three-thirty? I never borrow, so I'll tell you what I'll +do. I'll let you have this (producing a beastly little three-penny-bit +with a hole in it) until I can pay you back. This is of more value to +me than I can well express, Licky, my boy. A very, very dear friend +gave it to me when we parted, years ago. It's a wrench to part with +it. But grim necessity ... I can hardly do it.... Still, no, no, ... +you must take it, you must take it. Licky,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span> old man, shake hands! +Shake hands, my boy!'</p> + +<p>"He then asked after you, and said you were the noblest man—except +me—on earth. I gave him your address, not being able to get out of +it, but if I were you I should fly while there is yet time."</p> + +<p>"That," said Jerry Garnet, "is the soundest bit of advice I've heard. +I will."</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Medley," he said, when that lady made her appearance.</p> + +<p>"Sir?"</p> + +<p>"I'm going away for a few weeks. You can let the rooms if you like. +I'll drop you a line when I think of coming back."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. And your letters. Where shall I send them, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Till further notice," said Jerry Garnet, pulling out a giant +portmanteau from a corner of the room and flinging it open, "care of +the Dalai Lama, No. 3 Younghusband Terrace, Tibet."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," said Mrs. Medley placidly.</p> + +<p>"I'll write you my address to-night. I don't know where I'm going yet. +Is that an A. B. C. over there? Good. Give my love to that bright +young spirit on the top floor, and tell him that I hope my not being +here to listen won't interfere in any way with his morning popular +concerts."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"And, Mrs. Medley, if a man named ——"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Medley had drifted silently away. During his last speech a +thunderous knocking had begun on the front door.</p> + +<p>Jerry Garnet stood and listened, transfixed. Something seemed to tell +him who was at the business end of that knocker.</p> + +<p>He heard Mrs. Medley's footsteps pass along the hall and pause at the +door. Then there was the click of the latch. Then a volume of sound +rushed up to him where he stood over his empty portmanteau.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Is Mr. Garnet in?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Medley's reply was inaudible, but apparently in the affirmative.</p> + +<p>"Where is he?" boomed the voice. "Show me the old horse. First floor. +Thank you. Where is the man of wrath?"</p> + +<p>There followed a crashing on the stairs such as even the young +gentleman of the top floor had been unable to produce in his nocturnal +rovings. The house shook.</p> + +<p>And with the tramping came the thunderous voice, as the visitor once +more gave tongue.</p> + +<p>"Garnet! <span class="smcap">Garnet</span>!! GARNET!!!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="UKRIDGES_SCHEME" id="UKRIDGES_SCHEME"></a>UKRIDGE'S SCHEME</h2> + +<p><img src="images/chap_2.jpg" alt="Chap_2" width="200" height="207" /></p> + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_m.jpg" alt="M" width="60" height="50" /></div> + + +<p>r. Stanley Featherstonhaugh Ukridge dashed into the room, uttering a +roar of welcome as he caught sight of Garnet, still standing petrified +athwart his portmanteau.</p> + +<p>"My dear old man," he shouted, springing at him and seizing his hand +in a clutch that effectually woke Garnet from his stupor. "How <i>are</i> +you, old chap? This is good. By Jove, this is good! This is fine, +what?"</p> + +<p>He dashed back to the door and looked out.</p> + +<p>"Come on, Millie," he shouted.</p> + +<p>Garnet was wondering who in the name<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span> of fortune Millie could possibly +be, when there appeared on the further side of Mr. Ukridge the figure +of a young woman. She paused in the doorway, and smiled pleasantly.</p> + +<p>"Garnet, old horse," said Ukridge with some pride, "let me introduce +you to my wife. Millie, this is old Garnet. You've heard me talk about +him."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," said Mrs. Ukridge.</p> + +<p>Garnet bowed awkwardly. The idea of Ukridge married was something too +overpowering to be assimilated on the instant. If ever there was a man +designed by nature to be a bachelor, Stanley Ukridge was that man. +Garnet could feel that he himself was not looking his best. He knew in +a vague, impersonal way that his eyebrows were still somewhere in the +middle of his forehead, whither they had sprung in the first moment of +surprise, and that his jaw, which had dropped, had not yet resumed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span> +its normal posture. Before committing himself to speech he made a +determined effort to revise his facial expression.</p> + +<p>"Buck up, old horse," said Ukridge. He had a painful habit of +addressing all and sundry by that title. In his school-master days he +had made use of it while interviewing the parents of new pupils, and +the latter had gone away, as a rule, with a feeling that this must be +either the easy manner of genius or spirits, and hoping for the best. +Later, he had used it to perfect strangers in the streets. On one +occasion he had been heard to address a bishop by that title.</p> + +<p>"Surprised to find me married, what? Garny, old boy"—sinking his +voice to what was intended to be a whisper—"take my tip. You go and +do the same. You feel another man. Give up this bachelor business. +It's a mug's game. Go and get married, my boy, go and get married. By +gad,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span> I've forgotten to pay the cabby. Half a moment."</p> + +<p>He was out of the door and on his way downstairs before the echoes of +his last remark had ceased to shake the window of the sitting room. +Garnet was left to entertain Mrs. Ukridge.</p> + +<p>So far her share in the conversation had been small. Nobody talked +very much when Ukridge was on the scene. She sat on the edge of +Garnet's big basket chair, looking very small and quiet. She smiled +pleasantly, as she had done during the whole of the preceding +dialogue. It was apparently her chief form of expression.</p> + +<p>Jerry Garnet felt very friendly toward her. He could not help pitying +her. Ukridge, he thought, was a very good person to know casually, but +a little of him, as his former headmaster had once said in a moody, +reflective voice, went a very long way. To be bound to him for life +was not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span> the ideal state for a girl. If he had been a girl, he felt, +he would as soon have married a volcano.</p> + +<p>"And she's so young," he thought, as he looked across at the basket +chair. "Quite a kid."</p> + +<p>"You and Stanley have known each other a long time, haven't you?" said +the object of his pity, breaking the silence.</p> + +<p>"Yes. Oh, yes," said Garnet. "Several years. We were masters at the +same school together."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Ukridge leaned forward with round, shining eyes.</p> + +<p>"Isn't he a <i>wonderful</i> man, Mr. Garnet!" she said ecstatically.</p> + +<p>Not yet, to judge from her expression and the tone of her voice, had +she had experience of the disadvantages attached to the position of +Mrs. Stanley Ukridge.</p> + +<p>Garnet could agree with her there.</p> + +<p>"Yes, he is certainly wonderful," he said.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I believe he could do anything."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Garnet. He believed that Ukridge was at least capable of +anything.</p> + +<p>"He has done so many things. Have you ever kept fowls?" she broke off +with apparent irrelevance.</p> + +<p>"No," said Garnet. "You see, I spend so much of my time in town. I +should find it difficult."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Ukridge looked disappointed.</p> + +<p>"I was hoping you might have had some experience. Stanley, of course, +can turn his hand to anything, but I think experience is such a good +thing, don't you?"</p> + +<p>"It is," said Garnet, mystified. "But—"</p> + +<p>"I have bought a shilling book called 'Fowls and All About Them,' but +it is very hard to understand. You see, we—but here is Stanley. He +will explain it all."</p> + +<p>"Well, Garnet, old horse," said Ukridge, reëntering the room after +another energetic<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span> passage of the stairs, "settle down and let's talk +business. Found cabby gibbering on doorstep. Wouldn't believe I didn't +want to bilk him. Had to give him an extra shilling. But now, about +business. Lucky to find you in, because I've got a scheme for you, +Garny, old boy. Yes, sir, the idea of a thousand years. Now listen to +me for a moment."</p> + +<p>He sat down on the table and dragged a chair up as a leg rest. Then he +took off his pince-nez, wiped them, readjusted the wire behind his +ears, and, having hit a brown patch on the knee of his gray flannel +trousers several times in the apparent hope of removing it, began to +speak.</p> + +<p>"About fowls," he said.</p> + +<p>"What about them?" asked Garnet. The subject was beginning to interest +him. It showed a curious tendency to creep into the conversation.</p> + +<p>"I want you to give me your undivided<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span> attention for a moment," said +Ukridge. "I was saying to my wife only the other day: 'Garnet's the +man. Clever man, Garnet. Full of ideas.' Didn't I, Millie?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, dear," said Mrs. Ukridge, smiling.</p> + +<p>"Well?" said Garnet.</p> + +<p>"The fact is," said Ukridge, with a Micawber-like burst of candor, "we +are going to keep fowls."</p> + +<p>He stopped and looked at Garnet in order to see the effect of the +information. Garnet bore it with fortitude.</p> + +<p>"Yes?" he said.</p> + +<p>Ukridge shifted himself farther on to the table and upset the inkpot.</p> + +<p>"Never mind," he said, "it'll soak in. Don't you worry about that, you +keep listening to me. When I said we meant to keep fowls, I didn't +mean in a small sort of way—two cocks and a couple of hens and a +ping-pong ball for a nest egg. We are going to do it on a large scale. +We are<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> going to keep," he concluded impressively, "a chicken farm!"</p> + +<p>"A chicken farm," echoed Mrs. Ukridge with an affectionate and +admiring glance at her husband.</p> + +<p>"Ah," said Garnet, who felt his responsibilities as chorus.</p> + +<p>"I've thought it all out," continued Ukridge, "and it's as clear as +mud. No expenses, large profits, quick returns. Chickens, eggs, and no +work. By Jove, old man, it's the idea of a lifetime. Just listen to me +for a moment. You buy your hen—"</p> + +<p>"One hen?" inquired Garnet.</p> + +<p>"Call it one for the sake of argument. It makes my calculations +clearer. Very well, then. You buy your hen. It lays an egg every day +of the week. You sell the eggs—say—six for fivepence. Keep of hen +costs nothing. Profit at least fourpence, three farthings on every +half-dozen eggs. What do you think of that, Bartholomew?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span></p> + +<p>Garnet admitted that it sounded like an attractive scheme, but +expressed a wish to overhaul the figures in case of error.</p> + +<p>"Error!" shouted Ukridge, pounding the table with such energy that it +groaned beneath him. "Error? Not a bit of it. Can't you follow a +simple calculation like that? The thing is, you see, you get your +original hen for next to nothing. That's to say, on tick. Anybody will +let you have a hen on tick. Now listen to me for a moment. You let +your hen set, and hatch chickens. Suppose you have a dozen hens. Very +well, then. When each of the dozen has a dozen chickens, you send the +old hens back with thanks for the kind loan, and there you are, +starting business with a hundred and forty-four free chickens to your +name. And after a bit, when the chickens grow up and begin to lay, all +you have to do is to sit back in your chair and gather in the big +checks. Isn't that so, Millie?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes, dear," said Mrs. Ukridge with shining eyes.</p> + +<p>"We've fixed it all up. Do you know Lyme Regis, in Dorsetshire? On the +borders of Devon. Quiet little fishing village. Bathing. Sea air. +Splendid scenery. Just the place for a chicken farm. I've been looking +after that. A friend of my wife's has lent us a jolly old house with +large grounds. All we've got to do is to get in the fowls. That's all +right. I've ordered the first lot. We shall find them waiting for us +when we arrive."</p> + +<p>"Well," said Garnet, "I'm sure I wish you luck. Mind you let me know +how you get on."</p> + +<p>"Let you know!" roared Ukridge. "Why, old horse, you've got to come, +too. We shall take no refusal. Shall we, Millie?"</p> + +<p>"No, dear," murmured Mrs. Ukridge.</p> + +<p>"Of course not," said Ukridge. "No<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span> refusal of any sort. Pack up +to-night, and meet us at Waterloo to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"It's awfully good of you—" began Garnet a little blankly.</p> + +<p>"Not a bit of it, not a bit of it. This is pure business. I was saying +to my wife when we came in that you were the very man for us. 'If old +Garnet's in town,' I said, 'we'll have him. A man with his flow of +ideas will be invaluable on a chicken farm.' Didn't I, Millie?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Ukridge murmured the response.</p> + +<p>"You see, I'm one of these practical men. I go straight ahead, +following my nose. What you want in a business of this sort is a touch +of the dreamer to help out the practical mind. We look to you for +suggestions, Montmorency. Timely suggestions with respect to the +comfort and upbringing of the fowls. And you can work. I've seen you. +Of course you take your share of the profits. That's understood.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> Yes, +yes, I must insist. Strict business between friends. We must arrange +it all when we get down there. My wife is the secretary of the firm. +She has been writing letters to people, asking for fowls. So you see +it's a thoroughly organized concern. There's money in it, old horse. +Don't you forget that."</p> + +<p>"We should be so disappointed if you did not come," said Mrs. Ukridge, +lifting her childlike eyes to Garnet's face.</p> + +<p>Garnet stood against the mantelpiece and pondered. In after years he +recognized that that moment marked an epoch in his life. If he had +refused the invitation, he would not have—but, to quote the old +novelists, we anticipate. At any rate, he would have missed a +remarkable experience. It is not given to everyone to see Mr. Stanley +Ukridge manage a chicken farm.</p> + +<p>"The fact is," he said at last, "I was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span> thinking of going somewhere +where I could get some golf."</p> + +<p>Ukridge leaped on the table triumphantly.</p> + +<p>"Lyme Regis is just the place for you, then. Perfect hotbed of golf. +Fine links at the top of the hill, not half a mile from the farm. +Bring your clubs. You'll be able to have a round or two in the +afternoons. Get through serious work by lunch time."</p> + +<p>"You know," said Garnet, "I am absolutely inexperienced as regards +fowls."</p> + +<p>"Excellent!" said Ukridge. "Then you're just the man. You will bring +to the work a mind entirely unclouded by theories. You will act solely +by the light of your intelligence."</p> + +<p>"Er—yes," said Garnet.</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't have a professional chicken farmer about the place if he +paid to come. Natural intelligence is what we want. Then we can rely +on you?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Very well," said Garnet slowly. "It's very kind of you to ask me."</p> + +<p>"It's business, Cuthbert, business. Very well, then. We shall catch +the eleven-twenty at Waterloo. Don't miss it. You book to Axminster. +Look out for me on the platform. If I see you first, I'll shout."</p> + +<p>Garnet felt that that promise rang true.</p> + +<p>"Then good-by for the present. Millie, we must be off. Till to-morrow, +Garnet."</p> + +<p>"Good-by, Mr. Garnet," said Mrs. Ukridge.</p> + +<p>Looking back at the affair after the lapse of years, Garnet was +accustomed to come to the conclusion that she was the one pathetic +figure in the farce. Under what circumstances she had married Ukridge +he did not learn till later. He was also uncertain whether at any +moment in her career she regretted it. But it was certainly pathetic +to witness her growing bewilderment during the weeks that followed, as +the working<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> of Ukridge's giant mind was unfolded to her little by +little. Life, as Ukridge understood the word, must have struck her as +a shade too full of incident to be really comfortable. Garnet was wont +to console himself by the hope that her very genuine love for her +husband, and his equally genuine love for her, was sufficient to +smooth out the rough places of life.</p> + +<p>As he returned to his room, after showing his visitors to the door, +the young man upstairs, who had apparently just finished breakfast, +burst once more into song:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"We'll never come back no more, boys,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We'll never come back no more."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Garnet could hear him wedding appropriate dance to the music.</p> + +<p>"Not for a few weeks, at any rate," he said to himself, as he started +his packing at the point where he had left off.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="A_GIRL_WITH_BROWN_HAIR" id="A_GIRL_WITH_BROWN_HAIR"></a>A GIRL WITH BROWN HAIR</h2> + +<p><img src="images/chap_3.jpg" alt="Chap_3" width="200" height="207" /></p> + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_w.jpg" alt="W" width="65" height="50" /></div> + + +<p>aterloo station is one of the things which no fellow can understand. +Thousands come to it, thousands go from it. Porters grow gray-headed +beneath its roof. Buns, once fresh and tender, become hard and +misanthropic in its refreshment rooms, and look as if they had seen +the littleness of existence and were disillusioned. But there the +station stands, year after year, wrapped in a discreet gloom, always +the same, always baffling and inscrutable. Not even the porters +understand it. "I couldn't say, sir," is the civil but unsatisfying +reply with which research is met. Now and then one, more gifted than +his colleagues, will inform the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span> traveler that his train starts from +"No. 3 or No. 7," but a moment's reflection and he hedges with No. 12.</p> + +<p>Waterloo is the home of imperfect knowledge. The booking clerks cannot +state in a few words where tickets may be bought for any station. They +are only certain that they themselves cannot sell them.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The gloom of the station was lightened on the following morning at ten +minutes to eleven when Mr. Garnet arrived to catch the train to +Axminster, by several gleams of sunshine and a great deal of bustle +and movement on the various platforms. A cheery activity pervaded the +place. Porters on every hand were giving their celebrated imitations +of the car of Juggernaut, throwing as a sop to the wounded a crisp "by +your leave." Agitated ladies were pouring forth questions with the +rapidity of machine guns. Long queues surged at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span> the mouths of the +booking offices, inside which soured clerks, sending lost sheep empty +away, were learning once more their lesson of the innate folly of +mankind. Other crowds collected at the bookstalls, and the bookstall +keeper was eying with dislike men who were under the impression that +they were in a free library.</p> + +<p>An optimistic porter had relieved Garnet of his portmanteau and golf +clubs as he stepped out of his cab, and had arranged to meet him on +No. 6 platform, from which, he asserted, with the quiet confidence +which has made Englishmen what they are, the eleven-twenty would start +on its journey to Axminster. Unless, he added, it went from No. 4.</p> + +<p>Garnet, having bought a ticket, after drawing blank at two booking +offices, made his way to the bookstall. Here he inquired, in a loud, +penetrating voice, if they had got "Mr. Jeremy Garnet's last novel, +'The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> Maneuvers of Arthur.'" Being informed that they had not, he +clicked his tongue cynically, advised the man in charge to order that +work, as the demand for it might be expected shortly to be large, and +spent a shilling on a magazine and some weekly papers. Then, with ten +minutes to spare, he went off in search of Ukridge.</p> + +<p>He found him on platform No. 6. The porter's first choice was, it +seemed, correct. The eleven-twenty was already alongside the platform, +and presently Garnet observed his porter cleaving a path toward him +with the portmanteau and golf clubs.</p> + +<p>"Here you are!" shouted Ukridge. "Good for you. Thought you were going +to miss it."</p> + +<p>Garnet shook hands with the smiling Mrs. Ukridge.</p> + +<p>"I've got a carriage," said Ukridge, "and collared two corner seats. +My wife goes down in another. She dislikes the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> smell of smoke when +she's traveling. Let's pray that we get the carriage to ourselves. But +all London seems to be here this morning. Get in, old horse. I'll just +see her ladyship into her carriage and come back to you."</p> + +<p>Garnet entered the compartment, and stood at the door, looking out in +order, after the friendly manner of the traveling Briton, to thwart an +invasion of fellow-travelers. Then he withdrew his head suddenly and +sat down. An elderly gentleman, accompanied by a girl, was coming +toward him. It was not this type of fellow-traveler whom he hoped to +keep out. He had noticed the girl at the booking office. She had +waited by the side of the line, while the elderly gentleman struggled +gamely for the tickets, and he had plenty of opportunity of observing +her appearance. For five minutes he had debated with himself as to +whether her hair should rightly be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span> described as brown or golden. He +had decided finally on brown. It then became imperative that he should +ascertain the color of her eyes. Once only had he met them, and then +only for a second. They might be blue. They might be gray. He could +not be certain. The elderly gentleman came to the door of the +compartment and looked in.</p> + +<p>"This seems tolerably empty, my dear Phyllis," he said.</p> + +<p>Garnet, his glance fixed on his magazine, made a note of the name. It +harmonized admirably with the hair and the eyes of elusive color.</p> + +<p>"You are sure you do not object to a smoking carriage, my dear?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, father. Not at all."</p> + +<p>Garnet told himself that the voice was just the right sort of voice to +go with the hair, the eyes, and the name.</p> + +<p>"Then I think—" said the elderly gen<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span>tleman, getting in. The +inflection of his voice suggested the Irishman. It was not a brogue. +There were no strange words. But the general effect was Irish. Garnet +congratulated himself. Irishmen are generally good company. An +Irishman with a pretty daughter should be unusually good company.</p> + +<p>The bustle on the platform had increased momently, until now, when, +from the snorting of the engine, it seemed likely that the train might +start at any minute, the crowd's excitement was extreme. Shrill cries +echoed down the platform. Lost sheep, singly and in companies, rushed +to and fro, peering eagerly into carriages in the search for seats. +Piercing cries ordered unknown "Tommies" and "Ernies" to "keep by +aunty, now." Just as Ukridge returned, the dreaded "Get in anywhere" +began to be heard, and the next moment an avalanche of warm humanity +poured into the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span> carriage. A silent but bitter curse framed itself on +Garnet's lips. His chance of pleasant conversation with the lady of +the brown hair and the eyes that were either gray or blue was at an +end.</p> + +<p>The newcomers consisted of a middle-aged lady, addressed as aunty; a +youth called Albert, subsequently described by Garnet as the rudest +boy on earth—a proud title, honestly won; lastly, a niece of some +twenty years, stolid and seemingly without interest in life.</p> + +<p>Ukridge slipped into his corner, adroitly foiling Albert, who had made +a dive in that direction. Albert regarded him fixedly for a space, +then sank into the seat beside Garnet and began to chew something +grewsome that smelled of aniseed.</p> + +<p>Aunty, meanwhile, was distributing her weight evenly between the toes +of the Irish gentleman and those of his daughter, as she leaned out of +the window to converse with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span> a lady friend in a straw hat and hair +curlers. Phyllis, he noticed, was bearing it with angelic calm. Her +profile, when he caught sight of it round aunty, struck him as a +little cold, even haughty. That, however, might be due to what she was +suffering. It is unfair to judge a lady's character from her face, at +a moment when she is in a position of physical discomfort. The train +moved off with a jerk in the middle of a request on the part of the +straw-hatted lady that her friend would "remember that, you know, +about <i>him</i>," and aunty, staggering back, sat down on a bag of food +which Albert had placed on the seat beside him.</p> + +<p>"Clumsy!" observed Albert tersely.</p> + +<p>"Al<i>bert</i>, you mustn't speak to aunty so."</p> + +<p>"Wodyer want sit on my bag for, then?" inquired Albert.</p> + +<p>They argued the point.</p> + +<p>Garnet, who should have been busy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> studying character for a novel of +the lower classes, took up his magazine and began to read. The odor of +aniseed became more and more painful. Ukridge had lighted a cigar, and +Garnet understood why Mrs. Ukridge preferred to travel in another +compartment. For "in his hand he bore the brand which none but he +might smoke."</p> + +<p>Garnet looked stealthily across the carriage to see how his lady of +the hair and eyes was enduring this combination of evils, and noticed +that she, too, had begun to read. And as she put down the book to look +out of the window at the last view of London, he saw with a thrill +that it was "The Maneuvers of Arthur." Never before had he come upon a +stranger reading his work. And if "The Maneuvers of Arthur" could make +the reader oblivious to surroundings such as these, then, felt Garnet, +it was no common book—a fact which he had long since suspected.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span></p> + +<p>The train raced on toward the sea. It was a warm day, and a torpid +peace began to settle down on the carriage.</p> + +<p>Soon only Garnet, the Irishman, and the lady were awake.</p> + +<p>"What's your book, me dear?" asked the Irishman.</p> + +<p>"'The Maneuvers of Arthur,' father," said Phyllis. "By Jeremy Garnet."</p> + +<p>Garnet would not have believed without the evidence of his ears that +his name could possibly have sounded so well.</p> + +<p>"Dolly Strange gave it to me when I left the abbey," continued +Phyllis. "She keeps a shelf of books for her guests when they are +going away. Books that she considers rubbish and doesn't want, you +know."</p> + +<p>Garnet hated Dolly Strange without further evidence.</p> + +<p>"And what do you think of it, me dear?"</p> + +<p>"I like it," said Phyllis decidedly. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> carriage swam before +Garnet's eyes. "I think it is very clever. I shall keep it."</p> + +<p>"Bless you," thought Garnet, "and I will write my precious autograph +on every page, if you want it."</p> + +<p>"I wonder who Jeremy Garnet is?" said Phyllis. "I imagine him rather +an old young man, probably with an eyeglass and conceited. He must be +conceited. I can tell that from the style. And I should think he +didn't know many girls. At least, if he thinks Pamela Grant an +ordinary sort of girl."</p> + +<p>"Is she not?" asked her father.</p> + +<p>"She's a cr-r-reature," said Phyllis emphatically.</p> + +<p>This was a blow to Garnet, and demolished the self-satisfaction which +her earlier criticisms had caused to grow within him. He had always +looked on Pamela as something very much out of the ordinary run of +feminine character studies. That scene<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span> between her and the curate in +the conservatory.... And when she finds Arthur at the meet of the +Blankshire.... He was sorry she did not like Pamela. Somehow it +lowered Pamela in his estimation.</p> + +<p>"But I like Arthur," said Phyllis, and she smiled—the first time +Garnet had seen her do so.</p> + +<p>Garnet also smiled to himself. Arthur was the hero. He was a young +writer. Ergo, Arthur was himself.</p> + +<p>The train was beginning to slow down. Signs of returning animation +began to be noticeable among the sleepers. A whistle from the engine, +and the train drew up in a station. Looking out of the window, Garnet +saw that it was Yeovil. There was a general exodus. Aunty became +instantly a thing of dash and electricity, collected parcels, shook +Albert, replied to his thrusts with repartee, and finally headed a +stampede out of the door.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span></p> + +<p>To Garnet's chagrin the Irish gentleman and his daughter also rose. +Apparently this was to be the end of their brief acquaintanceship. +They alighted and walked down the platform.</p> + +<p>"Where are we?" said Ukridge sleepily, opening his eyes. "Yeovil? Not +far now, old horse."</p> + +<p>With which remark he closed his eyes again and returned to his +slumbers.</p> + +<p>Garnet's eye, roving disconsolately over the carriage, was caught by +something lying in the far corner. It was the criticized "Maneuvers of +Arthur." The girl had left it behind.</p> + +<p>What follows shows the vanity that obsesses our young and rising +authors. It did not enter into his mind that the book might have been +left behind of set purpose, as being of no further use to the owner. +It only occurred to him that if he did not act swiftly the lady of the +hair and eyes would<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span> suffer a loss beside which the loss of a purse or +a hand bag were trivial.</p> + +<p>He acted swiftly.</p> + +<p>Five seconds later he was at the end of the platform, flushed but +courteous.</p> + +<p>"Excuse me," he said, "I think—"</p> + +<p>"Thank you," said the girl.</p> + +<p>Garnet made his way back to his carriage.</p> + +<p>"They are blue," he said.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_ARRIVAL" id="THE_ARRIVAL"></a>THE ARRIVAL</h2> + +<p><img src="images/chap_4.jpg" alt="Chap_4" width="200" height="207" /></p> + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_f.jpg" alt="F" width="43" height="50" /></div> + + +<p>rom Axminster to Lyme Regis the line runs through country as pretty +as any that can be found in the island, and the train, as if in +appreciation of this fact, does not hurry over the journey. It was +late afternoon by the time the chicken farmers reached their +destination.</p> + +<p>The arrangements for the carrying of luggage at Lyme Regis border on +the primitive. Boxes are left on the platform, and later, when he +thinks of it, a carrier looks in and conveys them down into the valley +and up the hill on the opposite side to the address written on the +labels. The owner walks. Lyme Regis is not a place for the halt and +maimed.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span></p> + +<p>Ukridge led his band in the direction of the farm, which lay across +the valley, looking through woods to the sea. The place was visible +from the station, from which, indeed, standing as it did on the top of +a hill, the view was extensive.</p> + +<p>Halfway up the slope on the other side of the valley the party left +the road and made their way across a spongy field, Ukridge explaining +that this was a short cut. They climbed through a hedge, crossed a +stream and another field, and after negotiating a difficult bank +topped with barbed wire, found themselves in a kitchen garden.</p> + +<p>Ukridge mopped his forehead and restored his pince-nez to their +original position, from which the passage of the barbed wire had +dislodged them.</p> + +<p>"This is the place," he said. "We have come in by the back way. It +saves time. Tired, Millie?"</p> + +<p>"No, dear, thank you."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Without being tired," said Garnet, "I am distinctly ready for tea. +What are the prospects?"</p> + +<p>"That'll be all right," said Ukridge, "don't you worry. A most +competent man, of the name of Beale, and his wife are in charge at +present. I wrote to them telling them that we were coming to-day. They +will be ready for us."</p> + +<p>They were at the front door by this time. Ukridge rang the bell. The +noise reëchoed through the house, but there were no answering +footsteps. He rang again. There is no mistaking the note of a bell in +an empty house. It was plain that the most competent man and his wife +were out.</p> + +<p>"Now what are you going to do?" said Garnet.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Ukridge looked at her husband with quiet confidence.</p> + +<p>Ukridge fell back on reminiscence.</p> + +<p>"This," he said, leaning against the door<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span> and endeavoring to button +his collar at the back, "reminds me of an afternoon in the Argentine. +Two other men and myself tried for three quarters of an hour to get +into an empty house, where there looked as if there might be something +to eat, and we'd just got the door open when the owner turned up from +behind a tree with a shotgun. It was a little difficult to explain. +There was a dog, too. We were glad to say good-by."</p> + +<p>At this moment history partially repeated itself. From the other side +of the door came a dissatisfied whine, followed by a short bark.</p> + +<p>"Halloo," said Ukridge, "Beale has a dog."</p> + +<p>"And the dog," said Garnet, "will have us if we're not careful. What +are you going to do?"</p> + +<p>"Let's try the back," said Ukridge. "We must get in. What right," he +added<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span> with pathos, "has a beastly mongrel belonging to a man I employ +to keep me out of my own house? It's a little hard. Here am I, slaving +to support Beale, and when I try to get into my house, his infernal +dog barks at me. But we will try kindness first. Let me get to the +keyhole. I will parley with the animal."</p> + +<p>He put his mouth to the keyhole and roared the soothing words "Goo' +dog!" through it. Instantly the door shook as some heavy object hurled +itself against it. The barking rang through the house.</p> + +<p>"Kindness seems to be a drug in the market," said Garnet. "Do you see +your way to trying a little force?"</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you what we'll do," said Ukridge, rising. "We'll go round +and get in at the kitchen window."</p> + +<p>"And how long are we to stay there? Till the dog dies?"</p> + +<p>"I never saw such a man as you," pro<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span>tested Ukridge. "You have a +perfect mania for looking on the dark side. The dog won't guard the +kitchen door. We shall manage to shut him up somewhere."</p> + +<p>"Oh," said Garnet.</p> + +<p>"And now let's get in and have something to eat, for goodness' sake."</p> + +<p>The kitchen window proved to be insecurely latched. Ukridge flung it +open and they climbed in.</p> + +<p>The dog, hearing the sound of voices, raced back along the passage and +flung himself at the door. He then proceeded to scratch at the panels +in the persevering way of one who feels that he is engaged upon a +business at which he is a specialist.</p> + +<p>Inside the kitchen, Ukridge took command.</p> + +<p>"Never mind the dog," he said, "let it scratch."</p> + +<p>"I thought," said Garnet, "we were going to shut it up somewhere?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Go out and shut it into the dining room, then. Personally, I mean to +have some tea. Millie, you know how to light a fire. Garnet and I will +be collecting cups and things. When that scoundrel Beale arrives, I +shall tear him limb from limb. Deserting us like this! The man must be +a thorough fraud. He told me he was an old soldier. If this was the +sort of discipline they used to keep in his regiment, I don't wonder +that the service is going to the dogs. There goes a plate! How is the +fire getting on, Millie? I'll chop Beale into little bits. What's that +you've got there, Garny, old horse? Tea? Good! Where's the bread? +There! Another plate. Look here, I'll give that dog three minutes, and +if it doesn't stop scratching that door by then, I'll take the bread +knife and go out and have a soul-to-soul talk with it. It's a little +hard. My own house, and the first thing I find in it when I arrive is +somebody else's beastly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span> dog scratching holes in the doors. Stop it, +you beast!"</p> + +<p>The dog's reply was to continue his operations <i>piu mosso</i>.</p> + +<p>Ukridge's eyes gleamed behind their glasses.</p> + +<p>"Give me a good large jug," he said with ominous calm.</p> + +<p>He took the largest of the jugs from the dresser and strode with it +into the scullery, whence came the sound of running water. He returned +carrying the jug in both hands. His mien was that of a general who +sees his way to a master stroke of strategy.</p> + +<p>"Garny, old horse," he said, "tack on to the handle, and when I give +the word fling wide the gates. Then watch that beast beyond the door +get the surprise of its lifetime."</p> + +<p>Garnet attached himself to the handle as directed. Ukridge gave the +word. They<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span> had a momentary vision of an excited dog of the mongrel +class framed in the open doorway, all eyes and teeth; then the passage +was occupied by a spreading pool, and indignant barks from the +distance told that the mongrel was thinking the thing over in some +safe retreat.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"><a name="pic_2" id="pic_2"></a> +<img src="images/image_03.jpg" width="500" height="675" alt="They had a momentary vision of an excited dog, framed +in the doorway." title="" /> +<span class="caption">They had a momentary vision of an excited dog, framed +in the doorway.</span></div> + +<p>"Settled <i>his</i> hash," said Ukridge complacently. "Nothing like +resource, Garnet, my boy. Some men would have gone on letting a good +door be ruined."</p> + +<p>"And spoiled the dog for a ha-porth of water," said Garnet. "I suppose +we shall have to clean up that mess some time."</p> + +<p>"There you go," said Ukridge, "looking on the dark side. Be an +optimist, my boy, be an optimist. Beale and Mrs. Beale shall clean +that passage as a penance. How is the fire, Millie?"</p> + +<p>"The kettle is just boiling, dear."</p> + +<p>Over a cup of tea Ukridge became the man of business.</p> + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I wonder when those fowls are going to arrive. They should have been +here to-day. If they don't come to-morrow, I shall lodge a complaint. +There must be no slackness. They must bustle about. After tea I'll +show you the garden, and we will choose a place for a fowl run. +To-morrow we must buckle to. Serious work will begin immediately after +breakfast."</p> + +<p>"Suppose," said Garnet, "the fowls arrive before we are ready for +them?"</p> + +<p>"Why, then, they must wait."</p> + +<p>"But you can't keep fowls cooped up indefinitely in a crate. I suppose +they will come in a crate. I don't know much about these things."</p> + +<p>"Oh, that'll be all right. There's a basement to this house. We'll let +'em run about there till we're ready for them. There's always a way of +doing things if you look for it."</p> + +<p>"I hope you are going to let the hens<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span> hatch some of the eggs, +Stanley, dear," said Mrs. Ukridge. "I should so love to have some dear +little chickens."</p> + +<p>"Of course," said Ukridge. "My idea was this: These people will send +us fifty fowls of sorts. That means—call it forty eggs a day. Let 'em +hatch out thirty a day, and we will use the other ten for the table. +We shall want at least ten. Well, I'm hanged, that dog again! Where's +that jug?"</p> + +<p>But this time an unforeseen interruption prevented the maneuver from +being the success it had been before. Garnet had turned the handle, +and was just about to pull the door open, while Ukridge, looking like +some modern and dilapidated version of Discobolus, stood beside him +with his jug poised, when a hoarse voice spoke from the window.</p> + +<p>"Stand still!" said the voice, "or I'll corpse you."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span></p> + +<p>Garnet dropped the handle, Ukridge dropped the jug, Mrs. Ukridge +screamed.</p> + +<p>At the window, with a double-barreled gun in his hands, stood a short, +square, red-headed man. The muzzle of his gun, which rested on the +sill, was pointing in a straight line at the third button of Garnet's +waistcoat. With a distant recollection of the Deadwood Dick literature +of his childhood, Garnet flung both hands above his head.</p> + +<p>Ukridge emitted a roar like that of a hungry lion.</p> + +<p>"Beale!" he shouted. "You scoundrelly, unprincipled blackguard! What +are you doing with that gun? Why were you out? What have you been +doing? Why did you shout like that? Look what you've made me do."</p> + +<p>He pointed to the floor. Broken crockery, spreading water, his own +shoes—exceedingly old tennis shoes—well soaked,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> attested the fact +that damage had been done.</p> + +<p>"Lor'! Mr. Ukridge, sir, is that you?" said the red-headed man calmly. +"I thought you was burglars."</p> + +<p>A sharp bark from the other side of the kitchen door, followed by a +renewal of the scratching, drew Mr. Beale's attention to his faithful +hound.</p> + +<p>"That's Bob," he said.</p> + +<p>"I don't know what you call the brute," said Ukridge. "Come in and tie +him up."</p> + +<p>"'Ow am I to get in, Mr. Ukridge, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Come in through the window, and mind what you're doing with that gun. +After you've finished with the dog, I should like a brief chat with +you, if you can spare the time and have no other engagements."</p> + +<p>Mr. Beale, having carefully deposited his gun against the wall of the +kitchen,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> and dropped a pair of very limp rabbits with a thud to the +floor, proceeded to climb through the window. This operation +performed, he stood on one side while the besieged garrison passed out +by the same road.</p> + +<p>"You will find me in the garden, Beale," said Ukridge. "I have one or +two little things to say to you."</p> + +<p>Mr. Beale grinned affably.</p> + +<p>The cool air of the garden was grateful after the warmth of the +kitchen. It was a pretty garden, or would have been, if it had not +been so neglected. Garnet seemed to see himself sitting in a deck +chair on the lawn, looking through the leaves of the trees at the +harbor below. It was a spot, he felt, in which it would be an easy and +pleasant task to shape the plot of his novel. He was glad he had come. +About now, outside his lodgings in town, a particularly lethal barrel +organ would be striking up the latest<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span> revolting air with which the +halls had inflicted London.</p> + +<p>"Here you are, Beale," said Ukridge, as the red-headed man approached. +"Now, then, what have you to say?"</p> + +<p>The hired man looked thoughtful for a while, then observed that it was +a fine evening. Garnet felt that he was begging the question. He was a +strong, healthy man, and should have scorned to beg.</p> + +<p>"Fine evening?" shouted Ukridge. "What—on—earth has that got to do +with it? I want to know why you and Mrs. Beale were both out when we +arrived?"</p> + +<p>"The missus went to Axminster, Mr. Ukridge, sir."</p> + +<p>"She had no right to go to Axminster. I don't pay her large sums to go +to Axminster. You knew I was coming this evening."</p> + +<p>"No, Mr. Ukridge, sir."</p> + +<p>"You didn't!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No, Mr. Ukridge, sir."</p> + +<p>"Beale," said Ukridge with studied calm, "one of us two is a fool."</p> + +<p>"I noticed that, sir."</p> + +<p>"Let us sift this matter to the bottom. You got my letter?"</p> + +<p>"No, Mr. Ukridge, sir."</p> + +<p>"My letter saying that I should arrive to-night. You did not get it?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir."</p> + +<p>"Now look here, Beale," said Ukridge, "I am certain that that letter +was posted. I remember placing it in my pocket for that purpose. It is +not there now. See. These are all the contents of my—well, I'm +hanged!"</p> + +<p>He stood looking at the envelope he had produced from his breast +pocket. Mr. Beale coughed.</p> + +<p>"Beale," said Ukridge, "you—er—there seems to have been a mistake."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You are not so much to blame as I thought."</p> + +<p>"No, sir."</p> + +<p>"Anyhow," said Ukridge, in inspired tones, "I'll go and slay that +infernal dog. Where's your gun, Beale?"</p> + +<p>But better counsels prevailed, and the proceedings closed with a cold +but pleasant little dinner, at which the spared mongrel came out +unexpectedly strong with brainy and diverting tricks.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="BUCKLING_TO" id="BUCKLING_TO"></a>BUCKLING TO</h2> + +<p><img src="images/chap_5.jpg" alt="Chap_5" width="200" height="207" /></p> + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_s.jpg" alt="S" width="36" height="50" /></div> + + +<p>unshine, streaming into his bedroom through the open window, woke +Garnet next day as distant clocks were striking eight. It was a lovely +morning, cool and fresh. The grass of the lawn, wet with dew, sparkled +in the sun. A thrush, who knew all about early birds and their +perquisites, was filling in the time before the arrival of the worm +with a song or two as he sat in the bushes. In the ivy a colony of +sparrows were opening the day well with a little brisk fighting. On +the gravel in front of the house lay the mongrel Bob, blinking lazily.</p> + +<p>The gleam of the sea through the trees turned Garnet's thoughts to +bathing. He<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span> dressed quickly and went out. Bob rose to meet him, +waving an absurdly long tail. The hatchet was definitely buried now. +That little matter of the jug of water was forgotten.</p> + +<p>"Well, Bob," said Garnet, "coming down to watch me bathe?"</p> + +<p>Bob uttered a bark of approval and ran before him to the gate.</p> + +<p>A walk of five minutes brought Garnet to the sleepy little town. He +passed through the narrow street, and turned on to the beach, walking +in the direction of the cob, that combination of pier and breakwater +which the misadventures of one of Jane Austen's young misses have made +known to the outside public.</p> + +<p>The tide was high, and Garnet, leaving his clothes to the care of Bob, +dived into twelve feet of clear, cold water. As he swam he compared it +with the morning tub of town, and felt that he had done well to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span> come +with Ukridge to this pleasant spot. But he could not rely on unbroken +calm during the whole of his visit. He did not know a great deal about +chicken farming, but he was certain that Ukridge knew less. There +would be some strenuous moments before that farm became a profitable +commercial speculation. At the thought of Ukridge toiling on a hot +afternoon to manage an undisciplined mob of fowls, and becoming more +and more heated and voluble in the struggle, he laughed and promptly +swallowed a generous mouthful of salt water. There are few things +which depress the swimmer more than an involuntary draught of water. +Garnet turned and swam back to Bob and the clothes.</p> + +<p>As he strolled back along the beach he came upon a small, elderly +gentleman toweling his head in a vigorous manner. Hearing Garnet's +footsteps, he suspended this operation for a moment and peered<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> out at +him from beneath a turban of towel.</p> + +<p>It was the elderly Irishman of the journey, the father of the +blue-eyed Phyllis. Then they had come on to Lyme Regis after all. +Garnet stopped, with some idea of going back and speaking to him; but +realizing that they were perfect strangers, he postponed this action +and followed Bob up the hill. In a small place like Lyme Regis it +would surely not be difficult to find somebody who would introduce +them. He cursed the custom which made such a thing necessary. In a +properly constituted country everybody would know everybody else +without fuss or trouble.</p> + +<p>He found Ukridge, in his shirt sleeves and minus a collar, assailing a +large ham. Mrs. Ukridge, looking younger and more childlike than ever +in brown holland, smiled at him over the teapot.</p> + +<p>"Here he is!" shouted Ukridge, catch<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span>ing sight of him. "Where have you +been, old horse? I went to your room, but you weren't there. Bathing? +Hope it's made you feel fit for work, because we've got to buckle to +this morning."</p> + +<p>"The fowls have arrived, Mr. Garnet," said Mrs. Ukridge, opening her +eyes till she looked like an astonished kitten. "<i>Such</i> a lot of them! +They're making such a noise!"</p> + +<p>And to support her statement there floated through the window a +cackling, which, for volume and variety of key, beat anything that +Garnet had ever heard. Judging from the noise, it seemed as if England +had been drained of fowls and the entire tribe of them dumped into the +yard of the Ukridge's farm.</p> + +<p>"There seems to have been no stint," he said, sitting down. "Did you +order a million or only nine hundred thousand?"</p> + +<p>"Good many, aren't there?" said Uk<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span>ridge complacently. "But that's +what we want. No good starting on a small scale. The more you have, +the bigger the profits."</p> + +<p>"What sort have you got mostly?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, all sorts. Bless you, people don't mind what breed a fowl is, so +long as it <i>is</i> a fowl. These dealer chaps were so infernally +particular. 'Any Dorkings?' they said. 'All right,' I said, 'bring on +your Dorkings.' 'Or perhaps you want a few Minorcas?' 'Very well,' I +said, 'show Minorcas.' They were going on—they'd have gone on for +hours, but I stopped 'em. 'Look here, Maximilian,' I said to the +manager Johnny—decent old chap, with the manners of a marquis—'look +here,' I said, 'life is short, and we're neither of us as young as we +used to be. Don't let us waste the golden hours playing guessing +games. I want fowls. You sell fowls. So give me some of all sorts.' +And he has, by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span> Jove! There must be one of every breed ever invented."</p> + +<p>"Where are you going to put them?"</p> + +<p>"That spot we chose by the paddock. That's the place. Plenty of mud +for them to scratch about in, and they can go into the field when they +want to, and pick up worms, or whatever they feed on. We must rig them +up some sort of a shanty, I suppose, this morning. We'll go and tell +'em to send up some wire netting and stuff from the town."</p> + +<p>"Then we shall want hencoops. We shall have to make those."</p> + +<p>"Of course. So we shall. Millie, didn't I tell you that old Garnet was +the man to think of things! I forgot the coops. We can't buy some, I +suppose? On tick?"</p> + +<p>"Cheaper to make them. Suppose we get a lot of boxes. Soap boxes are +as good as any. It won't take long to knock up a few coops."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span></p> + +<p>Ukridge thumped the table with enthusiasm.</p> + +<p>"Garny, old horse, you're a marvel. You think of everything. We'll +buckle to right away. What a noise those fowls are making. I suppose +they don't feel at home in the yard. Wait till they see the A1 +residential mansions we're going to put up for them. Finished +breakfast? Then let's go out. Come along, Millie."</p> + +<p>The red-headed Beale, discovered leaning in an attitude of thought on +the yard gate, and observing the feathered mob below, was roused from +his reflections and dispatched to the town for the wire and soap +boxes. Ukridge, taking his place at the gate, gazed at the fowls with +the affectionate eye of a proprietor.</p> + +<p>"Well, they have certainly taken you at your word," said Garnet, "as +far as variety is concerned."</p> + +<p>The man with the manners of a marquis<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span> seemed to have been at great +pains to send a really representative supply of fowls. There were blue +ones, black ones, white, gray, yellow, brown, big, little, Dorkings, +Minorcas, Cochin Chinas, Bantams, Orpingtons, Wyandottes, and a host +more. It was an imposing spectacle.</p> + +<p>The hired man returned toward the end of the morning, preceded by a +cart containing the necessary wire and boxes, and Ukridge, whose +enthusiasm brooked no delay, started immediately the task of +fashioning the coops, while Garnet, assisted by Beale, draped the wire +netting about the chosen spot next to the paddock. There were little +unpleasantnesses—once a roar of anguish told that Ukridge's hammer +had found the wrong billet, and on another occasion Garnet's flannel +trousers suffered on the wire—but the work proceeded steadily. By the +middle of the afternoon things were in a sufficiently advanced state +to suggest to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span> Ukridge the advisability of a halt for refreshments.</p> + +<p>"That's the way to do it," said he. "At this rate we shall have the +place in A1 condition before bedtime. What do you think of those for +coops, Beale?"</p> + +<p>The hired man examined them gravely.</p> + +<p>"I've seen worse, sir."</p> + +<p>He continued his examination.</p> + +<p>"But not many," he added. Beale's passion for truth had made him +unpopular in three regiments.</p> + +<p>"They aren't so bad," said Garnet, "but I'm glad I'm not a fowl."</p> + +<p>"So you ought to be," said Ukridge, "considering the way you've put up +that wire. You'll have them strangling themselves."</p> + +<p>In spite of earnest labor, the housing arrangements of the fowls were +still in an incomplete state at the end of the day. The details of the +evening's work are preserved<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> in a letter which Garnet wrote that +night to his friend Lickford.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"... Have you ever played a game called 'Pigs in Clover'? We have just +finished a bout of it (with hens instead of marbles) which has lasted +for an hour and a half. We are all dead tired except the hired man, +who seems to be made of India rubber. He has just gone for a stroll to +the beach. Wants some exercise, I suppose. Personally, I feel as if I +should never move again. I have run faster and farther than I have +done since I was at school. You have no conception of the difficulty +of rounding up fowls and getting them safely to bed. Having no proper +place to put them, we were obliged to stow some of them inside soap +boxes and the rest in the basement. It has only just occurred to me +that they ought to have had perches to roost on. It didn't strike me +before. I <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span>shall not mention it to Ukridge, or that indomitable man +will start making some, and drag me into it, too. After all, a hen can +rough it for one night, and if I did a stroke more work I should +collapse. My idea was to do the thing on the slow but sure principle. +That is to say, take each bird singly and carry it to bed. It would +have taken some time, but there would have been no confusion. But you +can imagine that that sort of thing would not appeal to Ukridge. There +is a touch of the Napoleon about him. He likes his maneuvers to be +daring and on a large scale. He said: 'Open the yard gate and let the +fowls come out into the open, then sail in and drive them in a mass +through the back door into the basement.' It was a great idea, but +there was one fatal flaw in it. It didn't allow for the hens +scattering. We opened the gate, and out they all came like an audience +coming out of a theater. Then we closed in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span> on them to bring off the +big drive. For about three seconds it looked as if we might do it. +Then Bob, the hired man's dog, an animal who likes to be in whatever's +going on, rushed out of the house into the middle of them, barking. +There was a perfect stampede, and Heaven only knows where some of +those fowls are now. There was one in particular, a large yellow bird, +which, I should imagine, is nearing London by this time. The last I +saw of it, it was navigating at the rate of knots, so to speak, in +that direction, with Bob after it barking his hardest. Presently Bob +came back, panting, having evidently given up the job. We, in the +meantime, were chasing the rest of the birds all over the garden. The +thing had now resolved itself into the course of action I had +suggested originally, except that instead of collecting them quietly +and at our leisure, we had to run miles for each one we captured. +After a time<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> we introduced some sort of system into it. Mrs. Ukridge +(fancy him married; did you know?) stood at the door. We chased the +hens and brought them in. Then as we put each through into the +basement, she shut the door on it. We also arranged Ukridge's soap-box +coops in a row, and when we caught a fowl we put it into the coop and +stuck a board in front of it. By these strenuous means we gathered in +about two thirds of the lot. The rest are all over England. A few may +be in Dorsetshire, but I should not like to bet on it.</p> + +<p>"So you see things are being managed on the up-to-date chicken farm on +good, sound, Ukridge principles. This is only the beginning. I look +with confidence for further exciting events. I believe, if Ukridge +kept white mice, he would manage to knock some feverish excitement out +of it. He is at present lying on the sofa, smoking one of his infernal +brand of cigars. From<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span> the basement I can hear faintly the murmur of +innumerable fowls. We are a happy family; we are, we <i>are</i>, we ARE!</p> + +<p>"P. S. Have you ever caught a fowl and carried it to roost? You take +it under the wings, and the feel of it sets one's teeth on edge. It is +a grisly experience. All the time you are carrying it, it makes faint +protesting noises and struggles feebly to escape.</p> + +<p>"P. P. S. You know the opinion of Pythagoras respecting fowls. That +'the soul of our granddam might haply inhabit a bird.' I hope that +yellow hen which Bob chased into the purple night is not the +grandmamma of any friend of mine."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="A_REUNION" id="A_REUNION"></a>A REUNION</h2> + +<p><img src="images/chap_6.jpg" alt="Chap_6" width="200" height="207" /></p> + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="55" height="50" /></div> + + +<p>he day was Thursday, the date July the twenty-second. We had been +chicken farmers for a whole week, and things were beginning to settle +down to a certain extent. The coops were finished. They were not +masterpieces, and I have seen chickens pause before them in deep +thought, as who should say: "Now what in the world have we struck +here?" But they were coops, within the meaning of the act, and we +induced the hens to become tenants. The hardest work had been the +fixing of the wire netting. This was the department of the hired man +and myself. Beale and I worked ourselves into a fever in the sun, +while the senior partner of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span> firm sat in the house, writing out +plans and ideas and scribbling down his accounts (which must have been +complicated) on gilt-edged correspondence cards. From time to time he +abused his creditors, who were numerous.</p> + +<p>Ukridge's financial methods were always puzzling to the ordinary mind. +We had hardly been at the farm a day before he began to order in a +vast supply of necessary and unnecessary articles—all on credit. Some +he got from the village, others from neighboring towns. He has a way +with him, like Father O'Flynn, and the tradesmen behaved beautifully. +The things began to pour in from all sides—suits, groceries (of the +very best), a piano, a gramophone, and pictures of all kinds. He was +not one of those men who want but little here below. He wanted a great +deal, and of a superior quality. If a tradesman suggested that a small +check on account<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span> would not be taken amiss, as one or two sordid +fellows of the village did, he became pathetic.</p> + +<p>"Confound it, sir," he would say with tears in his voice, laying a +hand on the man's shoulder in an elder brotherly way, "it's a trifle +hard when a gentleman comes to settle here, that you should dun him +for things before he has settled the preliminary expenses about his +house."</p> + +<p>This sounded well, and suggested the disbursement of huge sums for +rent. The fact that the house had been lent him rent free was kept +with some care in the background. Having weakened the man with pathos, +he would strike a sterner note. "A little more of this," he would go +on, "and I'll close my account. As it is, I think I will remove my +patronage to a firm which will treat me civilly. Why, sir, I've never +heard anything like it in all my experience." Upon which the man +would<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span> knuckle under and go away forgiven, with a large order for more +goods.</p> + +<p>Once, when Ukridge and I were alone, I ventured to expostulate. High +finance was always beyond my mental grasp. "Pay?" he exclaimed, "of +course we shall pay. You don't seem to realize the possibilities of +this business. Garny, my boy, we are on to a big thing. The money +isn't coming in yet. We must give it time. But soon we shall be +turning over hundreds every week. I am in touch with Whiteley's and +Harrod's and all the big places. Perfectly simple business matter. +Here I am, I said, with a large chicken farm with all the modern +improvements. You want eggs, I said. I supply them. I will let you +have so many hundred eggs a week, I said; what will you give for them? +Well, their terms did not come up to my scheduled prices, I admit, but +we mustn't sneer at small prices at first."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span></p> + +<p>The upshot of it was that the firms mentioned supplied us with a +quantity of goods, agreeing to receive phantom eggs in exchange. This +satisfied Ukridge. He had a faith in the laying powers of his hens +which would have flattered those birds if they could have known of it. +It might also have stimulated their efforts in that direction, which +up to date were feeble. This, however, I attributed to the fact that +the majority of our fowls—perhaps through some sinister practical +joke on the part of the manager who had the manners of a marquis—were +cocks. It vexed Ukridge. "Here we are," he said complainingly, "living +well and drinking well, in a newly furnished house, having to keep a +servant and maintain our position in life, with expenses mounting and +not a penny coming in. It's absurd. We've got hundreds of hens (most +of them cocks, it's true, but I forgot they didn't lay), and getting +not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span> even enough eggs for our own table. We must make some more +arrangements. Come on in and let us think the thing out."</p> + +<p>But this speech was the outcome of a rare moment of pessimism. In his +brighter moods he continued to express unbounded faith in the hens, +and was willing to leave the thing to time.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, we were creating quite a small sensation in the +neighborhood. The interest of the natives was aroused at first by the +fact that nearly all of them received informal visits from our fowls, +which had strayed. Small boys would arrive in platoons, each bearing +his quota of stragglers. "Be these your 'ens, zur?" was the formula. +"If they be, we've got twenty-fower mower in our yard. Could 'ee coom +over and fetch 'em?"</p> + +<p>However, after the hired retainer and I had completed our work with +the wire netting, desertions became less frequent.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span> People poured in +from villages for miles around to look at the up-to-date chicken farm. +It was a pleasing and instructive spectacle to see Ukridge, in a pink +shirt without a collar, and very dirty flannel trousers, lecturing to +the intelligent natives on the breeding of fowls. They used to go away +with the dazed air of men who have heard strange matters, and Ukridge, +unexhausted, would turn to interview the next batch. I fancy we gave +Lyme Regis something to think about. Ukridge must have been in the +nature of a staggerer to the rustic mind.</p> + +<p>It was now, as I have said, Thursday, the twenty-second of July, a +memorable date to me. A glorious, sunny morning, of the kind which +Nature provides occasionally, in an ebullition of benevolence. It is +at times such as this that we dream our dreams and compose our +masterpieces.</p> + +<p>And a masterpiece I was, indeed, mak<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span>ing. The new novel was growing +nobly. Striking scenes and freshets of scintillating dialogue rushed +through my mind. I had neglected my writing for the past week in favor +of the tending of fowls, but I was making up for lost time now. +Another uninterrupted quarter of an hour, and I firmly believe I +should have completed the framework of a novel that would have placed +me with the great, in that select band whose members have no Christian +names. Another quarter of an hour and posterity would have known me as +"Garnet."</p> + +<p>But it was not to be. I had just framed the most poignant, searching +conversation between my heroine and my hero, and was about to proceed, +flushed with great thoughts, to further triumphs, when a distant shout +brought me to earth.</p> + +<p>"Stop her! Catch her! Garnet!"</p> + +<p>I was in the paddock at the time. Com<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span>ing toward me at her best pace +was a small hen. Behind the hen was Bob, doing, as usual, the thing +that he ought not to have done. Behind Bob—some way behind—was +Ukridge. It was his shout that I had heard.</p> + +<p>"After her, Garny, old horse!" he repeated. "A valuable bird. Must not +be lost."</p> + +<p>When not in a catalepsy of literary composition, I am essentially the +man of action. I laid aside my novel for future reference, and, after +a fruitless lunge at the hen as it passed, joined Bob in the chase.</p> + +<p>We passed out of the paddock in the following order: First, the hen, +as fresh as paint, and good for a five-mile spin; next, Bob, panting +but fit for anything; lastly, myself, determined, but mistrustful of +my powers of pedestrianism. In the distance Ukridge gesticulated and +shouted advice.</p> + +<p>After the first field Bob gave up the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span> chase, and sauntered off to +scratch at a rabbit hole. He seemed to think that he had done all that +could be expected of him in setting the thing going. His air suggested +that he knew the affair was in competent hands, and relied on me to do +the right thing.</p> + +<p>The exertions of the past few days had left me in very fair condition, +but I could not help feeling that in competition with the hen I was +overmatched. Neither in speed nor in staying power was I its equal. +But I pounded along doggedly. Whenever I find myself fairly started on +any business I am reluctant to give it up. I began to set an +extravagant value on the capture of the small hen. All the abstract +desire for fame which had filled my mind five minutes before was +concentrated now on that one feat. In a calmer moment I might have +realized that one bird more or less would not make a great deal of +difference<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span> to the fortunes of the chicken farm, but now my power of +logical reasoning had left me. All our fortunes seemed to me to center +in the hen, now half a field in front of me.</p> + +<p>We had been traveling downhill all this time, but at this point we +crossed the road and the ground began to rise. I was in that painful +condition which occurs when one has lost one's first wind and has not +yet got one's second. I was hotter than I had ever been in my life.</p> + +<p>Whether the hen, too, was beginning to feel the effects of its run I +do not know, but it slowed down to a walk, and even began to peck in a +tentative manner at the grass. This assumption on its part that the +chase was at an end irritated me. I felt that I should not be worthy +of the name of Englishman if I allowed myself to be treated as a +cipher by a mere bird. It should realize yet that it was no light +matter to be pursued<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span> by J. Garnet, author of "The Maneuvers of +Arthur," etc.</p> + +<p>A judicious increase of pace brought me within a yard or two of my +quarry. But it darted from me with a startled exclamation and moved +off rapidly up the hill. I followed, distressed. The pace was proving +too much for me. The sun blazed down. It seemed to concentrate its +rays on my back, to the exclusion of the surrounding scenery, in much +the same way as the moon behaves to the heroine of a melodrama. A +student of the drama has put it on record that he has seen the moon +follow the heroine round the stage, and go off with her (left). The +sun was just as attentive to me.</p> + +<p>We were on level ground now. The hen had again slowed to a walk, and I +was capable of no better pace. Very gradually I closed in on it. There +was a high boxwood hedge in front of us. Just as I came close<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span> enough +to stake my all on a single grab, the hen dived into this and +struggled through in the mysterious way in which birds do get through +hedges.</p> + +<p>I was in the middle of the obstacle, very hot, tired, and dirty, when +from the other side I heard a sudden shout of "Mark over! Bird to the +right!" and the next moment I found myself emerging, with a black face +and tottering knees, on to the gravel path of a private garden.</p> + +<p>Beyond the path was a croquet lawn, on which I perceived, as through a +glass darkly, three figures. The mist cleared from my eyes and I +recognized two of the trio.</p> + +<p>One was my Irish fellow-traveler, the other was his daughter.</p> + +<p>The third member of the party was a man, a stranger to me. By some +miracle of adroitness he had captured the hen, and was holding it, +protesting, in a workman-like manner behind the wings.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_ENTENTE_CORDIALE" id="THE_ENTENTE_CORDIALE"></a>THE ENTENTE CORDIALE</h2> + +<p><img src="images/chap_7.jpg" alt="Chap_7" width="200" height="207" /></p> + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_i.jpg" alt="I" width="25" height="50" /></div> + + +<p>t has been well observed that there are moments and moments. The +present, as far as I was concerned, belonged to the more painful +variety.</p> + +<p>Even to my exhausted mind it was plain that there was need here for +explanations. An Irishman's croquet lawn is his castle, and strangers +cannot plunge on to it unannounced through hedges without being +prepared to give reasons.</p> + +<p>Unfortunately, speech was beyond me. I could have done many things at +that moment. I could have emptied a water butt, lain down and gone to +sleep, or melted ice with a touch of the finger. But I could not +speak. The conversation was opened<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span> by the other man, in whose +soothing hand the hen now lay, apparently resigned to its fate.</p> + +<p>"Come right in," he said pleasantly. "Don't knock. Your bird, I +think?"</p> + +<p>I stood there panting. I must have presented a quaint appearance. My +hair was full of twigs and other foreign substances. My face was moist +and grimy. My mouth hung open. I wanted to sit down. My legs felt as +if they had ceased to belong to me.</p> + +<p>"I must apologize—" I began, and ended the sentence with gasps.</p> + +<p>Conversation languished. The elderly gentleman looked at me with what +seemed to me indignant surprise. His daughter looked through me. The +man regarded me with a friendly smile, as if I were some old crony +dropped in unexpectedly.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid—" I said, and stopped again.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Hard work, big-game hunting in this weather," said the man. "Take a +long breath."</p> + +<p>I took several and felt better.</p> + +<p>"I must apologize for this intrusion," I said successfully. +"Unwarrantable" would have rounded off the sentence nicely, but +instinct told me not to risk it. It would have been mere bravado to +have attempted unnecessary words of five syllables at that juncture.</p> + +<p>I paused.</p> + +<p>"Say on," said the man with the hen encouragingly, "I'm a human being +just like yourself."</p> + +<p>"The fact is," I said, "I didn't—didn't know there was a private +garden beyond the hedge. If you will give me my hen—"</p> + +<p>"It's hard to say good-by," said the man, stroking the bird's head +with the first finger of his disengaged hand. "She and I are<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span> just +beginning to know and appreciate each other. However, if it must be—"</p> + +<p>He extended the hand which held the bird, and at this point a hitch +occurred. He did his part of the business—the letting go. It was in +my department—the taking hold—that the thing was bungled. The hen +slipped from my grasp like an eel, stood for a moment overcome by the +surprise of being at liberty once more, then fled and intrenched +itself in some bushes at the farther end of the lawn.</p> + +<p>There are times when the most resolute man feels that he can battle no +longer with fate; when everything seems against him and the only +course left is a dignified retreat. But there is one thing essential +to a dignified retreat. One must know the way out. It was that fact +which kept me standing there, looking more foolish than anyone has +ever looked since the world began. I could hardly ask to be conducted +off the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span> premises like the honored guest. Nor would it do to retire by +the way I had come. If I could have leaped the hedge with a single +bound, that would have made a sufficiently dashing and debonair exit. +But the hedge was high, and I was incapable at the moment of achieving +a debonair leap over a footstool.</p> + +<p>The man saved the situation. He seemed to possess that magnetic power +over his fellows which marks the born leader. Under his command we +became an organized army. The common object, the pursuit of the hen, +made us friends. In the first minute of the proceedings the Irishman +was addressing me as "me dear boy," and the other man, who had +introduced himself rapidly as Tom Chase, lieutenant in his Majesty's +navy, was shouting directions to me by name. I have never assisted at +any ceremony at which formality was so completely dispensed with. The +ice was not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span> merely broken, it was shivered into a million fragments.</p> + +<p>"Go in and drive her out, Garnet," shouted Mr. Chase. "In my +direction, if you can. Look out on the left, Phyllis."</p> + +<p>Even in that disturbing moment I could not help noticing his use of +the Christian name. It seemed to me sinister. I did not like the idea +of dashing young lieutenants in the royal navy calling a girl Phyllis +whose eyes had haunted me for just over a week—since, in fact, I had +first seen them. Nevertheless, I crawled into the bushes and dislodged +the hen. She emerged at the spot where Mr. Chase was waiting with his +coat off, and was promptly enveloped in that garment and captured.</p> + +<p>"The essence of strategy," observed Mr. Chase approvingly, "is +surprise. A devilish neat piece of work."</p> + +<p>I thanked him. He deprecated the thanks. He had, he said, only done +his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> duty, as a man is bound to do. He then introduced me to the +elderly Irishman, who was, it seemed, a professor—of what I do not +know—at Dublin University. By name, Derrick. He informed me that he +always spent the summer at Lyme Regis.</p> + +<p>"I was surprised to see you at Lyme Regis," I said. "When you got out +at Yeovil, I thought I had seen the last of you."</p> + +<p>I think I am gifted beyond other men as regards the unfortunate +turning of sentences.</p> + +<p>"I meant," I added speedily, "I was afraid I had."</p> + +<p>"Ah, of course," he said, "you were in our carriage coming down. I was +confident I had seen you before. I never forget a face."</p> + +<p>"It would be a kindness," said Mr. Chase, "if you would forget +Garnet's as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span> now exhibited. You'll excuse the personality, but you +seem to have collected a good deal of the professor's property coming +through that hedge."</p> + +<p>"I was wondering," I said with gratitude. "A wash—if I might?"</p> + +<p>"Of course, me boy, of course," said the professor. "Tom, take Mr. +Garnet off to your room, and then we'll have some lunch. You'll stay +to lunch, Mr. Garnet?"</p> + +<p>I thanked him for his kindness and went off with my friend, the +lieutenant, to the house. We imprisoned the hen in the stables, to its +profound indignation, gave directions for lunch to be served to it, +and made our way to Mr. Chase's room.</p> + +<p>"So you've met the professor before?" he said, hospitably laying out a +change of raiment for me—we were fortunately much of a height and +build.</p> + +<p>"I have never spoken to him," I said. "We traveled down together in a +very full<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> carriage, and I saw him next day on the beach."</p> + +<p>"He's a dear old boy, if you rub him the right way."</p> + +<p>"Yes?" I said.</p> + +<p>"But—I'm telling you this for your good and guidance—he can cut up +rough. And when he does, he goes off like a four point seven. I think, +if I were you—you don't mind my saying this?—I think, if I were you, +I should <i>not</i> mention Mr. Tim Healy at lunch."</p> + +<p>I promised that I would try to resist the temptation.</p> + +<p>"And if you <i>could</i> manage not to discuss home rule—"</p> + +<p>"I will make an effort."</p> + +<p>"On any other topic he will be delighted to hear your views. Chatty +remarks on bimetallism would meet with his earnest attention. A +lecture on what to do with the cold mutton would be welcomed. But not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> +Ireland, if you don't mind. Shall we go down?"</p> + +<p>We got to know one another very well at lunch.</p> + +<p>"Do you hunt hens," asked Mr. Chase, who was mixing the salad—he was +one of those men who seem to do everything a shade better than anyone +else, "for amusement or by your doctor's orders?"</p> + +<p>"Neither," I said, "and particularly not for amusement. The fact is I +have been lured down here by a friend of mine who has started a +chicken farm—"</p> + +<p>I was interrupted. All three of them burst into laughter. Mr. Chase in +his emotion allowed the vinegar to trickle on to the cloth, missing +the salad bowl by a clear two inches.</p> + +<p>"You don't mean to tell us," he said, "that you really come from the +one and only chicken farm?"</p> + +<p>I could not deny it.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Why, you're the man we've all been praying to meet for days past. +Haven't we, professor?"</p> + +<p>"You're right, Tom," chuckled Mr. Derrick.</p> + +<p>"We want to know all about it, Mr. Garnet," said Phyllis Derrick.</p> + +<p>"Do you know," continued Mr. Chase, "that you are the talk of the +town? Everybody is discussing you. Your methods are quite new and +original, aren't they?"</p> + +<p>"Probably," I replied. "Ukridge knows nothing about fowls. I know +less. He considers it an advantage. He said our minds ought to be +unbiased by any previous experience."</p> + +<p>"Ukridge!" said the professor. "That was the name old Dawlish, the +grocer, said. I never forget a name. He is the gentleman who lectures +on the breeding of poultry, is he not? You do not?"</p> + +<p>I hastened to disclaim any such feat.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span></p> + +<p>"His lectures are very popular," said Phyllis with a little splutter +of mirth.</p> + +<p>"He enjoys them," I said.</p> + +<p>"Look here, Garnet," said Mr. Chase, "I hope you won't consider all +these questions impertinent, but you've no notion of the thrilling +interest we all take—at a distance—in your farm. We have been +talking of nothing else for a week. I have dreamed of it three nights +running. Is Mr. Ukridge doing this as a commercial speculation, or is +he an eccentric millionaire?"</p> + +<p>"He's not a millionaire. I believe he intends to be, though, before +long, with the assistance of the fowls. But I hope you won't look on +me as in any way responsible for the arrangements at the farm. I am +merely a laborer. The brain work of the business lies in Ukridge's +department."</p> + +<p>"Tell me, Mr. Garnet," said Phyllis, "do you use an incubator?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, we have an incubator."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I suppose you find it very useful?"</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid we use it chiefly for drying our boots when they get wet," +I said.</p> + +<p>Only that morning Ukridge's spare pair of tennis shoes had permanently +spoiled the future of half-a-dozen eggs which were being hatched on +the spot where the shoes happened to be placed. Ukridge had been quite +annoyed.</p> + +<p>"I came down here principally," I said, "in search of golf. I was told +there were links, but up to the present my professional duties have +monopolized me."</p> + +<p>"Golf," said Professor Derrick. "Why, yes. We must have a round or two +together. I am very fond of golf. I generally spend the summer down +here improving my game."</p> + +<p>I said I should be delighted.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>There was croquet after lunch—a game at which I am a poor performer. +Miss<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span> Derrick and I played the professor and Chase. Chase was a little +better than myself; the professor, by dint of extreme earnestness and +care, managed to play a fair game; and Phyllis was an expert.</p> + +<p>"I was reading a book," said she, as we stood together watching the +professor shaping at his ball at the other end of the lawn, "by an +author of the same surname as you, Mr. Garnet. Is he a relation of +yours?"</p> + +<p>"I am afraid I am the person, Miss Derrick," I said.</p> + +<p>"You wrote the book?"</p> + +<p>"A man must live," I said apologetically.</p> + +<p>"Then you must have—oh, nothing."</p> + +<p>"I could not help it, I'm afraid. But your criticism was very kind."</p> + +<p>"Did you know what I was going to say?"</p> + +<p>"I guessed."</p> + +<p>"It was lucky I liked it," she said with a smile.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Lucky for me," I said.</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"It will encourage me to write another book. So you see what you have +to answer for. I hope it will not trouble your conscience."</p> + +<p>At the other end of the lawn the professor was still patting the balls +about, Chase the while advising him to allow for windage and elevation +and other mysterious things.</p> + +<p>"I should not have thought," she said, "that an author cared a bit for +the opinion of an amateur."</p> + +<p>"It all depends."</p> + +<p>"On the author?"</p> + +<p>"On the amateur."</p> + +<p>It was my turn to play at this point. I missed—as usual.</p> + +<p>"I didn't like your heroine, Mr. Garnet."</p> + +<p>"That was the one crumpled rose leaf. I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span> have been wondering why ever +since. I tried to make her nice. Three of the critics liked her."</p> + +<p>"Really?"</p> + +<p>"And the modern reviewer is an intelligent young man. What is a +'creature,' Miss Derrick?"</p> + +<p>"Pamela in your book is a creature," she replied unsatisfactorily, +with the slightest tilt of the chin.</p> + +<p>"My next heroine shall be a triumph," I said.</p> + +<p>She should be a portrait, I resolved, from life.</p> + +<p>Shortly after, the game came somehow to an end. I do not understand +the intricacies of croquet. But Phyllis did something brilliant and +remarkable with the balls, and we adjourned for tea, which had been +made ready at the edge of the lawn while we played.</p> + +<p>The sun was setting as I left to return to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span> the farm, with the hen +stored neatly in a basket in my hand. The air was deliciously cool and +full of that strange quiet which follows soothingly on the skirts of a +broiling midsummer afternoon. Far away—the sound seemed almost to +come from another world—the tinkle of a sheep bell made itself heard, +deepening the silence. Alone in a sky of the palest blue there +twinkled a small bright star.</p> + +<p>I addressed this star.</p> + +<p>"She was certainly very nice to me," I said. "Very nice, indeed."</p> + +<p>The star said nothing.</p> + +<p>"On the other hand," I went on, "I don't like that naval man. He is a +good chap, but he overdoes it."</p> + +<p>The star winked sympathetically.</p> + +<p>"He calls her Phyllis," I said.</p> + +<p>"Charawk," said the hen satirically from her basket.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="A_LITTLE_DINNER" id="A_LITTLE_DINNER"></a>A LITTLE DINNER</h2> + + + +<p><img src="images/chap_8.jpg" alt="Chap_8" width="200" height="207" /></p> + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_e.jpg" alt="E" width="44" height="50" /></div> + + +<p>dwin comes to-day," said Mrs. Ukridge.</p> + +<p>"And the Derricks," said Ukridge, sawing at the bread in his energetic +way. "Don't forget the Derricks, Millie."</p> + +<p>"No, dear. Mrs. Beale is going to give us a very nice dinner. We +talked it over yesterday."</p> + +<p>"Who is Edwin?" I asked.</p> + +<p>We were finishing breakfast on the second morning after my visit to +the Derricks. I had related my adventures to the staff of the farm on +my return, laying stress on the merits of our neighbors and their +interest in our doings, and the hired retainer had been sent off next +morning with a note from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span> Mrs. Ukridge, inviting them to look over the +farm and stay to dinner.</p> + +<p>"Edwin?" said Ukridge. "Beast of a cat."</p> + +<p>"O Stanley!" said Mrs. Ukridge plaintively. "He's not. He's such a +dear, Mr. Garnet. A beautiful, pure-bred Persian. He has taken +prizes."</p> + +<p>"He's always taking something—generally food. That's why he didn't +come down with us."</p> + +<p>"A great, horrid <i>beast</i> of a dog bit him, Mr. Garnet." Mrs. Ukridge's +eyes became round and shining. "And poor Edwin had to go to a cats' +hospital."</p> + +<p>"And I hope," said Ukridge, "the experience will do him good. Sneaked +a dog's bone, Garnet, under his very nose, if you please. Naturally, +the dog lodged a protest."</p> + +<p>"I'm so afraid that he will be frightened of Bob. He will be very +timid, and Bob's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span> so exceedingly boisterous. Isn't he, Mr. Garnet?"</p> + +<p>I owned that Bob's manner was not that of a Vere de Vere.</p> + +<p>"That's all right," said Ukridge; "Bob won't hurt him, unless he tries +to steal his bone. In that case we will have Edwin made into a rug."</p> + +<p>"Stanley doesn't like Edwin," said Mrs. Ukridge plaintively.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Edwin arrived early in the afternoon, and was shut into the kitchen. +He struck me as a handsome cat, but nervous. He had an excited eye.</p> + +<p>The Derricks followed two hours later. Mr. Chase was not of the party.</p> + +<p>"Tom had to go to London," explained the professor, "or he would have +been delighted to come. It was a disappointment to the boy, for he +wanted to see the farm."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span></p> + +<p>"He must come some other time," said Ukridge. "We invite inspection. +Look here," he broke off suddenly—we were nearing the fowl run now, +Mrs. Ukridge walking in front with Phyllis Derrick—"were you ever at +Bristol?"</p> + +<p>"Never, sir," said the professor.</p> + +<p>"Because I knew just such another fat little buffer there a few years +ago. Gay old bird, he was. He—"</p> + +<p>"This is the fowl run, professor," I broke in, with a moist, tingling +feeling across my forehead and up my spine. I saw the professor +stiffen as he walked, while his face deepened in color. Ukridge's +breezy way of expressing himself is apt to electrify the stranger.</p> + +<p>"You will notice the able way—ha, ha!—in which the wire netting is +arranged," I continued feverishly. "Took some doing, that. By Jove! +yes. It was hot work. Nice lot of fowls, aren't they? Rather a mixed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span> +lot, of course. Ha, ha! That's the dealer's fault, though. We are +getting quite a number of eggs now. Hens wouldn't lay at first. +Couldn't make them."</p> + +<p>I babbled on till from the corner of my eye I saw the flush fade from +the professor's face and his back gradually relax its pokerlike +attitude. The situation was saved for the moment, but there was no +knowing what further excesses Ukridge might indulge in. I managed to +draw him aside as we went through the fowl run, and expostulated.</p> + +<p>"For goodness' sake, be careful," I whispered. "You've no notion how +touchy the professor is."</p> + +<p>"But <i>I</i> said nothing," he replied, amazed.</p> + +<p>"Hang it, you know, nobody likes to be called a fat little buffer to +his face."</p> + +<p>"What else could I call him? Nobody minds a little thing like that. We +can't be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span> stilted and formal. It's ever so much more friendly to relax +and be chummy."</p> + +<p>Here we rejoined the others, and I was left with a leaden foreboding +of grewsome things in store. I knew what manner of man Ukridge was +when he relaxed and became chummy. Friendships of years' standing had +failed to survive the test.</p> + +<p>For the time being, however, all went well. In his rôle of lecturer he +offended no one, and Phyllis and her father behaved admirably. They +received the strangest theories without a twitch of the mouth.</p> + +<p>"Ah," the professor would say, "now, is that really so? Very +interesting, indeed."</p> + +<p>Only once, when Ukridge was describing some more than usually original +device for the furthering of the interests of his fowls, did a slight +spasm disturb Phyllis's look of attentive reverence.</p> + +<p>"And you have really had no previous experience in chicken farming?" +she said.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span></p> + +<p>"None," said Ukridge, beaming through his glasses, "not an atom. But I +can turn my hand to anything, you know. Things seem to come naturally +to me, somehow."</p> + +<p>"I see," said Phyllis.</p> + +<p>It was while matters were progressing with such beautiful smoothness +that I observed the square form of the hired retainer approaching us. +Somehow—I cannot say why—I had a feeling that he came with bad news. +Perhaps it was his air of quiet satisfaction which struck me as +ominous.</p> + +<p>"Beg pardon, Mr. Ukridge, sir."</p> + +<p>Ukridge was in the middle of a very eloquent excursus on the feeding +of fowls. The interruption annoyed him.</p> + +<p>"Well, Beale," he said, "what is it?"</p> + +<p>"That there cat, sir, what came to-day."</p> + +<p>"O Beale," cried Mrs. Ukridge in agitation, "<i>what</i> has happened?"</p> + +<p>"Having something to say to the missus—"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What has happened? O Beale, don't say that Edwin has been hurt? Where +is he? Oh, <i>poor</i> Edwin!"</p> + +<p>"Having something to say to the missus—"</p> + +<p>"If Bob has bitten him, I hope he had his nose <i>well</i> scratched," said +Mrs. Ukridge vindictively.</p> + +<p>"Having something to say to the missus," resumed the hired retainer +tranquilly, "I went into the kitchen ten minutes back. The cat was +sitting on the mat."</p> + +<p>Beale's narrative style closely resembled that of a certain book I had +read in my infancy. I wish I could remember its title. It was a +well-written book.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Beale, yes?" said Mrs. Ukridge. "Oh, do go on!"</p> + +<p>"'Halloo, puss,' I says to him, 'and 'ow are you, sir?' 'Be careful,' +says the missus. ''E's that timid,' she says, 'you wouldn't believe,' +she says. ''E's only just settled<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span> down, as you may say,' she says. +'Ho, don't you fret,' I says to her, ''im and me we understands each +other. 'Im and me,' I says, 'is old friends. 'E's me dear old pal, +Corporal Banks, of the Skrimshankers.' She grinned at that, ma'am, +Corporal Banks being a man we'd 'ad many a 'earty laugh at in the old +days. 'E was, in a manner of speaking, a joke between us."</p> + +<p>"Oh, do—go—on, Beale! What has happened to Edwin?"</p> + +<p>The hired retainer proceeded in calm, even tones.</p> + +<p>"We was talking there, ma'am, when Bob, which had followed me unknown, +trotted in. When the cat ketched sight of 'im sniffing about, there +was such a spitting and swearing as you never 'eard, and blowed," said +Mr. Beale amusedly, as if the recollection tickled him, "blowed if the +old cat didn't give one jump and move in quick time up the chimley, +where 'e now remains,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span> paying no 'eed to the missus's attempts to get +him down again."</p> + +<p>Sensation, as they say in the reports.</p> + +<p>"But he'll be cooked," cried Phyllis, open-eyed.</p> + +<p>Ukridge uttered a roar of dismay.</p> + +<p>"No, he won't. Nor will our dinner. Mrs. Beale always lets the kitchen +fire out during the afternoon. It's a cold dinner we'll get to-night, +if that cat doesn't come down."</p> + +<p>The professor's face fell. I had remarked on the occasion when I had +lunched with him his evident fondness for the pleasures of the table. +Cold, impromptu dinners were plainly not to his taste.</p> + +<p>We went to the kitchen in a body. Mrs. Beale was standing in front of +the empty grate making seductive cat noises up the chimney.</p> + +<p>"What's all this, Mrs. Beale?" said Ukridge.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"><a name="pic_3" id="pic_3"></a> +<img src="images/image_04.jpg" width="500" height="769" alt=""I've only bin and drove 'im further up," said Mrs. +Beale." title="" /> +<span class="caption">"I've only bin and drove 'im further up," said Mrs. +Beale.</span></div> + +<p>"He won't come down, sir, not while he thinks Bob's about. And how I'm +to cook dinner for five with him up the chimney I don't see, sir."</p> + +<p>"Prod at him with a broom handle, Mrs. Beale," urged Ukridge.</p> + +<p>"I 'ave tried that, sir, but I can't reach him, and I've only bin and +drove 'im further up. What must be," added Mrs. Beale philosophically, +"must be. He may come down of his own accord in the night. Bein' +'ungry."</p> + +<p>"Then what we must do," said Ukridge in a jovial manner which to me at +least seemed out of place, "is to have a regular, jolly, picnic +dinner, what? Whack up whatever we have in the larder, and eat that."</p> + +<p>"A regular, jolly, picnic dinner," repeated the professor gloomily. I +could read what was passing in his mind.</p> + +<p>"That will be delightful," said Phyllis.</p> + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Er—I think, my dear sir," said her father, "it would be hardly fair +of us to give any further trouble to Mrs. Ukridge and yourself. If you +will allow me, therefore, I will—"</p> + +<p>Ukridge became gushingly hospitable. He refused to think of allowing +his guests to go empty away. He would be able to whack up something, +he said. There was quite a good deal of the ham left, he was sure. He +appealed to me to indorse his view that there was a tin of sardines +and part of a cold fowl and plenty of bread and cheese.</p> + +<p>"And after all," he said, speaking for the whole company in the +generous, comprehensive way enthusiasts have, "what more do we want in +weather like this? A nice, light, cold dinner is ever so much better +for us than a lot of hot things."</p> + +<p>The professor said nothing. He looked wan and unhappy.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span></p> + +<p>We strolled out again into the garden, but somehow things seemed to +drag. Conversation was fitful, except on the part of Ukridge, who +continued to talk easily on all subjects, unconscious of the fact that +the party was depressed, and at least one of his guests rapidly +becoming irritable. I watched the professor furtively as Ukridge +talked on, and that ominous phrase of Mr. Chase's concerning +four-point-seven guns kept coming into my mind. If Ukridge were to +tread on any of his pet corns, as he might at any minute, there would +be an explosion. The snatching of the dinner from his very mouth, as +it were, and the substitution of a bread-and-cheese and sardines menu +had brought him to the frame of mind when men turn and rend their +nearest and dearest.</p> + +<p>The sight of the table, when at length we filed into the dining room, +sent a chill through me. It was a meal for the very<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span> young or the very +hungry. The uncompromising coldness and solidity of the viands was +enough to appall a man conscious that his digestion needed humoring. A +huge cheese faced us in almost a swash-buckling way, and I noticed +that the professor shivered slightly as he saw it. Sardines, looking +more oily and uninviting than anything I had ever seen, appeared in +their native tin beyond the loaf of bread. There was a ham, in its +third quarter, and a chicken which had suffered heavily during a +previous visit to the table.</p> + +<p>We got through the meal somehow, and did our best to delude ourselves +into the idea that it was all great fun, but it was a shallow +pretense. The professor was very silent by the time we had finished. +Ukridge had been terrible. When the professor began a story—his +stories would have been the better for a little more briskness and +condensation—Ukridge interrupted<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span> him before he had got halfway +through, without a word of apology, and began some anecdote of his +own. He disagreed with nearly every opinion he expressed. It is true +that he did it all in such a perfectly friendly way, and was obviously +so innocent of any intention of giving offense, that another man might +have overlooked the matter. But the professor, robbed of his good +dinner, was at the stage when he had to attack somebody. Every moment +I had been expecting the storm to burst.</p> + +<p>It burst after dinner.</p> + +<p>We were strolling in the garden when some demon urged Ukridge, apropos +of the professor's mention of Dublin, to start upon the Irish +question. My heart stood still.</p> + +<p>Ukridge had boomed forth some very positive opinions of his own on the +subject of Ireland before I could get near enough to him to stop him. +When I did, I suppose I must have whispered louder than I had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span> +intended, for the professor heard my words, and they acted as the +match to the powder.</p> + +<p>"He's touchy on the Irish question, is he?" he thundered. "Drop it, is +it? And why? Why, sir? I'm one of the best-tempered men that ever came +from Ireland, let me tell you, and I will not stay here to be insulted +by the insinuation that I cannot discuss Irish affairs as calmly as +anyone."</p> + +<p>"But, professor—"</p> + +<p>"Take your hand off my arm, Mr. Garnet. I will not be treated like a +child. I am as competent to discuss the affairs of Ireland without +heat as any man, let me tell you."</p> + +<p>"Father—"</p> + +<p>"And let me tell you, Mr. Ukridge, that I consider your opinions +poisonous. Poisonous, sir. And you know nothing whatever about the +subject, sir. I don't wish to see you or to speak to you again. +Understand that, sir. Our acquaintance began to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span>-day, and it will +cease to-day. Good night to you. Come, Phyllis, me dear. Mrs. Ukridge, +good night."</p> + +<p>Mr. Chase, when he spoke of four-point-seven guns, had known what he +was talking about.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="DIES_IRAE" id="DIES_IRAE"></a>DIES IRÆ</h2> + + + +<p><img src="images/chap_9.jpg" alt="Chap_9" width="200" height="207" /></p> + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_w.jpg" alt="W" width="65" height="50" /></div> + + +<p>hy is it, I wonder, that stories of Retribution calling at the wrong +address strike us as funny instead of pathetic? I myself had been +amused by them many a time. In a book which I had just read, a shop +woman, being vexed with an omnibus conductor, had thrown a +superannuated orange at him. It had found its billet not on him, but +on a perfectly inoffensive spectator. The missile, we are told, "'it a +young copper full in the hyeball." I had enjoyed this when I read it, +but now that fate had arranged a precisely similar situation, with +myself in the rôle of the young copper, the fun of the thing appealed +to me not at all.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was Ukridge who was to blame for the professor's regrettable +explosion and departure, and he ought by all laws of justice to have +suffered for it. As it was, I was the only person materially affected. +It did not matter to Ukridge. He did not care twopence one way or the +other. If the professor were friendly, he was willing to talk to him +by the hour on any subject, pleasant or unpleasant. If, on the other +hand, he wished to have nothing more to do with us, it did not worry +him. He was content to let him go. Ukridge was a self-sufficing +person.</p> + +<p>But to me it was a serious matter. More than serious. If I have done +my work as historian with any adequate degree of skill, the reader +should have gathered by this time the state of my feelings.</p> + +<p>My love had grown with the days. Mr. J. Holt Schooling, or somebody +else with a taste for juggling with figures, might<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span> write a very +readable page or so of statistics in connection with the growth of +love in the heart of a man. In some cases it is, I believe, slow. In +my own I can only say that Jack's beanstalk was a backward plant in +comparison. It is true that we had not seen a great deal of one +another, and that, when we had met, our interviews had been brief and +our conversation conventional; but it is the intervals between the +meetings that do the real damage. Absence, as the poet neatly remarks, +makes the heart grow fonder. And now, thanks to Ukridge's amazing +idiocy, a barrier had been thrust between us. As if the business of +fishing for a girl's heart were not sufficiently difficult and +delicate without the addition of needless obstacles! It was terrible +to have to reëstablish myself in the good graces of the professor +before I could so much as begin to dream of Phyllis.</p> + +<p>Ukridge gave me no balm.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, after all," he said, when I pointed out to him quietly but +plainly my opinion of his tactlessness, "what does it matter? There +are other people in the world besides the old buffer. And we haven't +time to waste making friends, as a matter of fact. The farm ought to +keep us busy. I've noticed, Garny, old boy, that you haven't seemed +such a whale for work lately as you might be. You must buckle to, old +horse. We are at a critical stage. On our work now depends the success +of the speculation. Look at those cocks. They're always fighting. +Fling a stone at them. What's the matter with you? Can't get the novel +off your chest, what? You take my tip, and give your mind a rest. +Nothing like manual labor for clearing the brain. All the doctors say +so. Those coops ought to be painted to-day or to-morrow. Mind you, I +think old Derrick would be all right if one persevered—"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And didn't call him a fat old buffer, and contradict everything he +said and spoil all his stories by breaking in with chestnuts of your +own in the middle," I interrupted with bitterness.</p> + +<p>"Oh, rot, old boy! He didn't mind being called a fat old buffer. You +keep harping on that. A man likes one to be chatty with him. What was +the matter with old Derrick was a touch of liver. You should have +stopped him taking that cheese. I say, old man, just fling another +stone at those cocks, will you? They'll eat one another."</p> + +<p>I had hoped, fearing the while that there was not much chance of such +a thing happening, that the professor might get over his feeling of +injury during the night, and be as friendly as ever next day. But he +was evidently a man who had no objection whatever to letting the sun +go down upon his wrath, for, when I met him on the beach<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span> the +following morning, he cut me in the most uncompromising fashion.</p> + +<p>Phyllis was with him at the time, and also another girl who was, I +supposed from the strong likeness between them, her sister. She had +the same soft mass of brown hair. But to me she appeared almost +commonplace in comparison.</p> + +<p>It is never pleasant to be cut dead. It produces the same sort of +feeling as is experienced when one treads on nothing where one +imagined a stair to be. In the present instance the pang was mitigated +to a certain extent—not largely—by the fact that Phyllis looked at +me. She did not move her head, and I could not have declared +positively that she moved her eyes; but nevertheless she certainly +looked at me. It was something. She seemed to say that duty compelled +her to follow her father's lead, and that the act must not be taken as +evidence of any personal animus.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span></p> + +<p>That, at least, was how I read off the message.</p> + +<p>Two days later I met Mr. Chase in the village.</p> + +<p>"Halloo! so you're back," I said.</p> + +<p>"You've discovered my secret," said he. "Will you have a cigar or a +cocoanut?"</p> + +<p>There was a pause.</p> + +<p>"Trouble, I hear, while I was away," he said.</p> + +<p>I nodded.</p> + +<p>"The man I live with, Ukridge, did it. Touched on the Irish question."</p> + +<p>"Home rule?"</p> + +<p>"He mentioned it among other things."</p> + +<p>"And the professor went off?"</p> + +<p>"Like a bomb."</p> + +<p>"He would. It's a pity."</p> + +<p>I agreed.</p> + +<p>I am glad to say that I suppressed the desire to ask him to use his +influence, if any, with Professor Derrick to effect a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span> reconciliation. +I felt that I must play the game.</p> + +<p>"I ought not to be speaking to you, you know," said Mr. Chase. "You're +under arrest."</p> + +<p>"He's still—" I stopped for a word.</p> + +<p>"Very much so. I'll do what I can."</p> + +<p>"It's very good of you."</p> + +<p>"But the time is not yet ripe. He may be said at present to be +simmering down."</p> + +<p>"I see. Thanks. Good-by."</p> + +<p>"So long."</p> + +<p>And Mr. Chase walked on with long strides to the Cob.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The days passed slowly. I saw nothing more of Phyllis or her sister. +The professor I met once or twice on the links. I had taken earnestly +to golf in this time of stress. Golf, it has been said, is the game of +disappointed lovers. On the other hand, it has further been pointed +out that it does<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span> not follow that, because a man is a failure as a +lover, he will be any good at all on the links. My game was distinctly +poor at first. But a round or two put me back into my proper form, +which is fair. The professor's demeanor at these accidental meetings +on the links was a faithful reproduction of his attitude on the beach. +Only by a studied imitation of the absolute stranger did he show that +he had observed my presence.</p> + +<p>Once or twice after dinner, when Ukridge was smoking one of his +special cigars while Mrs. Ukridge petted Edwin (now moving in society +once more, and in his right mind), I walked out across the fields +through the cool summer night till I came to the hedge that shut off +the Derricks' grounds. Not the hedge through which I had made my first +entrance, but another, lower, and nearer the house. Standing there +under the shade of a tree I could see the lighted windows of the +drawing-room.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span></p> + +<p>Generally there was music inside, and, the windows being opened on +account of the warmth of the night, I was able to make myself a little +more miserable by hearing Phyllis sing. It deepened the feeling of +banishment.</p> + +<p>I shall never forget those furtive visits. The intense stillness of +the night, broken by an occasional rustling in the grass or the hedge; +the smell of the flowers in the garden beyond; the distant drone of +the sea.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"God makes sech nights, all white and still,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fur'z you can look and listen."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Another day had generally begun before I moved from my hiding place, +and started for home, surprised to find my limbs stiff and my clothes +bathed with dew.</p> + +<p>Life seemed a poor institution during these days.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="I_ENLIST_A_MINIONS_SERVICES" id="I_ENLIST_A_MINIONS_SERVICES"></a>I ENLIST A MINION'S SERVICES</h2> + + +<p><img src="images/chap_10.jpg" alt="Chap_10" width="200" height="207" /></p> + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_i.jpg" alt="I" width="25" height="50" /></div> + + +<p>t would be interesting to know to what extent the work of authors is +influenced by their private affairs. If life is flowing smoothly for +them, are the novels they write in that period of content colored with +optimism? And if things are running crosswise, do they work off the +resultant gloom on their faithful public? If, for instance, Mr. W. W. +Jacobs had toothache, would he write like Mr. Hall Caine? If Maxim +Gorky were invited to lunch by the Czar, would he sit down and dash +off a trifle in the vein of Mr. Dooley? Probably great authors have +the power of detaching their writing self from their living, workaday +self. For my own part, the frame of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> mind in which I now found myself +completely altered the scheme of my novel. I had designed it as a +light-comedy effort. Here and there a page or two to steady the +reader, and show him what I could do in the way of pathos if I cared +to try; but in the main a thing of sunshine and laughter. But now +great slabs of gloom began to work themselves into the scheme of it. +Characters whom I had hitherto looked upon as altogether robust +developed fatal illnesses. A magnificent despondency became the +keynote of the book. Instead of marrying, my hero and heroine had a +big scene in the last chapter, at the end of which she informed him +that she was already secretly wedded to another, a man with whom she +had not even a sporting chance of being happy. I could see myself +correcting proofs made pulpy by the tears of emotional printers.</p> + +<p>It would not do. I felt that I must make a determined effort to shake +off my depres<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span>sion. More than ever the need for conciliating the +professor was borne in upon me. Day and night I spurred my brain to +think of some suitable means of engineering a reconciliation.</p> + +<p>In the meantime I worked hard among the fowls, drove furiously on the +links, and swam about the harbor when the affairs of the farm did not +require my attention.</p> + +<p>Things were not going very well on our model chicken farm. Little +accidents marred the harmony of life in the fowl run. On one occasion +a hen fell into a pot of tar, and came out an unspeakable object. +Chickens kept straying into the wrong coops, and, in accordance with +fowl etiquette, were promptly pecked to death by the resident. Edwin +murdered a couple of Wyandottes, and was only saved from execution by +the tears of Mrs. Ukridge.</p> + +<p>In spite of these occurrences, however, his buoyant optimism never +deserted Uk<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span>ridge. They were incidents, annoying, but in no way +affecting the prosperity of the farm.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"><a name="pic_4" id="pic_4"></a> +<img src="images/image_05.jpg" width="500" height="712" alt="Things were not going very well on our model chicken +farm." title="" /> +<span class="caption">Things were not going very well on our model chicken +farm.</span> +</div> + +<p>"After all," he said, "what's one bird more or less? Yes, I know I was +angry when that beast of a cat lunched off those two, but that was +more for the principle of the thing. I'm not going to pay large sums +for chickens so that a beastly cat can lunch well. Still, we've plenty +left, and the eggs are coming in better now, though we've a deal of +leeway to make up yet in that line. I got a letter from Whiteley's +this morning asking when my first consignment was to arrive. You know, +these people make a mistake in hurrying a man. It annoys him. It +irritates him. When we really get going, Garny, my boy, I shall drop +Whiteley's. I shall cut them out of my list, and send my eggs to their +trade rivals. They shall have a sharp lesson. It's a little hard. Here +am I, worked to death looking after <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span>things down here, and these men +have the impertinence to bother me about their wretched business!"</p> + + + +<p>It was on the morning after this that I heard him calling me in a +voice in which I detected agitation. I was strolling about the +paddock, as was my habit after breakfast, thinking about Phyllis and +my wretched novel. I had just framed a more than usually murky scene +for use in the earlier part of the book, when Ukridge shouted to me +from the fowl run.</p> + +<p>"Garnet, come here," he cried, "I want you to see the most astounding +thing."</p> + +<p>I joined him.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Blest if I know. Look at those chickens. They've been doing that for +the last half hour."</p> + +<p>I inspected the chickens. There was certainly something the matter +with them. They were yawning broadly, as if we bored<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span> them. They stood +about singly and in groups, opening and shutting their beaks. It was +an uncanny spectacle.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter with them?"</p> + +<p>"It looks to me," I said, "as if they were tired of life. They seem +hipped."</p> + +<p>"Oh, do look at that poor little brown one by the coop," said Mrs. +Ukridge sympathetically, "I'm sure it's not well. See, it's lying +down. What <i>can</i> be the matter with it?"</p> + +<p>"Can a chicken get a fit of the blues?" I asked. "Because, if so, +that's what they've got. I never saw a more bored-looking lot of +birds."</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you what we'll do," said Ukridge. "We'll ask Beale. He once +lived with an aunt who kept fowls. He'll know all about it. Beale!"</p> + +<p>No answer.</p> + +<p>"<i>Beale</i>!!"</p> + +<p>A sturdy form in shirt sleeves appeared<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span> through the bushes, carrying +a boot. We seemed to have interrupted him in the act of cleaning it.</p> + +<p>"Beale, you know about fowls. What's the matter with these chickens?"</p> + +<p>The hired retainer examined the <i>blasé</i> birds with a wooden expression +on his face.</p> + +<p>"Well?" said Ukridge.</p> + +<p>"The 'ole thing 'ere," said the hired retainer, "is these 'ere fowls +have bin and got the roop."</p> + +<p>I had never heard of the disease before, but it sounded quite +horrifying.</p> + +<p>"Is that what makes them yawn like that?" said Mrs. Ukridge.</p> + +<p>"Yes, ma'am."</p> + +<p>"Poor things!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, ma'am."</p> + +<p>"And have they all got it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, ma'am."</p> + +<p>"What ought we to do?" asked Ukridge.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span></p> + +<p>The hired retainer perpended.</p> + +<p>"Well, my aunt, sir, when 'er fowls 'ad the roop, she give them snuff. +Give them snuff, she did," he repeated with relish, "every morning."</p> + +<p>"Snuff!" said Mrs. Ukridge.</p> + +<p>"Yes, ma'am. She give them snuff till their eyes bubbled."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Ukridge uttered a faint squeak at this vivid piece of word +painting.</p> + +<p>"And did it cure them?" asked Ukridge.</p> + +<p>"No, sir," responded the expert soothingly. "They died."</p> + +<p>"Oh, go away, Beale, and clean your beastly boots," said Ukridge. +"You're no use. Wait a minute. Who would know about this infernal roop +thing? One of those farmer chaps would, I suppose. Beale, go off to +farmer Leigh at Up Lyme, and give him my compliments, and ask him what +he does when his fowls get the roop."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"No, I'll go, Ukridge," I said, "I want some exercise."</p> + +<p>I whistled to Bob, who was investigating a mole heap in the paddock, +and set off to consult farmer Leigh. He had sold us some fowls shortly +after our arrival, so might be expected to feel a kindly interest in +their ailing families.</p> + +<p>The path to Up Lyme lies across deep-grassed meadows. At intervals it +passes over a stream by means of foot bridges. The stream curls +through the meadows like a snake.</p> + +<p>And at the first of these bridges I met Phyllis.</p> + +<p>I came upon her quite suddenly. The other end of the bridge was hidden +from my view. I could hear somebody coming through the grass, but not +till I was on the bridge did I see who it was. We reached the bridge +simultaneously. She was alone.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span> She carried a sketching block. All +nice girls sketch a little.</p> + +<p>There was room for one alone on the foot bridge, and I drew back to +let her pass.</p> + +<p>As it is the privilege of woman to make the first sign of recognition, +I said nothing. I merely lifted my hat in a noncommitting fashion.</p> + +<p>"Are you going to cut me, I wonder?" I said to myself.</p> + +<p>She answered the unspoken question as I hoped it would be answered.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Garnet," she said, stopping at the end of the bridge.</p> + +<p>"Miss Derrick?"</p> + +<p>"I couldn't tell you so before, but I am so sorry this has happened."</p> + +<p>"You are very kind," I said, realizing as I said it the miserable +inadequacy of the English language. At a crisis when I would have +given a month's income to have said something neat, epigrammatic, +sug<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span>gestive, yet withal courteous and respectful, I could only find a +hackneyed, unenthusiastic phrase which I should have used in accepting +an invitation from a bore to lunch with him at his club.</p> + +<p>"Of course you understand my friends must be my father's friends."</p> + +<p>"Yes," I said gloomily, "I suppose so."</p> + +<p>"So you must not think me rude if I—I—"</p> + +<p>"Cut me," said I with masculine coarseness.</p> + +<p>"Don't seem to see you," said she, with feminine delicacy, "when I am +with my father. You will understand?"</p> + +<p>"I shall understand."</p> + +<p>"You see"—she smiled—"you are under arrest, as Tom says."</p> + +<p>Tom!</p> + +<p>"I see," I said.</p> + +<p>"Good-by."</p> + +<p>"Good-by."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span></p> + +<p>I watched her out of sight, and went on to interview Mr. Leigh.</p> + +<p>We had a long and intensely uninteresting conversation about the +maladies to which chickens are subject. He was verbose and +reminiscent. He took me over his farm, pointing out as he went +Dorkings and Cochin Chinas which he had cured of diseases generally +fatal, with, as far as I could gather, Christian Science principles.</p> + +<p>I left at last with instructions to paint the throats of the stricken +birds with turpentine—a task imagination boggled at, and one which I +proposed to leave exclusively to Ukridge and the hired retainer. As I +had a slight headache, a visit to the Cob would, I thought, do me +good. I had missed my bath that morning, and was in need of a breath +of sea air.</p> + +<p>It was high tide, and there was deep water on three sides of the Cob.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span></p> + +<p>In a small boat in the offing Professor Derrick appeared, fishing. I +had seen him engaged in this pursuit once or twice before. His only +companion was a gigantic boatman, by name Harry Hawk.</p> + +<p>I sat on the seat at the end of the Cob, and watched the professor. It +was an instructive sight, an object lesson to those who hold that +optimism has died out of the race. I had never seen him catch a fish. +He did not look to me as if he were at all likely to catch a fish. Yet +he persevered.</p> + +<p>There are few things more restful than to watch some one else busy +under a warm sun. As I sat there, my mind ranged idly over large +subjects and small. I thought of love and chicken farming. I mused on +the immortality of the soul. In the end I always returned to the +professor. Sitting, as I did, with my back to the beach, I could see +nothing but his boat. It had the ocean to itself.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span></p> + +<p>I began to ponder over the professor. I wondered dreamily if he were +very hot. I tried to picture his boyhood. I speculated on his future, +and the pleasure he extracted from life.</p> + +<p>It was only when I heard him call out to Hawk to be careful, when a +movement on the part of that oarsman set the boat rocking, that I +began to weave romances round him in which I myself figured.</p> + +<p>But, once started, I progressed rapidly. I imagined a sudden upset. +Professor struggling in water. Myself (heroically): "Courage! I'm +coming!" A few rapid strokes. Saved! Sequel: A subdued professor, +dripping salt water and tears of gratitude, urging me to become his +son-in-law. That sort of thing happened in fiction. It was a shame +that it should not happen in real life. In my hot youth I once had +seven stories in seven weekly penny papers in the same month all +dealing with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span> a situation of the kind. Only the details differed. In +"Not Really a Coward," Vincent Devereux had rescued the earl's +daughter from a fire, whereas in "Hilda's Hero" it was the peppery old +father whom Tom Slingsby saved. Singularly enough, from drowning. In +other words, I, a very mediocre scribbler, had effected seven times in +a single month what the powers of the universe could not manage once, +even on the smallest scale.</p> + +<p>I was a little annoyed with the powers of the universe.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>It was at precisely three minutes to twelve—for I had just consulted +my watch—that the great idea surged into my brain. At four minutes to +twelve I had been grumbling impotently at Providence. By two minutes +to twelve I had determined upon a manly and independent course of +action.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span></p> + +<p>Briefly, it was this. Since dramatic accident and rescue would not +happen of its own accord, I would arrange one for myself. Hawk looked +to me the sort of man who would do anything in a friendly way for a +few shillings.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>That afternoon I interviewed Mr. Hawk at the Net and Mackerel.</p> + +<p>"Hawk," I said to him darkly, over a mystic and conspirator-like pot, +"I want you, the next time you take Professor Derrick out +fishing"—here I glanced round, to make sure that we were not +overheard—"to upset him."</p> + +<p>His astonished face rose slowly from the rim of the pot, like a full +moon.</p> + +<p>"What 'ud I do that for?" he gasped.</p> + +<p>"Five shillings, I hope," said I; "but I am prepared to go to ten."</p> + +<p>He gurgled.</p> + +<p>I argued with the man. I was eloquent,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span> but at the same time concise. +My choice of words was superb. I crystallized my ideas into pithy +sentences which a child could have understood.</p> + +<p>At the end of half an hour he had grasped all the salient points of +the scheme. Also he imagined that I wished the professor upset by way +of a practical joke. He gave me to understand that this was the type +of humor which was to be expected from a gentleman from London. I am +afraid he must at one period of his career have lived at one of those +watering places to which trippers congregate. He did not seem to think +highly of the Londoner.</p> + +<p>I let it rest at that. I could not give my true reason, and this +served as well as any.</p> + +<p>At the last moment he recollected that he, too, would get wet when the +accident took place, and raised his price to a sovereign.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span></p> + +<p>A mercenary man. It is painful to see how rapidly the old simple +spirit is dying out in rural districts. Twenty years ago a fisherman +would have been charmed to do a little job like that for a shilling.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_BRAVE_PRESERVER" id="THE_BRAVE_PRESERVER"></a>THE BRAVE PRESERVER</h2> + + +<p><img src="images/chap_11.jpg" alt="Chap_11" width="200" height="207" /></p> + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_i.jpg" alt="I" width="25" height="50" /></div> + + +<p> could have wished, during the next few days, that Mr. Harry Hawk's +attitude toward myself had not been so unctuously confidential and +mysterious. It was unnecessary, in my opinion, for him to grin +meaningly whenever he met me in the street. His sly wink when we +passed each other on the Cob struck me as in indifferent taste. The +thing had been definitely arranged (half down and half when it was +over), and there was no need for any cloak and dark-lantern effects. I +objected strongly to being treated as the villain of a melodrama. I +was merely an ordinary well-meaning man, forced by circumstances into +doing the work of Provi<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span>dence. Mr. Hawk's demeanor seemed to say:</p> + +<p>"We are two reckless scoundrels, but bless you, <i>I</i> won't give away +your guilty secret."</p> + +<p>The climax came one morning as I was going along the street toward the +beach. I was passing a dark doorway, when out shimmered Mr. Hawk as if +he had been a specter instead of the most substantial man within a +radius of ten miles.</p> + +<p>"St!" he whispered.</p> + +<p>"Now look here, Hawk," I said wrathfully, for the start he had given +me had made me bite my tongue, "this has got to stop. I refuse to be +haunted in this way. What is it now?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Derrick goes out this morning, zur."</p> + +<p>"Thank goodness for that," I said. "Get it over this morning, then, +without fail. I couldn't stand another day of this."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span></p> + +<p>I went on to the Cob, where I sat down. I was excited. Deeds of great +import must shortly be done. I felt a little nervous. It would never +do to bungle the thing. Suppose by some accident I were to drown the +professor, or suppose that, after all, he contented himself with a +mere formal expression of thanks and refused to let bygones be +bygones. These things did not bear thinking of.</p> + +<p>I got up and began to pace restlessly to and fro.</p> + +<p>Presently from the farther end of the harbor there put off Mr. Hawk's +boat, bearing its precious cargo. My mouth became dry with excitement.</p> + +<p>Very slowly Mr. Hawk pulled round the end of the Cob, coming to a +standstill some dozen yards from where I was performing my beat. It +was evidently here that the scene of the gallant rescue had been +fixed.</p> + +<p>My eyes were glued upon Mr. Hawk's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span> broad back. The boat lay almost +motionless on the water. I had never seen the sea smoother.</p> + +<p>It seemed as if this perfect calm might continue for ever. Mr. Hawk +made no movement. Then suddenly the whole scene changed to one of vast +activity. I heard Mr. Hawk utter a hoarse cry, and saw him plunge +violently in his seat. The professor turned half round, and I caught +sight of his indignant face, pink with emotion. Then the scene changed +again with the rapidity of a dissolving view. I saw Mr. Hawk give +another plunge, and the next moment the boat was upside down in the +water, and I was shooting head foremost to the bottom, oppressed with +the indescribably clammy sensation which comes when one's clothes are +thoroughly wet.</p> + +<p>I rose to the surface close to the upturned boat. The first sight I +saw was the spluttering face of Mr. Hawk. I ignored him<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span> and swam to +where the professor's head bobbed on the waters.</p> + +<p>"Keep cool," I said. A silly remark in the circumstances.</p> + +<p>He was swimming energetically but unskillfully. In his shore clothes +it would have taken him at least a week to struggle to land.</p> + +<p>I knew all about saving people from drowning. We used to practice it +with a dummy in the swimming bath at school. I attacked him from the +rear and got a good grip of him by the shoulders. I then swam on my +back in the direction of land, and beached him at the feet of an +admiring crowd. I had thought of putting him under once or twice just +to show him he was being rescued, but decided against such a course as +needlessly realistic. As it was, I fancy he had swallowed two or three +hearty draughts of sea water.</p> + +<p>The crowd was enthusiastic.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"><a name="pic_5" id="pic_5"></a> +<img src="images/image_06.jpg" width="500" height="735" alt=""Mr. Garnet," he said, "we parted recently in anger. I +hope that bygones will be bygones."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"Mr. Garnet," he said, "we parted recently in anger. I +hope that bygones will be bygones."</span> +</div> + +<p>"Brave young feller," said somebody.</p> + +<p>I blushed. This was fame.</p> + +<p>"Jumped in, he did, sure enough, an' saved the gentleman!"</p> + +<p>"Be the old soul drownded?"</p> + +<p>"That girt fule, 'Arry 'Awk!"</p> + +<p>I was sorry for Mr. Hawk. Popular opinion, in which the professor +wrathfully joined, was against him. I could not help thinking that my +fellow-conspirator did well to keep out of it all. He was now sitting +in the boat, which he had restored to its normal position, baling +pensively with an old tin can. To satire from the shore he paid no +attention.</p> + +<p>The professor stood up and stretched out his hand to me.</p> + +<p>I grasped it.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Garnet," he said, for all the world as if he had been the father +of the heroine of "Hilda's Hero," "we parted recently in anger. Let me +thank you for your gallant <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span>conduct, and hope that bygones will be +bygones."</p> + + + +<p>Like Mr. Samuel Weller, I liked his conversation much. It was "werry +pretty."</p> + +<p>I came out strong. I continued to hold his hand. The crowd raised a +sympathetic cheer.</p> + +<p>I said:</p> + +<p>"Professor, the fault was mine. Show that you have forgiven me by +coming up to the farm and putting on something dry."</p> + +<p>"An excellent idea, me boy. I <i>am</i> a little wet."</p> + +<p>We walked briskly up the hill to the farm. Ukridge met us at the gate.</p> + +<p>He diagnosed the situation rapidly.</p> + +<p>"You're all wet," he said.</p> + +<p>I admitted it.</p> + +<p>"Professor Derrick has had an unfortunate boating accident," I +explained.</p> + +<p>"And Mr. Garnet heroically dived in, in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span> all his clothes, and saved me +life," broke in the professor. "A hero, sir. <i>A-choo!</i>"</p> + +<p>"You're catching cold, old horse," said Ukridge, all friendliness and +concern, his little differences with the professor having vanished +like thawed snow. "This'll never do. Come upstairs and get into +something of Garnet's. My own toggery wouldn't fit, what? Come along, +come along. I'll get you some hot water. Mrs. Beale—Mrs. <i>Beale</i>! We +want a large can of hot water. At once. What? Yes, immediately. What? +Very well, then, as soon as you can. Now, then, Garny, my boy, out +with the duds. What do you think of this, now, professor? A sweetly +pretty thing in gray flannel. Here's a shirt. Get out of that wet +toggery, and Mrs. Beale shall dry it. Don't attempt to tell me about +it till you've changed. Socks? Socks forward. Show socks. Here you +are. Coat? Try this blazer. That's right. That's right."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span></p> + +<p>He bustled about till the professor was clothed, then marched him +downstairs and gave him a cigar.</p> + +<p>"Now, what's all this? What happened?"</p> + +<p>The professor explained. He was severe in his narration upon the +unlucky Mr. Hawk.</p> + +<p>"I was fishing, Mr. Ukridge, with me back turned, when I felt the boat +rock violently from one side to the other to such an extent that I +nearly lost me equilibrium. And then the boat upset. The man's a fool, +sir. I could not see what had happened, my back being turned, as I +say."</p> + +<p>"Garnet must have seen. What happened, Marmaduke?"</p> + +<p>I tried to smooth things over for Mr. Hawk.</p> + +<p>"It was very sudden," I said. "It seemed to me as if the man had got +an at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span>tack of cramp. That would account for it. He has the reputation +of being a most sober and trustworthy fellow."</p> + +<p>"Never trust that sort of man," said Ukridge. "They are always the +worst. It's plain to me that this man was beastly drunk, and upset the +boat while trying to do a dance."</p> + +<p>The professor was in the best of tempers, and I worked strenuously to +keep him so. My scheme had been so successful that its iniquity did +not worry me. I have noticed that this is usually the case in matters +of this kind. It is the bungled crime that brings remorse.</p> + +<p>"We must go round the links together one of these days, Mr. Garnet," +said the professor. "I have noticed you there on several occasions, +playing a strong game. I have lately taken to using a Schenectady +putter. It is wonderful what a difference it makes."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span></p> + +<p>Golf is a great bond of union. We wandered about the grounds +discussing the game, the <i>entente cordiale</i> growing more firmly +established every moment.</p> + +<p>"We must certainly arrange a meeting," concluded the professor. "I +shall be interested to see how we stand with regard to one another. I +have improved my game considerably since I have been down +here—considerably."</p> + +<p>"My only feat worthy of mention since I started the game," I said, +"has been to halve a round with Angus McLurkin at St. Andrew's."</p> + +<p>"<i>The</i> McLurkin?" asked the professor, impressed.</p> + +<p>"Yes. But it was one of his very off days, I fancy. He must have had +gout, or something. And I have certainly never played so well since."</p> + +<p>"Still—" said the professor. "Yes, we must really arrange to meet."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span></p> + +<p>With Ukridge, who was in one of his less tactless moods, he became +very friendly.</p> + +<p>Ukridge's ready agreement with his strictures on the erring Hawk had a +great deal to do with this. When a man has a grievance he feels drawn +to those who will hear him patiently and sympathize. Ukridge was all +sympathy.</p> + +<p>"The man is an unprincipled scoundrel," he said, "and should be torn +limb from limb. Take my advice, Cholmondeley, and don't go out with +him again. Show him that you are not a man to be trifled with. The +spilled child dreads the water, what? Human life isn't safe with such +men as Hawk roaming about."</p> + +<p>"You are perfectly right, sir. The man can have no defense. I shall +not employ him again."</p> + +<p>I felt more than a little guilty while listening to this duet on the +subject of the man whom I had lured from the straight and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span> narrow +path. But my attempts at excusing him were ill received. Indeed, the +professor showed such distinct signs of becoming heated that I +abandoned my fellow-conspirator to his fate with extreme promptness. +After all, an addition to the stipulated reward—one of these +days—would compensate him for any loss which he might sustain from +the withdrawal of the professor's custom. Mr. Harry Hawk was in good +enough case. I would see that he did not suffer.</p> + +<p>Filled with these philanthropic feelings, I turned once more to talk +with the professor of niblicks and approach shots and holes done in +three without a brassy. We were a merry party at lunch—a lunch, +fortunately, in Mrs. Beale's best vein, consisting of a roast chicken +and sweets. Chicken had figured somewhat frequently of late on our +daily bill of fare.</p> + +<p>We saw the professor off the premises in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span> his dried clothes, and I +turned back to put the fowls to bed in a happier frame of mind than I +had known for a long time. I whistled rag-time airs as I worked.</p> + +<p>"Rum old buffer," said Ukridge meditatively. "My goodness, I should +have liked to see him in the water. Why do I miss these good things?"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="SOME_EMOTIONS" id="SOME_EMOTIONS"></a>SOME EMOTIONS</h2> + + +<p><img src="images/chap_12.jpg" alt="Chap_12" width="200" height="207" /></p> + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="55" height="50" /></div> + + +<p>he fame which came to me through that gallant rescue was a little +embarrassing. I was a marked man. Did I walk through the village, +heads emerged from windows, and eyes followed me out of sight. Did I +sit on the beach, groups formed behind me and watched in silent +admiration. I was the man of the moment.</p> + +<p>"If we'd wanted an advertisement for the farm," said Ukridge on one of +these occasions, "we couldn't have had a better one than you, Garny, +my boy. You have brought us three distinct orders for eggs during the +last week. And I'll tell you what it is, we need all the orders we +can<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span> get that'll bring us in ready money. The farm is in a critical +condition, Marmaduke. The coffers are low, decidedly low. And I'll +tell you another thing. I'm getting precious tired of living on +nothing but chicken and eggs. So's Millie, though she doesn't say so."</p> + +<p>"So am I," I said, "and I don't feel like imitating your wife's proud +reserve. I never want to see a chicken again except alive."</p> + +<p>For the last week monotony had been the keynote of our commissariat. +We had cold chicken and eggs for breakfast, boiled chicken and eggs +for lunch, and roast chicken and eggs for dinner. Meals became a +nuisance, and Mrs. Beale complained bitterly that we did not give her +a chance. She was a cook who would have graced an alderman's house, +and served up noble dinners for gourmets, and here she was in this +remote corner of the world ring<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span>ing the changes on boiled chicken and +roast chicken and boiled eggs and poached eggs. Mr. Whistler, set to +paint signboards for public houses, might have felt the same restless +discontent. As for her husband, the hired retainer, he took life as +tranquilly as ever, and seemed to regard the whole thing as the most +exhilarating farce he had ever been in. I think he looked on Ukridge +as an amiable lunatic, and was content to rough it a little in order +to enjoy the privilege of observing his movements. He made no +complaints of the food. When a man has supported life for a number of +years on incessant army beef, the monotony of daily chicken and eggs +scarcely strikes him.</p> + +<p>"The fact is," said Ukridge, "these tradesmen round here seem to be a +sordid, suspicious lot. They clamor for money."</p> + +<p>He mentioned a few examples. Vickers, the butcher, had been the first +to strike, with the remark that he would like to see the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span> color of Mr. +Ukridge's money before supplying further joints. Dawlish, the grocer, +had expressed almost exactly similar sentiments two days later, and +the ranks of these passive resisters had been receiving fresh recruits +ever since. To a man the tradesmen of Lyme Regis seemed as deficient +in simple faith as they were in Norman blood.</p> + +<p>"Can't you pay some of them a little on account?" I suggested. "It +would set them going again."</p> + +<p>"My dear old man," said Ukridge impressively, "we need every penny of +ready money we can raise for the farm. The place simply eats money. +That infernal roop let us in for I don't know what."</p> + +<p>That insidious epidemic had indeed proved costly. We had painted the +throats of the chickens with the best turpentine—at least, Ukridge +and Beale had—but in spite of their efforts dozens had died, and we +had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span> been obliged to sink much more money than was pleasant in +restocking the run.</p> + +<p>"No," said Ukridge, summing up, "these men must wait. We can't help +their troubles. Why, good gracious, it isn't as if they'd been waiting +for the money long. We've not been down here much over a month. I +never heard such a scandalous thing. 'Pon my word, I've a good mind to +go round and have a straight talk with one or two of them. I come and +settle down here, and stimulate trade, and give them large orders, and +they worry me with bills when they know I'm up to my eyes in work, +looking after the fowls. One can't attend to everything. This business +is just now at its most crucial point. It would be fatal to pay any +attention to anything else with things as they are. These scoundrels +will get paid all in good time."</p> + +<p>It is a peculiarity of situations of this kind that the ideas of +debtor and creditor<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span> as to what constitutes good time never coincide.</p> + +<p>I am afraid that, despite the urgent need for strict attention to +business, I was inclined to neglect my duties about this time. I had +got into the habit of wandering off, either to the links, where I +generally found the professor and sometimes Phyllis, or on long walks +by myself. There was one particular walk, along the Ware cliff, +through some of the most beautiful scenery I have ever set eyes on, +which more than any other suited my mood. I would work my way through +the woods till I came to a small clearing on the very edge of the +cliff. There I would sit by the hour. Somehow I found that my ideas +flowed more readily in that spot than in any other. My novel was +taking shape. It was to be called, by the way, if it ever won through +to the goal of a title, "The Brown-haired Girl."</p> + +<p>I had not been inside the professor's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span> grounds since the occasion when +I had gone in through the boxwood hedge. But on the afternoon +following my financial conversation with Ukridge I made my way thither +after a toilet which, from its length, should have produced better +results than it did.</p> + +<p>Not for four whole days had I caught so much as a glimpse of Phyllis. +I had been to the links three times, and had met the professor twice, +but on both occasions she had been absent. I had not had the courage +to ask after her. I had an absurd idea that my voice or my manner +would betray me in some way.</p> + +<p>The professor was not at home. Nor was Mr. Chase. Nor was Miss Norah +Derrick, the lady I had met on the beach with the professor. Miss +Phyllis, said the maid, was in the garden.</p> + +<p>I went into the garden. She was sitting under the cedar by the tennis +lawn, reading. She looked up as I approached.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span></p> + +<p>To walk any distance under observation is one of the most trying +things I know. I advanced in bad order, hoping that my hands did not +really look as big as they felt. The same remark applied to my feet. +In emergencies of this kind a diffident man could very well dispense +with extremities. I should have liked to be wheeled up in a bath +chair.</p> + +<p>I said it was a lovely afternoon; after which there was a lull in the +conversation. I was filled with a horrid fear that I was boring her. I +had probably arrived at the very moment when she was most interested +in her book. She must, I thought, even now be regarding me as a +nuisance, and was probably rehearsing bitter things to say to the +servant for not having had the sense to explain that she was out.</p> + +<p>"I—er—called in the hope of seeing Professor Derrick," I said.</p> + +<p>"You would find him on the links," she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span> replied. It seemed to me that +she spoke wistfully.</p> + +<p>"Oh, it—it doesn't matter," I said. "It wasn't anything important."</p> + +<p>This was true. If the professor had appeared then and there, I should +have found it difficult to think of anything to say to him which would +have accounted for my anxiety to see him.</p> + +<p>We paused again.</p> + +<p>"How are the chickens, Mr. Garnet?" said she.</p> + +<p>The situation was saved. Conversationally, I am like a clockwork toy. +I have to be set going. On the affairs of the farm I could speak +fluently. I sketched for her the progress we had made since her visit. +I was humorous concerning roop, epigrammatic on the subject of the +hired retainer and Edwin.</p> + +<p>"Then the cat did come down from the chimney?" said Phyllis.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span></p> + +<p>We both laughed, and—I can answer for myself—felt the better for it.</p> + +<p>"He came down next day," I said, "and made an excellent lunch off one +of our best fowls. He also killed another, and only just escaped death +himself at the hands of Ukridge."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Ukridge doesn't like him, does he?"</p> + +<p>"If he does, he dissembles his love. Edwin is Mrs. Ukridge's pet. He +is the only subject on which they disagree. Edwin is certainly in the +way on a chicken farm. He has got over his fear of Bob, and is now +perfectly lawless. We have to keep a constant eye on him."</p> + +<p>"And have you had any success with the incubator? I love incubators. I +have always wanted to have one of my own, but we have never kept +fowls."</p> + +<p>"The incubator has not done all that it should have done," I said. +"Ukridge looks<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span> after it, and I fancy his methods are not the right +methods. I don't know if I have got the figures absolutely correct, +but Ukridge reasons on these lines. He says you are supposed to keep +the temperature up to a hundred and five degrees. I think he said a +hundred and five. Then the eggs are supposed to hatch out in a week or +so. He argues that you may just as well keep the temperature at +seventy-two, and wait a fortnight for your chickens. I am certain +there's a fallacy in the system somewhere, because we never seem to +get as far as the chickens. But Ukridge says his theory is +mathematically sound and he sticks to it."</p> + +<p>"Are you quite sure that the way you are doing it is the best way to +manage a chicken farm?"</p> + +<p>"I should very much doubt it. I am a child in these matters. I had +only seen a chicken in its wild state once or twice before we came +down here. I had never<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span> dreamed of being an active assistant on a real +farm. The whole thing began like Mr. George Ade's fable of the author. +An author—myself—was sitting at his desk trying to turn out +something that could be converted into breakfast food, when a friend +came in and sat down on the table and told him to go right on and not +mind him."</p> + +<p>"Did Mr. Ukridge do that?"</p> + +<p>"Very nearly that. He called at my rooms one beautiful morning when I +was feeling desperately tired of London and overworked and dying for a +holiday, and suggested that I should come to Lyme Regis with him and +help him farm chickens. I have not regretted it."</p> + +<p>"It is a lovely place, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"The loveliest I have ever seen. How charming your garden is."</p> + +<p>"Shall we go and look at it? You have not seen the whole of it."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span></p> + +<p>As she rose I saw her book, which she had laid face downward on the +grass beside her. It was that same much-enduring copy of "The +Maneuvers of Arthur." I was thrilled. This patient perseverance must +surely mean something.</p> + +<p>She saw me looking at it.</p> + +<p>"Did you draw Pamela from anybody?" she asked suddenly.</p> + +<p>I was glad now that I had not done so. The wretched Pamela, once my +pride, was for some reason unpopular with the only critic about whose +opinion I cared, and had fallen accordingly from her pedestal.</p> + +<p>As we wandered down the gravel paths she gave me her opinion of the +book. In the main it was appreciative. I shall always associate the +scent of yellow lubin with the higher criticism.</p> + +<p>"Of course I don't know anything about writing books," she said.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes?" My tone implied, or I hoped it did, that she was an expert on +books, and that if she was not it didn't matter.</p> + +<p>"But I don't think you do your heroines well. I have got 'The +Outsider'—"</p> + +<p>(My other novel. Bastable & Kirby, six shillings. Satirical. All about +society, of which I know less than I know about chicken farming. +Slated by <i>Times</i> and <i>Spectator</i>. Well received by the <i>Pelican</i>.)</p> + +<p>"—and," continued Phyllis, "Lady Maud is exactly the same as Pamela +in 'The Maneuvers of Arthur.' I thought you must have drawn both +characters from some one you knew."</p> + +<p>"No," I said; "no."</p> + +<p>"I am so glad," said Phyllis.</p> + +<p>And then neither of us seemed to have anything to say.</p> + +<p>My knees began to tremble. I realized that the moment had arrived when +my fate must be put to the touch, and I feared that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span> the moment was +premature. We cannot arrange these things to suit ourselves. I knew +that the time was not yet ripe, but the magic scent of the yellow +lubin was too much for me.</p> + +<p>"Miss Derrick—" I said hoarsely.</p> + +<p>Phyllis was looking with more intentness than the attractions of the +flower justified at a rose she held in her hand. The bees hummed in +the lubin.</p> + +<p>"Miss Derrick—" I said, and stopped again.</p> + +<p>"I say, you people," said a cheerful voice, "tea is ready. Halloo, +Garnet, how are you? That medal arrived yet from the humane society?"</p> + +<p>I spun round. Mr. Tom Chase was standing at the end of the path. I +grinned a sickly grin.</p> + +<p>"Well, Tom," said Phyllis.</p> + +<p>And there was, I thought, just the faintest trace of annoyance in her +voice.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I've been bathing," said Mr. Chase.</p> + +<p>"Oh," I replied. "And I wish," I added, "that you'd drowned yourself."</p> + +<p>But I added it silently to myself.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="TEA_AND_TENNIS" id="TEA_AND_TENNIS"></a>TEA AND TENNIS</h2> + + +<p><img src="images/chap_13.jpg" alt="Chap_13" width="200" height="207" /></p> + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_m.jpg" alt="M" width="60" height="50" /></div> + + +<p>et the professor's late boatman on the Cob," said Mr. Chase, +dissecting a chocolate cake.</p> + +<p>"Clumsy man," said Phyllis, "I hope he was ashamed of himself. I shall +never forgive him for trying to drown papa."</p> + +<p>My heart bled for Mr. Henry Hawk, that modern martyr.</p> + +<p>"When I met him," said Tom Chase, "he looked as if he had been trying +to drown his sorrow as well."</p> + +<p>"I knew he drank," said Phyllis severely, "the very first time I saw +him."</p> + +<p>"You might have warned the professor," murmured Mr. Chase.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span></p> + +<p>"He couldn't have upset the boat if he had been sober."</p> + +<p>"You never know. He may have done it on purpose."</p> + +<p>"How absurd!"</p> + +<p>"Rather rough on the man, aren't you?" I said.</p> + +<p>"Merely a suggestion," continued Mr. Chase airily. "I've been reading +sensational novels lately, and it seems to me that Hawk's cut out to +be a minion. Probably some secret foe of the professor's bribed him."</p> + +<p>My heart stood still. Did he know, I wondered, and was this all a +roundabout way of telling me that he knew?</p> + +<p>"The professor may be a member of an anarchist league, or something, +and this is his punishment for refusing to assassinate the Kaiser."</p> + +<p>"Have another cup of tea, Tom, and stop talking nonsense."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mr. Chase handed in his cup.</p> + +<p>"What gave me the idea that the upset was done on purpose was this. I +saw the whole thing from the Ware cliff. The spill looked to me just +like dozens I had seen at Malta."</p> + +<p>"Why do they upset themselves on purpose at Malta particularly?" +inquired Phyllis.</p> + +<p>"Listen carefully, my dear, and you'll know more about the ways of the +navy that guards your coasts than you did before. When men are allowed +on shore at Malta, the owner has a fancy to see them snugly on board +again at a certain reasonable hour. After that hour any Maltese +policeman who brings them aboard gets one sovereign, cash. But he has +to do all the bringing part of it on his own. Consequence is, you see +boats rowing out to the ship, carrying men who have overstayed their +leave; and, when they get near enough, the able-<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span>bodied gentleman in +custody jumps to his feet, upsets the boat, and swims to the gangway. +The policemen, if they aren't drowned—they sometimes are—race him, +and whichever gets there first wins. If it's the policeman, he gets +his sovereign. If it's the sailor, he is considered to have arrived +not in a state of custody, and gets off easier. What a judicious +remark that was of the Governor of North Carolina to the Governor of +South Carolina! Just one more cup, please, Phyllis."</p> + +<p>"But how does all that apply?" I asked, dry-mouthed.</p> + +<p>"Why, Hawk upset the professor just as those Maltese were upset. +There's a patent way of doing it. Furthermore, by judicious +questioning, I found that Hawk was once in the navy, and stationed at +Malta. <i>Now</i>, who's going to drag in Sherlock Holmes?"</p> + +<p>"You don't really think—" I said, feel<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span>ing like a criminal in the +dock when the case is going against him.</p> + +<p>"I think friend Hawk has been reënacting the joys of his vanished +youth, so to speak."</p> + +<p>"He ought to be prosecuted," said Phyllis, blazing with indignation.</p> + +<p>Alas, poor Hawk!</p> + +<p>"Nobody's safe with a man of that sort hiring out a boat."</p> + +<p>Oh, miserable Hawk!</p> + +<p>"But why on earth," I asked, as calmly as possible, "should he play a +trick like that on Professor Derrick, Chase?"</p> + +<p>"Pure animal spirits, probably. Or he may, as I say, be a minion."</p> + +<p>I was hot all over.</p> + +<p>"I shall tell father that," said Phyllis in her most decided voice, +"and see what he says. I don't wonder at the man taking to drink after +doing such a thing."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I—I think you're making a mistake," I said.</p> + +<p>"I never make mistakes," Mr. Chase replied. "I am called Archibald the +All Right, for I am infallible. I propose to keep a reflective eye +upon the jovial Hawk."</p> + +<p>He helped himself to another section of the chocolate cake.</p> + +<p>"Haven't you finished yet, Tom?" inquired Phyllis. "I'm sure Mr. +Garnet's getting tired of sitting talking here."</p> + +<p>I shot out a polite negative. Mr. Chase explained with his mouth full +that he had by no means finished. Chocolate cake, it appeared, was the +dream of his life. When at sea he was accustomed to lie awake o' +nights thinking of it.</p> + +<p>"You don't seem to realize," he said, "that I have just come from a +cruise on a torpedo boat. There was such a sea on, as a rule, that +cooking operations were en<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span>tirely suspended, and we lived on ham and +sardines—without bread."</p> + +<p>"How horrible!"</p> + +<p>"On the other hand," added Mr. Chase philosophically, "it didn't +matter much, because we were all ill most of the time."</p> + +<p>"Don't be nasty, Tom."</p> + +<p>"I was merely defending myself. I hope Mr. Hawk will be able to do as +well when his turn comes. My aim, my dear Phyllis, is to show you in a +series of impressionist pictures the sort of thing I have to go +through when I'm not here. Then perhaps you won't rend me so savagely +over a matter of five minutes' lateness for breakfast."</p> + +<p>"Five minutes! It was three quarters of an hour, and everything was +simply frozen."</p> + +<p>"Quite right, too, in weather like this. You're a slave to convention, +Phyllis. You think breakfast ought to be hot, so you always have it +hot. On occasion I prefer<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span> mine cold. Mine is the truer wisdom. I have +scoffed the better part, as the good Kipling has it. You can give the +cook my compliments, Phyllis, and tell her—gently, for I don't wish +the glad news to overwhelm her—that I enjoyed that cake. Say that I +shall be glad to hear from her again. Care for a game of tennis, +Garnet?"</p> + +<p>"What a pity Norah isn't here," said Phyllis. "We could have had a +four."</p> + +<p>"But she is at present wasting her sweetness on the desert air of +Yeovil. You had better sit out and watch us, Phyllis. Tennis in this +sort of weather is no job for the delicately nurtured feminine. I will +explain the finer points of my play as we go on. Look out particularly +for the Doherty Back-handed Slosh. A winning stroke every time."</p> + +<p>We proceeded to the tennis court. I played with the sun in my eyes. I +might, if I chose, emphasize that fact, and at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span>tribute my subsequent +rout to it, adding, by way of solidifying the excuse, that I was +playing in a strange court with a borrowed racket, and that my mind +was preoccupied—firstly, with <i>l'affaire</i> Hawk; secondly, and +chiefly, with the gloomy thought that Phyllis and my opponent seemed +to be on fiendishly good terms with each other. Their manner at tea +had been almost that of an engaged couple. There was a thorough +understanding between them. I will not, however, take refuge behind +excuses. I admit, without qualifying the statement, that Mr. Chase was +too good for me. I had always been under the impression that +lieutenants in the royal navy were not brilliant at tennis. I had met +them at various houses, but they had never shone conspicuously. They +had played an earnest, unobtrusive game, and generally seemed glad +when it was over. Mr. Chase was not of this sort. His service was +bottled lightning.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span> His returns behaved like jumping crackers. He won +the first game in precisely four strokes. He served. I know now how +soldiers feel under fire. The balls whistled at me like live things. +Only once did I take the service with the full face of the racket, and +then I seemed to be stopping a bullet. I returned it into the net.</p> + +<p>"Game," said Mr. Chase.</p> + +<p>I felt a worm, and no man. Phyllis, I thought, would probably judge my +entire character from this exhibition. A man, she would reflect, who +could be so feeble and miserable a failure at tennis, could not be +good for much in any department of life. She would compare me +instructively with my opponent, and contrast his dash and brilliance +with my own inefficiency. Somehow, the massacre was beginning to have +a bad effect on my character. My self-respect was ebbing. A little +more of this, and I should become crushed—a mere human<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span> jelly. It was +my turn to serve. Service is my strong point at tennis. I am +inaccurate but vigorous, and occasionally send in a quite unplayable +shot. One or two of these, even at the expense of a fault or so, and I +might be permitted to retain at least a portion of my self-respect.</p> + +<p>I opened with two faults. The sight of Phyllis, sitting calm and cool +in her chair under the cedar, unnerved me. I served another fault. And +yet another.</p> + +<p>"Here, I say, Garnet," observed Mr. Chase plaintively, "do put me out +of this hideous suspense. I'm becoming a mere bundle of quivering +ganglions."</p> + +<p>I loath facetiousness in moments of stress. I frowned austerely, made +no reply, and served another fault, my fifth.</p> + +<p>Matters had reached a crisis. Even if I had to lob it under hand, I +must send the ball over the net with this next stroke.</p> + +<p>I restrained myself this time, eschewing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span> the careless vigor which had +marked my previous efforts. The ball flew in a slow semicircle, and +pitched inside the correct court. At least, I told myself, I had not +served a fault.</p> + +<p>What happened then I cannot exactly say. I saw my opponent spring +forward like a panther and whirl his racket. The next moment the back +net was shaking violently and the ball was rolling swiftly along the +ground on a return journey to the other court.</p> + +<p>"Love—forty," said Mr. Chase. "Phyllis!"</p> + +<p>"Yes?"</p> + +<p>"That was the Doherty Slosh."</p> + +<p>"I thought it must be," said Phyllis.</p> + +<p>The game ended with another brace of faults.</p> + +<p>In the third game I managed to score fifteen. By the merest chance I +returned one of his red-hot serves, and—probably<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span> through +surprise—he failed to send it back again.</p> + +<p>In the fourth and fifth games I omitted to score.</p> + +<p>We began the sixth game. And now for some reason I played really well. +I struck a little vein of brilliance. I was serving, and this time a +proportion of my serves went over the net instead of trying to get +through. The score went from fifteen all to forty-fifteen. Hope began +to surge through my veins. If I could keep this up, I might win yet.</p> + +<p>The Doherty Slosh diminished my lead by fifteen. The Renshaw Slam +brought the score to Deuce. Then I got in a really fine serve, which +beat him. 'Vantage in. Another Slosh. Deuce. Another Slam. 'Vantage +out. It was an awesome moment. There is a tide in the affairs of men +which taken at the flood—I served. Fault. I served again—a beauty. +He returned it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span> like a flash into the corner of the court. With a +supreme effort I got to it. We rallied. I was playing like a +professor. Then whizz!</p> + +<p>The Doherty Slosh had beaten me on the post.</p> + +<p>"Game <i>and</i>—" said Mr. Chase, twirling his racket into the air and +catching it by the handle. "Good game that last one."</p> + +<p>I turned to see what Phyllis thought of it. At the eleventh hour I had +shown her of what stuff I was made.</p> + +<p>She had disappeared.</p> + +<p>"Looking for Miss Derrick?" said Chase, jumping the net, and joining +me in my court; "she's gone into the house."</p> + +<p>"When did she go?"</p> + +<p>"At the end of the fifth game," said Chase.</p> + +<p>"Gone to dress for dinner, I suppose," he continued. "It must be +getting late. I think I ought to be going, too, if you don't<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span> mind. +The professor gets a little restive if I keep him waiting for his +daily bread. Great Scott, that watch can't be right! What do you make +it? Yes, so do I. I really think I must run. You won't mind? Good +night, then. See you to-morrow, I hope."</p> + +<p>I walked slowly out across the fields. That same star, in which I had +confided on a former occasion, was at its post. It looked placid and +cheerful. <i>It</i> never got beaten by six games to love under the eyes of +its particular lady star. <i>It</i> was never cut out ignominiously by +infernally capable lieutenants in his Majesty's navy. No wonder it was +cheerful.</p> + +<p>It must be pleasant to be a star.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="A_COUNCIL_OF_WAR" id="A_COUNCIL_OF_WAR"></a>A COUNCIL OF WAR</h2> + + +<p><img src="images/chap_14.jpg" alt="Chap_14" width="200" height="207" /></p> + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="55" height="50" /></div> + + +<p>he fact is," said Ukridge, "if things go on as they are now, old +horse, we shall be in the cart. This business wants bucking up. We +don't seem to be making headway. What we want is time. If only these +scoundrels of tradesmen would leave us alone for a spell, we might get +things going properly. But we're hampered and worried and rattled all +the time. Aren't we, Millie?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, dear."</p> + +<p>"You don't let me see the financial side of the thing," I said, +"except at intervals. I didn't know we were in such a bad way. The +fowls look fit enough, and Edwin hasn't had one for a week."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Edwin knows as well as possible when he's done wrong, Mr. Garnet," +said Mrs. Ukridge. "He was so sorry after he had killed those other +two."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Ukridge. "I saw to that."</p> + +<p>"As far as I can see," I continued, "we're going strong. Chicken for +breakfast, lunch, and dinner is a shade monotonous, but look at the +business we're doing. We sold a whole heap of eggs last week."</p> + +<p>"It's not enough, Garny, my boy. We sell a dozen eggs where we ought +to be selling a hundred, carting them off in trucks for the London +market. Harrod's and Whiteley's and the rest of them are beginning to +get on their hind legs, and talk. That's what they're doing. You see, +Marmaduke, there's no denying it—we <i>did</i> touch them for a lot of +things on account, and they agreed to take it out in eggs. They seem +to be getting tired of waiting."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Their last letter was quite pathetic," said Mrs. Ukridge.</p> + +<p>I had a vision of an eggless London. I seemed to see homes rendered +desolate and lives embittered by the slump, and millionaires bidding +against one another for the few specimens Ukridge had actually managed +to dispatch to Brompton and Bayswater.</p> + +<p>"I told them in my last letter but three," continued Ukridge +complainingly, "that I proposed to let them have the eggs on the +<i>Times</i> installment system, and they said I was frivolous. They said +that to send thirteen eggs as payment for goods supplied to the value +of twenty-five pounds one shilling and sixpence was mere trifling. +Trifling! when those thirteen eggs were absolutely all we had over +that week after Mrs. Beale had taken what she wanted for the kitchen. +I tell you what it is, old boy, that woman literally eats eggs."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span></p> + +<p>"The habit is not confined to her," I said.</p> + +<p>"What I mean to say is, she seems to bathe in them."</p> + +<p>An impressive picture to one who knew Mrs. Beale.</p> + +<p>"She says she needs so many for puddings, dear," said Mrs. Ukridge. "I +spoke to her about it yesterday. And, of course, we often have +omelets."</p> + +<p>"She can't make omelets without breakings eggs," I urged.</p> + +<p>"She can't make them without breaking us," said Ukridge. "One or two +more omelets and we're done for. Another thing," he continued, "that +incubator thing won't work. <i>I</i> don't know what's wrong with it."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps it's your dodge of letting down the temperature."</p> + +<p>I had touched upon a tender point.</p> + +<p>"My dear fellow," he said earnestly,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span> "there's nothing the matter with +my figures. It's a mathematical certainty. What's the good of +mathematics if not to help you work out that sort of thing? No, +there's something wrong with the machine itself, and I shall probably +make a complaint to the people I got it from. Where did we get the +incubator, Millie?"</p> + +<p>"Harrod's, I think, dear. Yes, it was Harrod's. It came down with the +first lot of things from there."</p> + +<p>"Then," said Ukridge, banging the table with his fist, while his +glasses flashed triumph, "we've got 'em! Write and answer that letter +of theirs to-night, Millie. Sit on them."</p> + +<p>"Yes, dear."</p> + +<p>"And tell 'em that we'd have sent 'em their confounded eggs weeks ago +if only their rotten, twopenny-ha'penny incubator had worked with any +approach to decency."</p> + +<p>"Or words to that effect," I suggested.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Add in a postscript that I consider that the manufacturer of the +thing ought to rent a padded cell at Earlswood, and that they are +scoundrels for palming off a groggy machine of that sort on me. I'll +teach them!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, dear."</p> + +<p>"The ceremony of opening the morning's letters at Harrod's ought to be +full of interest and excitement to-morrow," I said.</p> + +<p>This dashing counter stroke served to relieve Ukridge's pessimistic +mood. He seldom looked on the dark side of things for long at a time. +He began now to speak hopefully of the future. He planned out +ingenious, if somewhat impracticable, improvements in the farm. Our +fowls were to multiply so rapidly and consistently that within a short +space of time Dorsetshire would be paved with them. Our eggs were to +increase in size till they broke records, and got three-line notices +in the "Items of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span> Interest" column of the <i>Daily Mail</i>. Briefly, each +hen was to become a happy combination of rabbit and ostrich.</p> + +<p>"There is certainly a good time coming," I said. "May it be soon. +Meanwhile, there remain the local tradesmen. What of them?"</p> + +<p>Ukridge relapsed once more into pessimism.</p> + +<p>"They are the worst of the lot," he said. "I don't mind about the +London men so much. They only write. And a letter or two hurts nobody. +But when it comes to butchers and bakers and grocers and fishmongers +and fruiterers, and what not, coming up to one's house and dunning one +in one's own garden—well, it's a little hard, what?"</p> + +<p>It may be wondered why, before things came to such a crisis, I had not +placed my balance at the bank at the disposal of the senior partner +for use on behalf of the firm.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span> The fact was that my balance was at +the moment small. I have not yet in the course of this narrative gone +into my pecuniary position, but I may state here that it was an +inconvenient one. It was big with possibilities, but of ready cash +there was but a meager supply. My parents had been poor, but I had a +wealthy uncle. Uncles are notoriously careless of the comfort of their +nephews. Mine was no exception. He had views. He was a great believer +in matrimony, as, having married three wives—not, I should add, +simultaneously—he had every right to be. He was also of opinion that +the less money the young bachelor possessed, the better. The +consequence was that he announced his intention of giving me a +handsome allowance from the day that I married, but not an instant +before. Till that glad day I would have to shift for myself. And I am +bound to admit that—for an uncle—it was a remarkably sensible<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span> idea. +I am also of opinion that it is greatly to my credit, and a proof of +my pure and unmercenary nature, that I did not instantly put myself up +to be raffled for, or rush out into the streets and propose marriage +to the first lady I met. I was making enough with my pen to support +myself, and, be it ever so humble, there is something pleasant in a +bachelor existence, or so I had thought until very recently.</p> + +<p>I had thus no great stake in Ukridge's chicken farm. I had contributed +a modest five pounds to the preliminary expenses, and another five +pounds after the roop incident. But further I could not go with +safety. When his income is dependent on the whims of editors and +publishers, the prudent man keeps something up his sleeve against a +sudden slump in his particular wares. I did not wish to have to make a +hurried choice between matrimony and the workhouse.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span></p> + +<p>Having exhausted the subject of finance—or, rather, when I began to +feel that it was exhausting me—I took my clubs and strolled up the +hill to the links to play off a match with a sportsman from the +village. I had entered some days previously a competition for a trophy +(I quote the printed notice) presented by a local supporter of the +game, in which up to the present I was getting on nicely. I had +survived two rounds, and expected to beat my present opponent, which +would bring me into the semi-final. Unless I had bad luck, I felt that +I ought to get into the final, and win it. As far as I could gather +from watching the play of my rivals, the professor was the best of +them, and I was convinced that I should have no difficulty with him. +But he had the most extraordinary luck at golf, though he never +admitted it. He also exercised quite an uncanny influence on his +opponent. I have seen men put<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span> completely off their stroke by his good +fortune.</p> + +<p>I disposed of my man without difficulty. We parted a little coldly. He +decapitated his brassy on the occasion of his striking Dorsetshire +instead of his ball, and he was slow in recovering from the complex +emotions which such an episode induces.</p> + +<p>In the clubhouse I met the professor, whose demeanor was a welcome +contrast to that of my late antagonist. The professor had just routed +his opponent, and so won through to the semi-final. He was warm but +jubilant.</p> + +<p>I congratulated him, and left the place.</p> + +<p>Phyllis was waiting outside. She often went round the course with him.</p> + +<p>"Good afternoon," I said. "Have you been round with the professor?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. We must have been in front of you. Father won his match."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span></p> + +<p>"So he was telling me. I was very glad to hear it."</p> + +<p>"Did you win, Mr. Garnet?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Pretty easily. My opponent had bad luck all through. Bunkers +seemed to have a magnetic attraction for him."</p> + +<p>"So you and father are both in the semi-final? I hope you will play +very badly."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Miss Derrick," I said.</p> + +<p>"Yes, it does sound rude, doesn't it? But father has set his heart on +winning this year. Do you know that he has played in the final round +two years running now?"</p> + +<p>"Really?"</p> + +<p>"Both times he was beaten by the same man."</p> + +<p>"Who was that? Mr. Derrick plays a much better game than anybody I +have seen on these links."</p> + +<p>"It was nobody who is here now. It was a Colonel Jervis. He has not +come to Lyme<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span> Regis this year. That is why father is hopeful."</p> + +<p>"Logically," I said, "he ought to be certain to win."</p> + +<p>"Yes; but, you see, you were not playing last year, Mr. Garnet."</p> + +<p>"Oh, the professor can make rings round me," I said.</p> + +<p>"What did you go round in to-day?"</p> + +<p>"We were playing match play, and only did the first dozen holes; but +my average round is somewhere in the late eighties."</p> + +<p>"The best father has ever done is ninety, and that was only once. So +you see, Mr. Garnet, there's going to be another tragedy this year."</p> + +<p>"You make me feel a perfect brute. But it's more than likely, you must +remember, that I shall fail miserably if I ever do play your father in +the final. There are days when I play golf very badly."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span></p> + +<p>Phyllis smiled. "Do you really have your off days?"</p> + +<p>"Nearly always. There are days when I slice with my driver as if it +were a bread knife."</p> + +<p>"Really?"</p> + +<p>"And when I couldn't putt to hit a haystack."</p> + +<p>"Then I hope it will be on one of those days that you play father."</p> + +<p>"I hope so, too," I said.</p> + +<p>"You hope so?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"But don't you want to win?"</p> + +<p>"I should prefer to please you."</p> + +<p>Mr. Lewis Waller could not have said it better.</p> + +<p>"Really, how very unselfish of you, Mr. Garnet," she replied with a +laugh. "I had no idea that such chivalry existed. I thought a golfer +would sacrifice anything to win a game."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Most things."</p> + +<p>"And trample on the feelings of anybody."</p> + +<p>"Not everybody," I said.</p> + +<p>At this point the professor joined us.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span></p> + + +<h2><a name="XV" id="XV"></a>THE ARRIVAL OF NEMESIS</h2> + + +<p><img src="images/chap_15.jpg" alt="Chap_15" width="200" height="207" /></p> + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_s.jpg" alt="S" width="36" height="50" /></div> + + +<p>ome people do not believe in presentiments. They attribute that +curious feeling that something unpleasant is going to happen to such +mundane causes as liver or a chill or the weather. For my own part, I +think there is more in the matter than the casual observer might +imagine.</p> + +<p>I awoke three days after my meeting with the professor at the +clubhouse filled with a dull foreboding. Somehow I seemed to know that +that day was going to turn out badly for me. It may have been liver or +a chill, but it was certainly not the weather. The morning was +perfect, the most glorious of a glorious summer. There was a haze over +the valley and out to sea which sug<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span>gested a warm noon, when the sun +should have begun the serious duties of the day. The birds were +singing in the trees and breakfasting on the lawn, while Edwin, seated +on one of the flower beds, watched them with the eye of a connoisseur. +Occasionally, when a sparrow hopped in his direction, he would make a +sudden spring, and the bird would fly away to the other side of the +lawn. I had never seen Edwin catch a sparrow. I believe they looked on +him as a bit of a crank, and humored him by coming within springing +distance, just to keep him amused. Dashing young cock sparrows would +show off before their particular hen sparrows, and earn a cheap +reputation for dare-deviltry by going within so many yards of Edwin's +lair and then darting away.</p> + +<p>Bob was in his favorite place on the gravel. I took him with me down +to the Cob to watch me bathe.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What's the matter with me to-day, Robert, old man?" I asked him as I +dried myself.</p> + +<p>He blinked lazily, but contributed no suggestion.</p> + +<p>"It's no good looking bored," I went on, "because I'm going to talk +about myself, however much it bores you. Here am I, as fit as a prize +fighter; living in the open air for I don't know how long; eating +good, plain food; bathing every morning—sea bathing, mind you; and +yet what's the result? I feel beastly."</p> + +<p>Bob yawned and gave a little whine.</p> + +<p>"Yes," I said, "I know I'm in love. But that can't be it, because I +was in love just as much a week ago, and I felt all right then. But +isn't she an angel, Bob? Eh? Isn't she? But how about Tom Chase? Don't +you think he's a dangerous man? He calls her by her Christian name, +you know, and behaves generally as if she belonged to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span> him. And then +he sees her every day, while I have to trust to meeting her at odd +times, and then I generally feel like such a fool I can't think of +anything to talk about except golf and the weather. He probably sings +duets with her after dinner. And you know what comes of duets after +dinner."</p> + +<p>Here Bob, who had been trying for some time to find a decent excuse +for getting away, pretended to see something of importance at the +other end of the Cob, and trotted off to investigate it, leaving me to +finish dressing by myself.</p> + +<p>"Of course," I said to myself, "it may be merely hunger. I may be all +right after breakfast, but at present I seem to be working up for a +really fine fit of the blues."</p> + +<p>I whistled for Bob and started for home. On the beach I saw the +professor some little distance away and waved my towel in a friendly +manner. He made no reply.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span></p> + +<p>Of course it was possible that he had not seen me, but for some reason +his attitude struck me as ominous. As far as I could see, he was +looking straight at me, and he was not a shortsighted man. I could +think of no reason why he should cut me. We had met on the links on +the previous morning, and he had been friendliness itself. He had +called me "me dear boy," supplied me with ginger beer at the +clubhouse, and generally behaved as if he had been David and I +Jonathan. Yet in certain moods we are inclined to make mountains out +of mole-hills, and I went on my way, puzzled and uneasy, with a +distinct impression that I had received the cut direct.</p> + +<p>I felt hurt. What had I done that Providence should make things so +unpleasant for me? It would be a little hard, as Ukridge would have +said, if, after all my trouble, the professor had discovered some +fresh crow to pluck with me. Perhaps Ukridge<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span> had been irritating him +again. I wished he would not identify me so completely with Ukridge. I +could not be expected to control the man. Then I reflected that they +could hardly have met in the few hours between my parting from the +professor at the clubhouse and my meeting with him on the beach. +Ukridge rarely left the farm. When he was not working among the fowls, +he was lying on his back in the paddock, resting his massive mind.</p> + +<p>I came to the conclusion that, after all, the professor had not seen +me.</p> + +<p>"I'm an idiot, Bob," I said, as we turned in at the farm gate, "and I +let my imagination run away with me."</p> + +<p>Bob wagged his tail in approval of the sentiment.</p> + +<p>Breakfast was ready when I got in. There was a cold chicken on the +sideboard, deviled chicken on the table, and a trio of boiled eggs, +and a dish of scram<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span>bled eggs. I helped myself to the latter and sat +down.</p> + +<p>Ukridge was sorting the letters.</p> + +<p>"Morning, Garny," he said. "One for you, Millie."</p> + +<p>"It's from Aunt Elizabeth," said Mrs. Ukridge, looking at the +envelope.</p> + +<p>"Wish she'd inclose a check. She could spare it."</p> + +<p>"I think she would, dear, if she knew how much it was needed. But I +don't like to ask her. She's so curious and says such horrid things."</p> + +<p>"She does," said Ukridge gloomily. He probably spoke from experience. +"Two for you, Sebastian. All the rest for me. Eighteen of them, and +all bills."</p> + +<p>He spread them out on the table like a pack of cards, and drew one at +a venture.</p> + +<p>"Whiteley's," he said. "Getting jumpy. Are in receipt of my favor of +the 7th inst, and are at a loss to understand—all sorts<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span> of things. +Would like something on account."</p> + +<p>"Grasping of them," I said.</p> + +<p>"They seem to think I'm doing it for fun. How can I let them have +their money when there isn't any?"</p> + +<p>"Sounds difficult."</p> + +<p>"Here's one from Dorchester—Smith, the man I got the gramophone from. +Wants to know when I'm going to settle up for sixteen records."</p> + +<p>"Sordid man!"</p> + +<p>I wanted to get on with my own correspondence, but Ukridge was one of +those men who compel one's attention when they are talking.</p> + +<p>"The chicken men, the dealer people, you know, want me to pay up for +the first lot of hens. Considering that they all died of roop, and +that I was going to send them back, anyhow, after I'd got them to +hatch out a few chickens, I call that cool. I can't<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span> afford to pay +heavy sums for birds which die off quicker than I can get them in. It +isn't business."</p> + +<p>It was not my business, at any rate, so I switched off my attention +from Ukridge's troubles and was opening the first of my two letters +when an exclamation from Mrs. Ukridge made me look up.</p> + +<p>She had dropped the letter she had been reading and was staring +indignantly in front of her. There were two little red spots on her +cheeks.</p> + +<p>"I shall never speak to Aunt Elizabeth again," she said.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter, old chap?" inquired Ukridge affectionately, +glancing up from his pile of bills. "Aunt Elizabeth been getting on +your nerves again? What's she been saying this time?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Ukridge left the room with a sob.</p> + +<p>Ukridge sprang at the letter.</p> + +<p>"If that demon doesn't stop writing let<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span>ters and upsetting Millie I +shall lynch her," he said. I had never seen him so genuinely angry. He +turned over the pages till he came to the passage which had caused the +trouble. "Listen to this, Garnet. 'I'm sorry, but not surprised, to +hear that the chicken farm is not proving a great success. I think you +know my opinion of your husband. He is perfectly helpless in any +matter requiring the exercise of a little common sense and business +capability.' I like that! 'Pon my soul, I like that! You've known me +longer than she has, Garny, and you know that it's just in matters +requiring common sense that I come out strong. What?"</p> + +<p>"Of course, old man," I replied dutifully. "The woman must be a fool."</p> + +<p>"That's what she calls me two lines farther on. No wonder Millie was +upset. Why can't these cats leave people alone?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span></p> + +<p>"O woman, woman!" I threw in helpfully.</p> + +<p>"Always interfering—"</p> + +<p>"Beastly!"</p> + +<p>"—and backbiting—"</p> + +<p>"Awful!"</p> + +<p>"I shan't stand it!"</p> + +<p>"I shouldn't."</p> + +<p>"Look here! On the next page she calls me a gaby!"</p> + +<p>"It's time you took a strong hand."</p> + +<p>"And in the very next sentence refers to me as a perfect guffin. +What's a guffin, Garny, old boy?"</p> + +<p>"It sounds indecent."</p> + +<p>"I believe it's actionable."</p> + +<p>"I shouldn't wonder."</p> + +<p>Ukridge rushed to the door.</p> + +<p>"Millie!" he shouted.</p> + +<p>No answer.</p> + +<p>He slammed the door, and I heard him dashing upstairs.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span></p> + +<p>I turned with a sense of relief to my letters. One was from Lickford. +It bore a Cornish postmark. I glanced through it, and laid it aside +for a more exhaustive perusal later on.</p> + +<p>The other was in a strange handwriting. I looked at the signature. +Patrick Derrick. This was queer. What had the professor to say to me?</p> + +<p>The next moment my heart seemed to spring to my throat.</p> + +<p>"Sir," the letter began.</p> + +<p>A pleasant, cheery beginning!</p> + +<p>Then it got off the mark, so to speak, like lightning. There was no +sparring for an opening, no dignified parade of set phrases leading up +to the main point. It was the letter of a man who was almost too +furious to write. It gave me the impression that, if he had not +written it, he would have been obliged to have taken some very violent +form of exercise by way of relief to his soul.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You will be good enough," he wrote, "to look on our acquaintance as +closed. I have no wish to associate with persons of your stamp. If we +should happen to meet, you will be good enough to treat me as a total +stranger, as I shall treat you. And, if I may be allowed to give you a +word of advice, I should recommend you in future, when you wish to +exercise your humor, to do so in some less practical manner than by +bribing boatmen to upset your" (<i>friends</i> crossed out thickly, and +<i>acquaintances</i> substituted). "If you require further enlightenment in +this matter, the inclosed letter may be of service to you."</p> + +<p>With which he remained mine faithfully, <br /> +Patrick Derrick.</p> + +<p>The inclosed letter was from one Jane Muspratt. It was bright and +interesting.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>: My Harry, Mr. Hawk, sas to me how it was him +upseting the boat and you, not because he is not steddy in a +boat which he is no man more<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span> so in Lyme Regis but because +one of the gentmen what keeps chikkens up the hill, the +little one, Mr. Garnick his name is, says to him Hawk, I'll +give you a sovrin to upset Mr. Derrick in your boat, and my +Harry being esily led was took in and did but he's sory now +and wishes he hadn't, and he sas he'll niver do a prackticle +joke again for anyone even for a bank note.</p></div> + +<p class="sig1">Yours obedly</p> + +<p class="sig"><span class="smcap">Jane Muspratt</span>.</p> + +<p>O woman, woman!</p> + +<p>At the bottom of everything! History is full of cruel tragedies caused +by the lethal sex.</p> + +<p>Who lost Mark Antony the world? A woman. Who let Samson in so +atrociously? Woman again. Why did Bill Bailey leave home? Once more, +because of a woman. And here was I, Jerry Garnet, harmless, +well-meaning writer of minor novels, going through the same old mill.</p> + +<p>I cursed Jane Muspratt. What chance had I with Phyllis now? Could I +hope to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span> win over the professor again? I cursed Jane Muspratt for the +second time.</p> + +<p>My thoughts wandered to Mr. Harry Hawk. The villain! The scoundrel! +What business had he to betray me? Well, I could settle with him. The +man who lays a hand upon a woman, save in the way of kindness, is +justly disliked by society; so the woman Muspratt, culpable as she +was, was safe from me. But what of the man Hawk? There no such +considerations swayed me. I would interview the man Hawk. I would give +him the most hectic ten minutes of his career. I would say things to +him the recollection of which would make him start up shrieking in his +bed in the small hours of the night. I would arise, and be a man and +slay him—take him grossly, full of bread, with all his crimes, +broad-blown, as flush as May; at gaming, swearing, or about some act +that had no relish of salvation in it.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span></p> + +<p>The demon!</p> + +<p>My life—ruined. My future—gray and blank. My heart—shattered. And +why? Because of the scoundrel—Hawk.</p> + +<p>Phyllis would meet me in the village, on the Cob, on the links, and +pass by as if I were the invisible man. And why? Because of the +reptile—Hawk. The worm—Hawk. The varlet—Hawk.</p> + +<p>I crammed my hat on and hurried out of the house toward the village.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="A_CHANCE_MEETING" id="A_CHANCE_MEETING"></a>A CHANCE MEETING</h2> + + +<p><img src="images/chap_16.jpg" alt="Chap_16" width="200" height="207" /></p> + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_i.jpg" alt="I" width="25" height="50" /></div> + + +<p> roamed the place in search of the varlet for the space of half an +hour, and, after having drawn all his familiar haunts, found him at +length leaning over the sea wall near the church, gazing thoughtfully +into the waters below.</p> + +<p>I confronted him.</p> + +<p>"Well," I said, "you're a beauty, aren't you?"</p> + +<p>He eyed me owlishly. Even at this early hour, I was grieved to see, he +showed signs of having looked on the bitter while it was brown.</p> + +<p>"Beauty?" he echoed.</p> + +<p>"What have you got to say for yourself?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was plain that he was engaged in pulling his faculties together by +some laborious process known only to himself. At present my words +conveyed no meaning to him. He was trying to identify me. He had seen +me before somewhere, he was certain, but he could not say where, or +who I was.</p> + +<p>"I want to know," I said, "what induced you to be such an abject idiot +as to let our arrangement get known?"</p> + +<p>I spoke quietly. I was not going to waste the choicer flowers of +speech on a man who was incapable of understanding them. Later on, +when he had awakened to a sense of his position, I would begin really +to talk to him.</p> + +<p>He continued to stare at me. Then a sudden flash of intelligence lit +up his features.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Garnick," he said.</p> + +<p>"You've got it at last."</p> + +<p>He stretched out a huge hand.</p> + +<p>"I want to know," I said distinctly,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span> "what you've got to say for +yourself after letting our affair with the professor become public +property?"</p> + +<p>He paused a while in thought.</p> + +<p>"Dear sir," he said at last, as if he were dictating a letter, "dear +sir, I owe you—ex—exp—"</p> + +<p>"You do," said I grimly. "I should like to hear it."</p> + +<p>"Dear sir, listen me."</p> + +<p>"Go on, then."</p> + +<p>"You came me. You said, 'Hawk, Hawk, ol' fren', listen me. You tip +this ol' bufflehead into sea,' you said, 'an' gormed if I don't give +'ee a gould savrin.' That's what you said me. Isn't that what you said +me?"</p> + +<p>I did not deny it.</p> + +<p>"Ve' well. I said you, 'Right,' I said. I tipped the ol' soul into +sea, and I got the gould savrin."</p> + +<p>"Yes, you took care of that. All this is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span> quite true, but it's beside +the point. We are not disputing about what happened. What I want to +know for the third time—is what made you let the cat out of the bag? +Why couldn't you keep quiet about it?"</p> + +<p>He waved his hand.</p> + +<p>"Dear sir," he replied. "This way. Listen me."</p> + +<p>It was a tragic story that he unfolded. My wrath ebbed as I listened. +After all, the fellow was not so greatly to blame. I felt that in his +place I should have acted as he had done. Fate was culpable, and fate +alone.</p> + +<p>It appeared that he had not come well out of the matter of the +accident. I had not looked at it hitherto from his point of view. +While the rescue had left me the popular hero, it had had quite the +opposite result for him. He had upset his boat and would have drowned +his passenger, said public opinion, if the young hero from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span> +London—myself—had not plunged in, and at the risk of his life +brought the professor to shore. Consequently, he was despised by all +as an inefficient boatman. He became a laughing stock. The local wags +made laborious jests when he passed. They offered him fabulous sums to +take their worst enemies out for a row with him. They wanted to know +when he was going to school to learn his business. In fact, they +behaved as wags do and always have done at all times all the world +over.</p> + +<p>Now, all this Mr. Hawk, it seemed, would have borne cheerfully and +patiently for my sake, or, at any rate, for the sake of the good +golden sovereign I had given him. But a fresh factor appeared in the +problem, complicating it grievously. To wit, Miss Jane Muspratt.</p> + +<p>"She said me," explained Mr. Hawk with pathos, "'Harry 'Awk,' she +said, 'yeou'm a girt fule, an' I don't marry noone<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span> as is ain't to be +trusted in a boat by hisself, and what has jokes made about him by +that Tom Leigh.' I punched Tom Leigh," observed Mr. Hawk +parenthetically. "'So,' she said me, 'yeou can go away, an' I don't +want to see yeou again.'"</p> + +<p>This heartless conduct on the part of Miss Muspratt had had the +natural result of making him confess all in self-defense, and she had +written to the professor the same night.</p> + +<p>I forgave Mr. Hawk. I think he was hardly sober enough to understand, +for he betrayed no emotion.</p> + +<p>"It is fate, Hawk," I said, "simply fate. There is a divinity that +shapes our ends, rough-hew them how we will, and it's no good +grumbling."</p> + +<p>"Yiss," said Mr. Hawk, after chewing this sentiment for a while in +silence, "so she said me, 'Hawk,' she said—like that—'you're a girt +fule—'"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span></p> + +<p>"That's all right," I replied. "I quite understand. As I say, it's +simply fate. Good-by."</p> + +<p>And I left him.</p> + +<p>As I was going back, I met the professor and Phyllis.</p> + +<p>They passed me without a look.</p> + +<p>I wandered on in quite a fervor of self-pity. I was in one of those +moods when life suddenly seems to become irksome, when the future +stretches blank and gray in front of one. In such a mood it is +imperative that one should seek distraction. The shining example of +Mr. Harry Hawk did not lure me. Taking to drink would be a nuisance. +Work was what I wanted. I would toil like a navvy all day among the +fowls, separating them when they fought, gathering in the eggs when +they laid, chasing them across country when they got away, and even, +if necessity arose, painting their throats with turpentine when they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span> +were stricken with roop. Then, after dinner, when the lamps were lit, +and Mrs. Ukridge petted Edwin and sewed, and Ukridge smoked cigars and +incited the gramophone to murder "Mumbling Mose," I would steal away +to my bedroom and write—and write—and <i>write</i>—and go on writing +till my fingers were numb and my eyes refused to do their duty. And, +when time had passed, I might come to feel that it was all for the +best. A man must go through the fire before he can write his +masterpiece. We learn in suffering what we teach in song. What we lose +on the swings we make up on the roundabouts. Jerry Garnet, the man, +might become a depressed, hopeless wreck, with the iron planted +irremovably in his soul; but Jeremy Garnet, the author, should turn +out such a novel of gloom that strong critics would weep and the +public jostle for copies till Mudie's doorways became a shambles.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span></p> + +<p>Thus might I some day feel that all this anguish was really a +blessing—effectively disguised.</p> + +<p>But I doubted it.</p> + +<p>We were none of us very cheerful now at the farm. Even Ukridge's +spirit was a little daunted by the bills which poured in by every +post. It was as if the tradesmen of the neighborhood had formed a +league and were working in concert. Or it may have been due to thought +waves. Little accounts came not in single spies but in battalions. The +popular demand for a sight of the color of his money grew daily. Every +morning at breakfast he would give us fresh bulletins of the state of +mind of each of our creditors, and thrill us with the announcement +that Whiteley's were getting cross and Harrod's jumpy, or that the +bearings of Dawlish, the grocer, were becoming over-heated. We lived +in a continual atmosphere of worry. Chicken and nothing but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span> chicken +at meals, and chicken and nothing but chicken between meals, had +frayed our nerves. An air of defeat hung over the place. We were a +beaten side, and we realized it. We had been playing an uphill game +for nearly two months, and the strain was beginning to tell. Ukridge +became uncannily silent. Mrs. Ukridge, though she did not understand, +I fancy, the details of the matter, was worried because Ukridge was. +Mrs. Beale had long since been turned into a soured cynic by the lack +of chances vouchsafed her for the exercise of her art. And as for me, +I have never since spent so profoundly miserable a week. I was not +even permitted the anodyne of work. There seemed to be nothing to do +on the farm. The chickens were quite happy, and only asked to be let +alone and allowed to have their meals at regular intervals. And every +day one or more of their number would vanish into the kitchen, and +Mrs.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span> Beale would serve up the corpse in some cunning disguise, and we +would try to delude ourselves into the idea that it was something +altogether different.</p> + +<p>There was one solitary gleam of variety in our menu. An editor sent me +a check for a guinea for a set of verses. We cashed that check and +trooped round the town in a body, laying out the money. We bought a +leg of mutton and a tongue and sardines and pineapple chunks and +potted meat and many other noble things, and had a perfect banquet.</p> + +<p>After that we relapsed into routine again.</p> + +<p>Deprived of physical labor, with the exception of golf and +bathing—trivial sports compared with work in the fowl runs at its +hardest—I tried to make up for it by working at my novel.</p> + +<p>It refused to materialize.</p> + +<p>I felt, like the man in the fable, as if some one had played a mean +trick on me, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span> substituted for my brain a side order of +cauliflower. By no manner of means could I get the plot to shape +itself. I could not detach my mind from my own painful case. Instead +of thinking of my characters, I sat in my chair and thought miserably +of Phyllis.</p> + +<p>The only progress I achieved was with my villain.</p> + +<p>I drew him from the professor and made him a blackmailer. He had +several other social defects, but that was his profession. That was +the thing he did really well.</p> + +<p>It was on one of the many occasions on which I had sat in my room, pen +in hand, through the whole of a lovely afternoon, with no better +result than a slight headache, that I bethought me of that little +paradise on the Ware Cliff, hung over the sea and backed by green +woods. I had not been there for sometime, owing principally to an +entirely erroneous idea that I could do<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span> more solid work sitting in a +straight, hard chair at a table than lying on soft turf with the sea +wind in my eyes.</p> + +<p>But now the desire to visit that little clearing again drove me from +my room. In the drawing-room below, the gramophone was dealing +brassily with "Mister Blackman." Outside, the sun was just thinking of +setting. The Ware Cliff was the best medicine for me. What does +Kipling say?</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And soon you will find that the sun and the wind<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the Djinn of the Garden, too,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have lightened the Hump, Cameelious Hump,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The Hump that is black and blue.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>His instructions include digging with a hoe and a shovel also, but I +could omit that. The sun and wind were what I needed.</p> + +<p>I took the upper road. In certain moods I preferred it to the path +along the cliff. I walked fast. The exercise was soothing.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span></p> + +<p>To reach my favorite clearing I had to take to the fields on the left +and strike down hill in the direction of the sea. I hurried down the +narrow path.</p> + +<p>I broke into the clearing at a jog trot, and stood panting. And at the +same moment, looking cool and beautiful in her white dress, Phyllis +entered it from the other side. Phyllis—without the professor.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="OF_A_SENTIMENTAL_NATURE" id="OF_A_SENTIMENTAL_NATURE"></a>OF A SENTIMENTAL NATURE</h2> + + + +<p><img src="images/chap_17.jpg" alt="Chap_17" width="200" height="207" /></p> + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_s.jpg" alt="S" width="36" height="50" /></div> + + +<p>he was wearing a Panama, and she carried a sketching block and camp +stool.</p> + +<p>"Good evening," I said.</p> + +<p>"Good evening," said she.</p> + +<p>It is curious how different the same words can sound when spoken by +different people. My "good evening" might have been that of a man with +a particularly guilty conscience caught in the act of doing something +more than usually ignoble. She spoke like a somewhat offended angel.</p> + +<p>"It's a lovely evening," I went on pluckily.</p> + +<p>"Very."</p> + +<p>"The sunset!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Er—"</p> + +<p>She raised a pair of blue eyes, devoid of all expression save a faint +suggestion of surprise, gazed through me for a moment at some object a +couple of thousand miles away, and lowered them again, leaving me with +a vague feeling that there was something wrong with my personal +appearance.</p> + +<p>Very calmly she moved to the edge of the cliff, arranged her camp +stool, and sat down. Neither of us spoke a word. I watched her while +she filled a little mug with water from a little bottle, opened her +paint box, selected a brush, and placed her sketching block in +position.</p> + +<p>She began to paint.</p> + +<p>Now, by all the laws of good taste, I should before this have made a +dignified exit. When a lady shows a gentleman that his presence is +unwelcome, it is up to him, as an American friend of mine pithily +ob<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span>served to me on one occasion, to get busy and chase himself, and +see if he can make the tall timber in two jumps. In other words, to +retire. It was plain that I was not regarded as an essential ornament +of this portion of the Ware Cliff. By now, if I had been the perfect +gentleman, I ought to have been a quarter of a mile away.</p> + +<p>But there is a definite limit to what a man can do. I remained.</p> + +<p>The sinking sun flung a carpet of gold across the sea. Phyllis's hair +was tinged with it. Little waves tumbled lazily on the beach below. +Except for the song of a distant blackbird running through its +repertory before retiring for the night, everything was silent.</p> + +<p>Especially Phyllis.</p> + +<p>She sat there, dipping and painting and dipping again, with never a +word for me—standing patiently and humbly behind her.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Miss Derrick," I said.</p> + +<p>She half turned her head.</p> + +<p>"Yes?"</p> + +<p>One of the most valuable things which a lifetime devoted to sport +teaches a man is "never play the goose game." Bold attack is the +safest rule in nine cases out of ten, wherever you are and whatever +you may be doing. If you are batting, attack the ball. If you are +boxing, get after your man. If you are talking, go to the point.</p> + +<p>"Why won't you speak to me?" I said.</p> + +<p>"I don't understand you."</p> + +<p>"Why won't you speak to me?"</p> + +<p>"I think you know, Mr. Garnet."</p> + +<p>"It is because of that boat accident?"</p> + +<p>"Accident!"</p> + +<p>"Episode," I amended.</p> + +<p>She went on painting in silence. From where I stood I could see her +profile. Her chin was tilted. Her expression was determined.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Is it?" I said.</p> + +<p>"Need we discuss it?"</p> + +<p>"Not if you do not wish."</p> + +<p>I paused.</p> + +<p>"But," I added, "I should have liked a chance to defend myself.... +What glorious sunsets there have been these last few days. I believe +we shall have this sort of weather for another month."</p> + +<p>"I should not have thought that possible."</p> + +<p>"The glass is going up," I said.</p> + +<p>"I was not talking about the weather."</p> + +<p>"It was dull of me to introduce such a worn-out topic."</p> + +<p>"You said you could defend yourself."</p> + +<p>"I said I should like the chance to do so."</p> + +<p>"Then you shall have it."</p> + +<p>"That is very kind of you. Thank you."</p> + +<p>"Is there any reason for gratitude?"</p> + +<p>"Every reason."</p> + +<p>"Go on, Mr. Garnet. I can listen while<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span> I paint. But please sit down. +I don't like being talked to from a height."</p> + +<p>I sat down on the grass in front of her, feeling as I did so that the +change of position in a manner clipped my wings. It is difficult to +speak movingly while sitting on the ground. Instinctively, I avoided +eloquence. Standing up, I might have been pathetic and pleading. +Sitting down, I was compelled to be matter of fact.</p> + +<p>"You remember, of course, the night you and Professor Derrick dined +with us? When I say dined, I use the word in a loose sense."</p> + +<p>For a moment I thought she was going to smile. We were both thinking +of Edwin. But it was only for a moment, and then her face grew cold +once more, and the chin resumed its angle of determination.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said.</p> + +<p>"You remember the unfortunate ending of the festivities?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"I naturally wished to mend matters. It occurred to me that an +excellent way would be by doing your father a service. It was seeing +him fishing that put the idea of a boat accident into my head. I hoped +for a genuine boat accident. But those things only happen when one +does not want them. So I determined to engineer one."</p> + +<p>"You didn't think of the shock to my father."</p> + +<p>"I did. It worried me very much."</p> + +<p>"But you upset him all the same."</p> + +<p>"Reluctantly."</p> + +<p>She looked up and our eyes met. I could detect no trace of forgiveness +in hers.</p> + +<p>"You behaved abominably," she said.</p> + +<p>"I played a risky game, and I lost. And I shall now take the +consequences. With luck I should have won. I did not have luck, and I +am not going to grumble about it. But I am grateful to you for letting +me<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span> explain. I should not have liked you to go on thinking that I +played practical jokes on my friends. That is all I have to say, I +think. It was kind of you to listen. Good-by, Miss Derrick."</p> + +<p>I got up.</p> + +<p>"Are you going?"</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>"Please sit down again."</p> + +<p>"But you wish to be alone—"</p> + +<p>"Please sit down!"</p> + +<p>There was a flush on the fair cheek turned toward me, and the chin was +tilted higher.</p> + +<p>I sat down.</p> + +<p>To westward the sky had changed to the hue of a bruised cherry. The +sun had sunk below the horizon, and the sea looked cold and leaden. +The blackbird had long since gone to bed.</p> + +<p>"I am glad you told me, Mr. Garnet."</p> + +<p>She dipped her brush in the water.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Because I don't like to think badly of—people."</p> + +<p>She bent her head over her painting.</p> + +<p>"Though I still think you behaved very wrongly. And I am afraid my +father will never forgive you for what you did."</p> + +<p>Her father! As if he counted!</p> + +<p>"But you do?" I said eagerly.</p> + +<p>"I think you are less to blame than I thought you were at first."</p> + +<p>"No more than that?"</p> + +<p>"You can't expect to escape all consequences. You did a very stupid +thing."</p> + +<p>"Consider the temptation."</p> + +<p>The sky was a dull gray now. It was growing dusk. The grass on which I +sat was wet with dew.</p> + +<p>I stood up.</p> + +<p>"Isn't it getting a little dark for painting?" I said. "Are you sure +you won't catch cold? It's very damp."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps it is. And it is late, too."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span></p> + +<p>She shut her paint box and emptied the little mug on the grass.</p> + +<p>"You will let me carry your things?" I said.</p> + +<p>I think she hesitated, but only for a moment. I possessed myself of +the camp stool, and we started on our homeward journey. We were both +silent. The spell of the quiet summer evening was on us.</p> + +<p>"'And all the air a solemn stillness holds,'" she said softly. "I love +this cliff, Mr. Garnet. It's the most soothing place in the world."</p> + +<p>"I have found it so this evening."</p> + +<p>She glanced at me quickly.</p> + +<p>"You're not looking well," she said. "Are you sure you are not +overworking yourself?"</p> + +<p>"No, it's not that."</p> + +<p>Somehow we had stopped, as if by agreement, and were facing each +other. There was a look in her eyes I had never seen<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span> there before. +The twilight hung like a curtain between us and the world. We were +alone together in a world of our own.</p> + +<p>"It is because I had displeased you," I said.</p> + +<p>She laughed nervously.</p> + +<p>"I have loved you ever since I first saw you," I said doggedly.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="UKRIDGE_GIVES_ME_ADVICE" id="UKRIDGE_GIVES_ME_ADVICE"></a>UKRIDGE GIVES ME ADVICE</h2> + + + +<p><img src="images/chap_18.jpg" alt="Chap_18" width="200" height="207" /></p> + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="54" height="50" /></div> + + +<p>ours after—or so it seemed to me—we reached the spot at which our +ways divided. We stopped, and I felt as if I had been suddenly cast +back into the workaday world from some distant and pleasanter planet. +I think Phyllis must have had something of the same sensation, for we +both became on the instant intensely practical and businesslike.</p> + +<p>"But about your father," I said briskly. I was not even holding her +hand.</p> + +<p>"That's the difficulty."</p> + +<p>"He won't give his consent?"</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid he wouldn't dream of it."</p> + +<p>"You can't persuade him?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I can in most things, but not in this. You see, even if nothing had +happened, he wouldn't like to lose me just yet, because of Norah."</p> + +<p>"Norah!"</p> + +<p>"My sister. She's going to be married in October. I wonder if we shall +ever be as happy as they will?"</p> + +<p>I laughed scornfully.</p> + +<p>"Happy! They will be miserable compared with us. Not that I know who +the man is."</p> + +<p>"Why, Tom, of course. Do you mean to say you really didn't know?"</p> + +<p>"Tom! Tom Chase?"</p> + +<p>"Of course."</p> + +<p>I gasped.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm—hanged," I said. "When I think of the torments I've been +through because of that wretched man, and all for nothing, I don't +know what to say."</p> + +<p>"Don't you like Tom?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Very much. I always did. But I was awfully jealous of him."</p> + +<p>"You weren't! How silly of you."</p> + +<p>"Of course I was. He was always about with you, and called you +Phyllis, and generally behaved as if you and he were the heroine and +hero of a musical comedy, so what else could I think? I heard you +singing duets after dinner once. I drew the worst conclusions."</p> + +<p>"When was that?"</p> + +<p>"It was shortly after Ukridge had got on your father's nerves, and +nipped our acquaintance in the bud. I used to come every night to the +hedge opposite your drawing-room window, and brood there by the hour."</p> + +<p>"Poor old boy!"</p> + +<p>"Hoping to hear you sing. And when you did sing, and he joined in all +flat, I used to scold. You'll probably find most of the bark worn off +the tree I leaned against."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Poor old man! Still, it's all over now, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"And when I was doing my very best to show off before you at tennis, +you went away just as I got into form."</p> + +<p>"I'm very sorry, but I couldn't know—could I? I thought you always +played like that."</p> + +<p>"I know. I knew you would. It nearly turned my hair white. I didn't +see how a girl could ever care for a man who was so bad at tennis."</p> + +<p>"One doesn't love a man because he's good at tennis."</p> + +<p>"What <i>does</i> a girl see to love in a man?" I inquired abruptly; and +paused on the verge of a great discovery.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know," she replied, most unsatisfactorily.</p> + +<p>And I could draw no views from her.</p> + +<p>"But about father," said she. "What <i>are</i> we to do?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span></p> + +<p>"He objects to me."</p> + +<p>"He's perfectly furious with you."</p> + +<p>"Blow, blow," I said, "thou winter wind. Thou art not so unkind—"</p> + +<p>"He'll never forgive you."</p> + +<p>"As man's ingratitude. I saved his life—at the risk of my own. Why, I +believe I've got a legal claim on him. Whoever heard of a man having +his life saved, and not being delighted when his preserver wanted to +marry his daughter? Your father is striking at the very root of the +short-story writer's little earnings. He mustn't be allowed to do it."</p> + +<p>"Jerry!"</p> + +<p>I started.</p> + +<p>"Again!" I said.</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"Say it again. Do, please. Now."</p> + +<p>"Very well. Jerry!"</p> + +<p>"It was the first time you had called me by my Christian name. I don't +suppose<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span> you've the remotest notion how splendid it sounds when you +say it. There is something poetical, something almost holy, about it."</p> + +<p>"Jerry, please!"</p> + +<p>"Say on."</p> + +<p>"Do be sensible. Don't you see how serious this is? We must think how +we can make father consent."</p> + +<p>"All right," I said. "We'll tackle the point. I'm sorry to be +frivolous, but I'm so happy I can't keep it all in. I've got you, and +I can't think of anything else."</p> + +<p>"Try."</p> + +<p>"I'll pull myself together.... Now, say on once more."</p> + +<p>"We can't marry without father's consent."</p> + +<p>"Why not?" I said, not having a marked respect for the professor's +whims. "Gretna Green is out of date, but there are registrars."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I hate the very idea of a registrar," she said with decision. +"Besides—"</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"Poor father would never get over it. We've always been such friends. +If I married against his wishes, he would—oh, you know—not let me +come near him again, and not write to me. And he would hate it all the +time he was doing it. He would be bored to death without me."</p> + +<p>"Anybody would," I said.</p> + +<p>"Because, you see, Norah has never been quite the same. She has spent +such a lot of her time on visits to people that she and father don't +understand each other so well as he and I do. She would try and be +nice to him, but she wouldn't know him as I do. And, besides, she will +be with him such a little, now she's going to be married."</p> + +<p>"But, look here," I said, "this is absurd. You say your father would +never see you again, and so on, if you married me. Why?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span> It's +nonsense. It isn't as if I were a sort of social outcast. We were the +best of friends till that man Hawk gave me away like that."</p> + +<p>"I know. But he's very obstinate about some things. You see, he thinks +the whole thing has made him look ridiculous, and it will take him a +long time to forgive you for that."</p> + +<p>I realized the truth of this. One can pardon any injury to oneself, +unless it hurts one's vanity. Moreover, even in a genuine case of +rescue, the rescued man must always feel a little aggrieved with his +rescuer when he thinks the matter over in cold blood. He must regard +him unconsciously as the super regards the actor manager, indebted to +him for the means of supporting existence, but grudging him the lime +light and the center of the stage and the applause. Besides, everyone +instinctively dislikes being under an obligation which he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span> can never +wholly repay. And when a man discovers that he has experienced all +these mixed sensations for nothing, as the professor had done, his +wrath is likely to be no slight thing.</p> + +<p>Taking everything into consideration, I could not but feel that it +would require more than a little persuasion to make the professor +bestow his blessing with that genial warmth which we like to see in +our fathers-in-law elect.</p> + +<p>"You don't think," I said, "that time, the great healer, and so on—he +won't feel kindlier disposed toward me—say in a month's time?"</p> + +<p>"Of course, he <i>might</i>," said Phyllis; but she spoke doubtfully.</p> + +<p>"He strikes me, from what I have seen of him, as a man of moods. I +might do something one of these days which would completely alter his +views. We will hope for the best."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span></p> + +<p>"About telling father—"</p> + +<p>"Need we tell him?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, we must. I couldn't bear to think that I was keeping it from +him. I don't think I've ever kept anything from him in my life. +Nothing bad, I mean."</p> + +<p>"You count this among your darker crimes, then?"</p> + +<p>"I was looking at it from father's point of view. He will be awfully +angry. I don't know how I shall begin telling him."</p> + +<p>"Good heavens!" I cried, "you surely don't think I'm going to let you +do that! Keep safely out of the way while you tell him? Not much. I'm +coming back with you now, and we'll break the bad news together."</p> + +<p>"No, not to-night. He may be tired and rather cross. We had better +wait till to-morrow. You might speak to him in the morning."</p> + +<p>"Where shall I find him?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span></p> + +<p>"He is certain to go to the beach before breakfast to bathe."</p> + +<p>"Good. To-morrow, do thy worst, for I have lived to-day. I'll be +there."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"Ukridge," I said, when I got back, "can you give me audience for a +brief space? I want your advice."</p> + +<p>This stirred him like a trumpet blast. When a man is in the habit of +giving unsolicited counsel to everyone he meets, it is as invigorating +as an electric shock to him to be asked for it spontaneously.</p> + +<p>"What's up, old horse?" he asked eagerly. "I'll tell you what to do. +Get on to it. Bang it out. Here, let's go into the garden."</p> + +<p>I approved of this. I can always talk more readily in the dark, and I +did not wish to be interrupted by the sudden entrance of the hired +retainer or Mrs. Beale.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span> We walked down to the paddock. Ukridge lit a +cigar.</p> + +<p>"I'm in love, Ukridge," I said.</p> + +<p>"What!"</p> + +<p>"More—I'm engaged."</p> + +<p>A huge hand whistled through the darkness and smote me heavily between +the shoulder blades.</p> + +<p>"Thanks," I said; "that felt congratulatory."</p> + +<p>"By Jove! old boy, I wish you luck. 'Pon my word, I do. Fancy you +engaged! Best thing in the world for you. Never knew what happiness +was till I married. A man wants a helpmeet—"</p> + +<p>"And this man," I said, "seems likely to go on wanting. That's where I +need your advice. I'm engaged to Miss Derrick."</p> + +<p>"Miss Derrick!" He spoke as if he hardly knew whom I meant.</p> + +<p>"You can't have forgotten her! Good<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span> heavens, what eyes some men have! +Why, if I'd only seen her once, I should have remembered her all my +life."</p> + +<p>"I know now. She came to dinner here with her father, that fat little +buffer."</p> + +<p>"As you were careful to call him at the time. Thereby starting all the +trouble."</p> + +<p>"You fished him out of the water afterwards."</p> + +<p>"Quite right."</p> + +<p>"Why, it's a perfect romance, old horse. It's like the stories you +read."</p> + +<p>"And write. But they all end happily. 'There is none, my brave young +preserver, to whom I would more willingly intrust my daughter's +happiness.' Unfortunately, in my little drama, the heavy father seems +likely to forget his cue."</p> + +<p>"The old man won't give his consent?"</p> + +<p>"Probably not."</p> + +<p>"But why? What's the matter with you?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span> If you marry, you'll come into +your uncle's money, and all that."</p> + +<p>"True. Affluence stares me in the face."</p> + +<p>"And you fished him out of the water."</p> + +<p>"After previously chucking him in."</p> + +<p>"What!"</p> + +<p>"At any rate, by proxy."</p> + +<p>I explained. Ukridge, I regret to say, laughed.</p> + +<p>"You vagabond!" he said. "'Pon my word, old horse, to look at you, one +would never have thought you'd have had it in you."</p> + +<p>"I can't help looking respectable."</p> + +<p>"What are you going to do about it? The old man's got it up against +you good and strong, there's no doubt of that."</p> + +<p>"That's where I wanted your advice. You're a man of resource. What +would you do if you were in my place?"</p> + +<p>Ukridge tapped me impressively on the shoulder.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Marmaduke," he said, "there's one thing that'll carry you through any +mess."</p> + +<p>"And that is—"</p> + +<p>"Cheek, my boy—cheek! Gall! Why, take my case. I never told you how I +came to marry, did I? I thought not. Well, it was this way. You've +heard us mention Millie's Aunt Elizabeth—what? Well, then, when I +tell you that she was Millie's nearest relative, and it was her +consent I had to gather, you'll see that it wasn't a walk-over."</p> + +<p>"Well?" I said.</p> + +<p>"First time I saw Millie was in a first-class carriage on the +underground. I'd got a third-class ticket, by the way. We weren't +alone. It was five a side. But she sat opposite me, and I fell in love +with her there and then. We both got out at South Kensington. I +followed her. She went to a house in Thurloe Square. I waited outside +and thought it over. I had got to get<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span> into that house and make her +acquaintance. So I rang the bell. 'Is Lady Lichenhall at home?' I +asked. You note the artfulness? My asking for Lady Lichenhall made 'em +think I was one of the upper ten—what?"</p> + +<p>"How were you dressed?" I could not help asking.</p> + +<p>"Oh, it was one of my frock-coat days. I'd been to see a man about +tutoring his son. There was nothing the matter with my appearance. +'No,' said the servant, 'nobody of that name lives here. This is Lady +Lakenheath's house.' So, you see, I had luck at the start, because the +two names were a bit alike. Well, I got the servant to show me in +somehow, and, once in, you can wager I talked for all I was worth. +Kept up a flow of conversation about being misdirected and coming to +the wrong house, and so on. Went away, and called a few days later. +Called regularly. Met 'em at every theater they went to, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span> bowed, +and finally got away with Millie before her aunt could tell what was +happening, or who I was or what I was doing or anything."</p> + +<p>"And what's the moral?" I said.</p> + +<p>"Why, go in hard. Rush 'em. Bustle 'em. Don't give 'em a moment's +rest."</p> + +<p>"Don't play the goose game," I said with that curious thrill we feel +when somebody's independent view of a matter coincides with one's own.</p> + +<p>"That's it. Don't play the goose game. Don't give 'em time to think. +Why, if I'd given Millie's aunt time to think, where should we have +been? Not at Lyme Regis together, I'll bet."</p> + +<p>"Ukridge," I said, "you inspire me. You would inspire a caterpillar. I +will go to the professor—I was going anyhow—but now I shall go +aggressively, and bustle him. I will surprise a father's blessing out +of him, if I have to do it with a crowbar!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="I_ASK_PAPA" id="I_ASK_PAPA"></a>I ASK PAPA</h2> + + + +<p><img src="images/chap_19.jpg" alt="Chap_19" width="200" height="207" /></p> + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_r.jpg" alt="R" width="50" height="50" /></div> + + +<p>eviewing the matter later, I see that I made a poor choice of time +and place. But at the moment this did not strike me. It is a simple +thing, I reflected, for a man to pass another by haughtily and without +recognition, when they meet on dry land; but when the said man, being +an indifferent swimmer, is accosted in the water and out of his depth, +the feat becomes a hard one.</p> + +<p>When, therefore, having undressed on the Cob on the following morning, +I spied in the distance, as I was about to dive, the gray head of the +professor bobbing on the face of the waters, I did not hesitate. I +plunged in and swam rapidly toward him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span></p> + +<p>His face was turned in the opposite direction when I came up with him, +and it was soon evident that he had not observed my approach. For +when, treading water easily in his immediate rear, I wished him good +morning in my most conciliatory tones, he stood not upon the order of +his sinking, but went under like so much pig iron. I waited +courteously until he rose to the surface once more, when I repeated my +remark.</p> + +<p>He expelled the last remnant of water from his mouth with a wrathful +splutter, and cleared his eyes with the back of his hand.</p> + +<p>"The water is delightfully warm," I said.</p> + +<p>"Oh, it's you!" said he, and I could not cheat myself into believing +that he spoke cordially.</p> + +<p>"You are swimming splendidly this morning," I said, feeling that an +ounce of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span> flattery is often worth a pound of rhetoric. "If," I added, +"you will allow me to say so."</p> + +<p>"I will not," he snapped. "I—" Here a small wave, noticing that his +mouth was open, walked in. "I wish," he resumed warmly, "as I said in +me letter, to have nothing to do with you. I consider ye've behaved in +a manner that can only be described as abominable, and I will thank ye +to leave me alone."</p> + +<p>"But, allow me—"</p> + +<p>"I will not allow ye, sir. I will allow ye nothing. Is it not enough +to make me the laughingstock, the butt, sir, of this town, without +pursuing me in this manner when I wish to enjoy a quiet swim?"</p> + +<p>His remarks, which I have placed on paper as if they were continuous +and uninterrupted, were punctuated in reality by a series of gasps and +puffings as he received and ejected the successors of the wave he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span> had +swallowed at the beginning of our little chat. The art of conducting +bright conversation while in the water is not given to every swimmer. +This he seemed to realize, for, as if to close the interview, he +proceeded to make his way as quickly as he could toward the shore. +Using my best stroke, I shot beyond him and turned, treading water as +before.</p> + +<p>"But, professor," I said, "one moment."</p> + +<p>I was growing annoyed with the man. I could have ducked him but for +the reflection that my prospects of obtaining his consent to my +engagement with Phyllis would hardly have been enhanced thereby. No +more convincing proof of my devotion can be given than this, that I +did not seize that little man by the top of his head, thrust him under +water, and keep him there.</p> + +<p>I restrained myself. I was suave. Soothing, even.</p> + +<p>"But, professor," I said, "one moment."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Not one," he spluttered. "Go away, sir. I will have nothing to say to +you."</p> + +<p>"I shan't keep you a minute."</p> + +<p>He had been trying all this while to pass me and escape to the shore, +but I kept always directly in front of him. He now gave up the attempt +and came to standstill.</p> + +<p>"Well?" he said.</p> + +<p>Without preamble I gave out the text of the address I was about to +deliver to him.</p> + +<p>"I love your daughter Phyllis, Mr. Derrick. She loves me. In fact, we +are engaged," I said.</p> + +<p>He went under as if he had been seized with cramp. It was a little +trying having to argue with a man, of whom one could not predict with +certainty that at any given moment he would not be under water. It +tended to spoil one's flow of eloquence. The best of arguments is +useless if the listener suddenly disappears in the middle of it.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span></p> + +<p>However, I persevered.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Derrick," I said, as his head emerged, "you are naturally +surprised."</p> + +<p>"You—you—you—"</p> + +<p>So far from cooling him, liberal doses of water seemed to make him +more heated.</p> + +<p>"You impudent scoundrel!"</p> + +<p>He said that—not I. What I said was more gentlemanly, more courteous, +on a higher plane altogether.</p> + +<p>I said winningly: "Mr. Derrick, cannot we let bygones be bygones?"</p> + +<p>From his expression I gathered that we could not.</p> + +<p>I continued. I was under the unfortunate necessity of having to +condense my remarks. I was not able to let myself go as I could have +wished, for time was an important consideration. Erelong, swallowing +water at his present rate, the professor must inevitably become +waterlogged. It behooved me to be succinct.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I have loved your daughter," I said rapidly, "ever since I first saw +her. I learned last night that she loved me. But she will not marry me +without your consent. Stretch your arms out straight from the +shoulders and fill your lungs well, and you can't sink. So I have come +this morning to ask for your consent. I know we have not been on the +best of terms lately."</p> + +<p>"You—"</p> + +<p>"For Heaven's sake, don't try to talk. Your one chance of remaining on +the surface is to keep your lungs well filled. The fault," I said +generously, "was mine. But when you have heard my explanation, I am +sure you will forgive me. There, I told you so."</p> + +<p>He reappeared some few feet to the left. I swam up and resumed:</p> + +<p>"When you left us so abruptly after our little dinner party, you put +me in a very awkward position. I was desperately in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span> love with your +daughter, and as long as you were in the frame of mind in which you +left, I could not hope to find an opportunity of telling her so. You +see what a fix I was in, don't you? I thought for hours and hours, to +try and find some means of bringing about a reconciliation. You +wouldn't believe how hard I thought. At last, seeing you fishing one +morning when I was on the Cob, it struck me all of a sudden that the +very best way would be to arrange a little boating accident. I was +confident that I could rescue you all right."</p> + +<p>"You young blackguard!"</p> + +<p>He managed to slip past me, and made for the shore again.</p> + +<p>"Strike out—but hear me," I said, swimming by his side. "Look at the +thing from the standpoint of a philosopher. The fact that the rescue +was arranged oughtn't really to influence you in the least. You didn't +know it at the time, therefore relatively it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span> was not, and you were +genuinely saved from a watery grave."</p> + +<p>I felt that I was becoming a shade too metaphysical, but I could not +help it. What I wanted to point out was that I had certainly pulled +him out of the water, and that the fact that I had caused him to be +pushed in had nothing to do with the case. Either a man is a gallant +rescuer or he is not a gallant rescuer. There is no middle course. I +had saved his life, for he would have drowned if he had been left to +himself, and was consequently entitled to his gratitude. And that was +all that there was to be said about it.</p> + +<p>These things I endeavored to make plain to him as we swam along. But +whether it was that the salt water he had swallowed dulled his +intelligence or that my power of stating a case neatly was to seek, +the fact remains that he reached the beach an unconvinced man.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span></p> + +<p>We faced one another, dripping.</p> + +<p>"Then may I consider," I said, "that your objections are removed? We +have your consent?"</p> + +<p>He stamped angrily, and his bare foot came down on a small but +singularly sharp pebble. With a brief exclamation he seized the foot +with one hand and hopped. While hopping, he delivered his ultimatum. +Probably this is the only instance on record of a father adopting this +attitude in dismissing a suitor.</p> + +<p>"You may not," he said. "You may not consider any such thing. My +objections were never more—absolute. You detain me in the water till +I am blue, sir, blue with cold, in order to listen to the most +preposterous and impudent nonsense I ever heard."</p> + +<p>This was unjust. If he had heard me attentively from the first and +avoided interruptions and not behaved like a submarine,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span> we should +have got through our little business in half the time. We might both +have been dry and clothed by now.</p> + +<p>I endeavored to point this out to him.</p> + +<p>"Don't talk to me, sir," he roared, hobbling off across the beach to +his dressing tent. "I will not listen to you. I will have nothing to +do with you. I consider you impudent, sir."</p> + +<p>"I am sure it was unintentional, Mr. Derrick."</p> + +<p>"Isch!" he said—being the first occasion and the last on which I ever +heard that remarkable word proceed from the mouth of man.</p> + +<p>And he vanished into his tent, while I, wading in once more, swam back +to the Cob and put on my clothes.</p> + +<p>And so home, as Pepys would have said, to breakfast, feeling +depressed.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="SCIENTIFIC_GOLF" id="SCIENTIFIC_GOLF"></a>SCIENTIFIC GOLF</h2> + + + +<p><img src="images/chap_20.jpg" alt="Chap_20" width="200" height="207" /></p> + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_a.jpg" alt="A" width="51" height="50" /></div> + + +<p>s I stood with Ukridge in the fowl run on the morning following my +maritime conversation with the professor, regarding a hen that had +posed before us, obviously with a view to inspection, there appeared a +man carrying an envelope.</p> + +<p>Ukridge, who by this time saw, as Calverley almost said, "under every +hat a dun," and imagined that no envelope could contain anything but a +small account, softly and silently vanished away, leaving me to +interview the enemy.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Garnet, sir?" said the foe.</p> + +<p>I recognized him. He was Professor Derrick's gardener. What did this +portend? Had the merits of my pleadings<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span> come home to the professor +when he thought them over, and was there a father's blessing inclosed +in the envelope which was being held out to me?</p> + +<p>I opened the envelope. No, father's blessings were absent. The letter +was in the third person. Professor Derrick begged to inform Mr. Garnet +that, by defeating Mr. Saul Potter, he had qualified for the final +round of the Lyme Regis Golf Tournament, in which, he understood, Mr. +Garnet was to be his opponent. If it would be convenient for Mr. +Garnet to play off the match on the present afternoon, Professor +Derrick would be obliged if he would be at the clubhouse at half-past +two. If this hour and day were unsuitable, would he kindly arrange +others. The bearer would wait.</p> + +<p>The bearer did wait, and then trudged off with a note, beautifully +written in the third person, in which Mr. Garnet, after numer<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span>ous +compliments and thanks, begged to inform Professor Derrick that he +would be at the clubhouse at the hour mentioned.</p> + +<p>"And," I added—to myself, not in the note—"I will give him such a +licking that he'll brain himself with a cleek."</p> + +<p>For I was not pleased with the professor. I was conscious of a +malicious joy at the prospect of snatching the prize from him. I knew +he had set his heart on winning the tournament this year. To be +runner-up two years in succession stimulates the desire for the first +place. It would be doubly bitter to him to be beaten by a newcomer, +after the absence of his rival, the colonel, had awakened hope in him. +And I knew I could do it. Even allowing for bad luck—and I am never a +very unlucky golfer—I could rely almost with certainty on crushing +the man.</p> + +<p>"And I'll do it," I said to Bob, who had trotted up.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span></p> + +<p>I often make Bob the recipient of my confidences. He listens +appreciatively and never interrupts. And he never has grievances of +his own. If there is one person I dislike, it is the man who tries to +air his grievances when I wish to air mine.</p> + +<p>"Bob," I said, running his tail through my fingers, "listen to me. If +I am in form this afternoon, and I feel in my bones that I shall be, I +shall nurse the professor. I shall play with him. Do you understand +the principles of match play at golf, Robert? You score by holes, not +strokes. There are eighteen holes. I shall toy with the professor, +Bob. I shall let him get ahead, and then catch him up. I shall go +ahead myself, and let him catch me up. I shall race him neck and neck +till the very end. Then, when his hair has turned white with the +strain, and he's lost a couple of stone in weight, and his eyes are +starting out of his head, I shall go ahead and beat him by a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span> hole. +<i>I'll</i> teach him, Robert. He shall taste of my despair, and learn by +proof in some wild hour how much the wretched dare. And when it's all +over, and he's torn all his hair out and smashed all his clubs, I +shall go and commit suicide off the Cob. Because, you see, if I can't +marry Phyllis, I shan't have any use for life."</p> + +<p>Bob wagged his tail cheerfully.</p> + +<p>"I mean it," I said, rolling him on his back and punching him on the +chest till his breathing became stertorous. "You don't see the sense +of it, I know. But then you've got none of the finer feelings. You're +a jolly good dog, Robert, but you're a rank materialist. Bones and +cheese and potatoes with gravy over them make you happy. You don't +know what it is to be in love. You'd better get right side up now, or +you'll have apoplexy."</p> + +<p>It has been my aim in the course of this narrative to extenuate +nothing, nor set down<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span> aught in malice. Like the gentleman who played +euchre with the heathen Chinee, I state but the facts. I do not, +therefore, slur over my scheme for disturbing the professor's peace of +mind. I am not always good and noble. I am the hero of this story, but +I have my off moments.</p> + +<p>I felt ruthless toward the professor. I cannot plead ignorance of the +golfer's point of view as an excuse for my plottings. I knew that to +one whose soul is in the game, as the professor's was, the agony of +being just beaten in an important match exceeds in bitterness all +other agonies. I knew that if I scraped through by the smallest +possible margin, his appetite would be destroyed, his sleep o' nights +broken. He would wake from fitful slumber moaning that if he had only +used his iron at the tenth hole all would have been well; that if he +had aimed more carefully on the seventh green, life would not be drear +and blank; that a more judi<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span>cious manipulation of his brassy +throughout might have given him something to live for. All these +things I knew.</p> + +<p>And they did not touch me. I was adamant.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The professor was waiting for me at the clubhouse, and greeted me with +a cold and stately inclination of the head.</p> + +<p>"Beautiful day for golf," I observed in my gay, chatty manner.</p> + +<p>He bowed in silence.</p> + +<p>"Very well," I thought. "Wait—just wait."</p> + +<p>"Miss Derrick is well, I hope?" I added aloud.</p> + +<p>That drew him. He started. His aspect became doubly forbidding.</p> + +<p>"Miss Derrick is perfectly well, sir, I thank you."</p> + +<p>"And you? No bad effect, I hope, from your dip yesterday?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Mr. Garnet, I came here for golf, not conversation," he said.</p> + +<p>We made it so. I drove off from the first tee. It was a splendid +drive. I should not say so if there were anyone else to say so for me. +Modesty would forbid. But, as there is no one, I must repeat the +statement. It was one of the best drives of my experience. The ball +flashed through the air, took the bunker with a dozen feet to spare, +and rolled onto the green. I had felt all along that I should be in +form. Unless my opponent was equally above himself, he was a lost man.</p> + +<p>The excellence of my drive had not been without its effect on the +professor. I could see that he was not confident. He addressed his +ball more strangely and at greater length than anyone I had ever seen. +He waggled his club over it as if he were going to perform a conjuring +trick. Then he struck and topped it.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span></p> + +<p>The ball rolled two yards.</p> + +<p>He looked at it in silence. Then he looked at me—also in silence.</p> + +<p>I was gazing seaward.</p> + +<p>When I looked round, he was getting to work with a brassy.</p> + +<p>This time he hit the bunker and rolled back. He repeated this maneuver +twice.</p> + +<p>"Hard luck!" I murmured sympathetically on the third occasion, thereby +going as near to being slain with an iron as it has ever been my lot +to go. Your true golfer is easily roused in times of misfortune, and +there was a red gleam in the eye the professor turned to me.</p> + +<p>"I shall pick my ball up," he growled.</p> + +<p>We walked on in silence to the second tee.</p> + +<p>He did the second hole in four, which was good. I won it in three, +which—unfortunately for him—was better.</p> + +<p>I won the third hole.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span></p> + +<p>I won the fourth hole.</p> + +<p>I won the fifth hole.</p> + +<p>I glanced at my opponent out of the corner of my eyes. The man was +suffering. Beads of perspiration stood out on his forehead.</p> + +<p>His play had become wilder and wilder at each hole in arithmetical +progression. If he had been a plow, he could hardly have turned up +more soil. The imagination recoiled from the thought of what he would +be doing in another half hour if he deteriorated at his present speed.</p> + +<p>A feeling of calm and content stole over me. I was not sorry for him. +All the viciousness of my nature was uppermost in me. Once, when he +missed the ball clean at the fifth tee, his eye met mine, and we stood +staring at each other for a full half minute without moving. I believe +if I had smiled then, he would have attacked me without hesitation. +There is a type of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span> golfer who really almost ceases to be human under +stress of the wild agony of a series of foozles.</p> + +<p>The sixth hole involves the player in a somewhat tricky piece of +cross-country work. There is a nasty ditch to be negotiated. Many an +optimist has been reduced to blank pessimism by that ditch. "All hope +abandon, ye who enter here," might be written on a notice board over +it.</p> + +<p>The professor "entered there." The unhappy man sent his ball into its +very jaws. And then madness seized him. The merciful laws of golf, +framed by kindly men who do not wish to see the asylums of Great +Britain overcrowded, enact that in such a case the player may take his +ball and throw it over his shoulder. The same to count as one stroke. +But vaulting ambition is apt to try and drive out from the ditch, +thinking thereby to win through without losing a stroke. This way +madness lies.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was a grisly sight to see the professor, head and shoulders above +the ditch, hewing at his obstinate Haskell.</p> + +<p>"<i>Sixteen</i>!" said the professor at last between his teeth. Then, +having made one or two further comments, he stooped and picked up his +ball.</p> + +<p>"I give you this hole," he said.</p> + +<p>We walked on.</p> + +<p>I won the seventh hole.</p> + +<p>I won the eighth hole.</p> + +<p>The ninth we halved, for in the black depth of my soul I had formed a +plan of fiendish subtlety. I intended to allow him to win—with +extreme labor—eight holes in succession.</p> + +<p>Then, when hope was once more strong in him, I would win the last, and +he would go mad.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>I watched him carefully as we trudged on. Emotions chased one another +across<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span> his face. When he won the tenth hole he merely refrained from +oaths. When he won the eleventh a sort of sullen pleasure showed in +his face. It was at the thirteenth that I detected the first dawning +of hope. From then onward it grew. When, with a sequence of shocking +shots, he took the seventeenth hole in eight, he was in a parlous +condition. His run of success had engendered within him a desire for +conversation. He wanted, as it were, to flap his wings and crow. I +could see dignity wrestling with talkativeness.</p> + +<p>I gave him a lead.</p> + +<p>"You have got back your form now," I said.</p> + +<p>Talkativeness had it. Dignity retired hurt. Speech came from him with +a rush. When he brought off an excellent drive from the eighteenth +tee, he seemed to forget everything.</p> + +<p>"Me dear boy—" he began, and stopped<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</a></span> abruptly in some confusion. +Silence once more brooded over us as we played ourselves up the +fairway and on to the green.</p> + +<p>He was on the green in four. I reached it in three. His sixth stroke +took him out.</p> + +<p>I putted carefully to the very mouth of the hole.</p> + +<p>I walked up to my ball and paused. I looked at the professor. He +looked at me.</p> + +<p>"Go on," he said hoarsely.</p> + +<p>Suddenly a wave of compassion flooded over me. What right had I to +torture the man like this? He had not behaved well to me, but in the +main it was my fault. In his place I should have acted in precisely +the same way. In a flash I made up my mind.</p> + +<p>"Professor," I said.</p> + +<p>"Go on," he repeated.</p> + +<p>"That looks a simple shot," I said, eyeing him steadily, "but I might +easily miss it."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[298]</a></span></p> + +<p>He started.</p> + +<p>"And then you would win the championship."</p> + +<p>He dabbed at his forehead with a wet ball of a handkerchief.</p> + +<p>"It would be very pleasant for you after getting so near it the last +two years."</p> + +<p>"Go on," he said for the third time. But there was a note of +hesitation in his voice.</p> + +<p>"Sudden joy," I said, "would almost certainly make me miss it."</p> + +<p>We looked at each other. He had the golf fever in his eyes.</p> + +<p>"If," I said slowly, lifting my putter, "you were to give your consent +to my marriage with Phyllis—"</p> + +<p>He looked from me to the ball, from the ball to me, and back again to +the ball. It was very, very near the hole.</p> + +<p>"I love her," I said, "and I have dis<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</a></span>covered she loves me.... I shall +be a rich man from the day I marry—"</p> + +<p>His eyes were still fixed on the ball.</p> + +<p>"Why not?" I said.</p> + +<p>He looked up, and burst into a roar of laughter.</p> + +<p>"You young divil," said he, smiting his thigh, "you young divil, +you've beaten me."</p> + +<p>I swung my putter, and drove the ball far beyond the green.</p> + +<p>"On the contrary," I said, "you have beaten me."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>I left the professor at the clubhouse and raced back to the farm. I +wanted to pour my joys into a sympathetic ear. Ukridge, I knew, would +offer that same sympathetic ear. A good fellow, Ukridge. Always +interested in what you had to tell him—never bored.</p> + +<p>"Ukridge," I shouted.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</a></span></p> + +<p>No answer.</p> + +<p>I flung open the dining-room door. Nobody.</p> + +<p>I went into the drawing-room. It was empty.</p> + +<p>I searched through the garden, and looked into his bedroom. He was not +in either.</p> + +<p>"He must have gone for a stroll," I said.</p> + +<p>I rang the bell.</p> + +<p>The hired retainer appeared, calm and imperturbable as ever.</p> + +<p>"Sir?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, where is Mr. Ukridge, Beale?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Ukridge, sir," said the hired retainer nonchalantly, "has gone."</p> + +<p>"Gone!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. Mr. Ukridge and Mrs. Ukridge went away together by the +three o'clock train."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_CALM_BEFORE_THE_STORM" id="THE_CALM_BEFORE_THE_STORM"></a>THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM</h2> + + + +<p><img src="images/chap_21.jpg" alt="Chap_21" width="200" height="207" /></p> + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_b.jpg" alt="B" width="42" height="50" /></div> + + +<p>eale," I said, "what do you mean? Where have they gone?"</p> + +<p>"Don't know, sir. London, I expect."</p> + +<p>"When did they go? Oh, you told me that. Didn't they say why they were +going?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir."</p> + +<p>"Didn't you ask? When you saw them packing up and going to the +station, didn't you do anything?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir."</p> + +<p>"Why on earth not?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't see them, sir. I only found out as they'd gone after they'd +been and went, sir. Walking down by the 'Net and Mack<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[302]</a></span>erel,' met one +of them coastguards. 'Oh,' says he, 'so you're moving?' 'Who's +a-moving?' I says to him. 'Well,' he says to me, 'I seen your Mr. +Ukridge and his missus get into the three o'clock train for Axminster. +I thought as you was all a-moving.' 'Ho!' I says, 'Ho!' wondering, and +I goes on. When I gets back, I asks the missus did she see them +packing their boxes, and she says, 'No,' she says, they didn't pack no +boxes as she knowed of. And blowed if they had, Mr. Garnet, sir."</p> + +<p>"What, they didn't pack!"</p> + +<p>"No, sir."</p> + +<p>We looked at one another.</p> + +<p>"Beale," I said.</p> + +<p>"Sir?"</p> + +<p>"Do you know what I think?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"They've bolted."</p> + +<p>"So I says to the missus, sir. It struck me right off, in a manner of +speaking."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</a></span></p> + +<p>"This is awful," I said.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>His face betrayed no emotion, but he was one of those men whose +expression never varies. It's a way they have in the army.</p> + +<p>"This wants thinking out, Beale," I said.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"You'd better ask Mrs. Beale to give me some dinner, and then I'll +think it out."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>I was in an unpleasant position. Ukridge, by his defection, had left +me in charge of the farm. I could dissolve the concern, I supposed, if +I wished, and return to London; but I particularly desired to remain +in Lyme Regis. To complete the victory I had won on the links, it was +necessary for me to continue as I had begun. I was in the position of +a general who has conquered a hostile country, and is obliged to +soothe the feelings of the conquered people before his labors can be +considered<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[304]</a></span> at an end. I had rushed the professor. It must now be my +aim to keep him from regretting that he had been rushed. I must, +therefore, stick to my post with the tenacity of a boy on a burning +deck. There would be trouble. Of that I was certain. As soon as the +news got about that Ukridge had gone, the deluge would begin. His +creditors would abandon their passive tactics and take active steps. +The siege of Port Arthur would be nothing to it. There was a chance +that aggressive measures would be confined to the enemy at our gates, +the tradesmen of Lyme Regis. But the probability was that the news +would spread and the injured merchants of Dorchester and Axminster +rush to the scene of hostilities. I foresaw unpleasantness.</p> + +<p>I summoned Beale after dinner and held a council of war. It was no +time for airy persiflage.</p> + +<p>I said, "Beale, we're in the cart."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[305]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Sir?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Ukridge going away like this has left me in a most unpleasant +position. I would like to talk it over with you. I dare say you know +that we—that Mr. Ukridge owes a considerable amount of money +roundabout here to tradesmen?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"Well, when they find out that he has—er—"</p> + +<p>"Shot the moon, sir," suggested the hired retainer helpfully.</p> + +<p>"Gone up to town," I said. "When they find that he has gone up to +town, they are likely to come bothering us a good deal."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"I fancy that we shall have them all round here by the day after +to-morrow at the latest. Probably earlier. News of this sort always +spreads quickly. The point is, then, what are we to do?"</p> + +<p>He propounded no scheme, but stood in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[306]</a></span> an easy attitude of attention, +waiting for me to continue.</p> + +<p>I continued.</p> + +<p>"Let's see exactly how we stand," I said. "My point is that I +particularly wish to go on living down here for at least another +fortnight. Of course, my position is simple. I am Mr. Ukridge's guest. +I shall go on living as I have been doing up to the present. He asked +me down here to help him look after the fowls, so I shall go on +looking after them. I shall want a chicken a day, I suppose, or +perhaps two, for my meals, and there the thing ends, as far I am +concerned. Complications set in when we come to consider you and Mrs. +Beale. I suppose you won't care to stop on after this?"</p> + +<p>The hired retainer scratched his chin and glanced out of the window. +The moon was up and the garden looked cool and mysterious in the dim +light.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[307]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It's a pretty place, Mr. Garnet, sir," he said.</p> + +<p>"It is," I said, "but about other considerations? There's the matter +of wages. Are yours in arrears?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. A month."</p> + +<p>"And Mrs. Beale's the same, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. A month."</p> + +<p>"H'm. Well, it seems to me, Beale, you can't lose anything by stopping +on."</p> + +<p>"I can't be paid any less than I have been, sir," he agreed.</p> + +<p>"Exactly. And, as you say, it's a pretty place. You might just as well +stop on and help me in the fowl run. What do you think?"</p> + +<p>"Very well, sir."</p> + +<p>"And Mrs. Beale will do the same?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"That's excellent. You're a hero, Beale. I sha'n't forget you. There's +a check com<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[308]</a></span>ing to me from a magazine in another week for a short +story. When it arrives I'll look into that matter of back wages. Tell +Mrs. Beale I'm much obliged to her, will you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>Having concluded that delicate business, I strolled out into the +garden with Bob. It was abominable of Ukridge to desert me in this +way. Even if I had not been his friend, it would have been bad. The +fact that we had known each other for years made it doubly +discreditable. He might at least have warned me and given me the +option of leaving the sinking ship with him.</p> + +<p>But, I reflected, I ought not to be surprised. His whole career, as +long as I had known him, had been dotted with little eccentricities of +a type which an unfeeling world generally stigmatizes as shady. They +were small things, it was true; but they ought to have warned me. We +are most of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[309]</a></span> us wise after the event. When the wind has blown we +generally discover a multitude of straws which should have shown us +which way it was blowing.</p> + +<p>Once, I remembered, in our school-master days, when guineas, though +regular, were few, he had had occasion to increase his wardrobe. If I +recollect rightly, he thought he had a chance of a good position in +the tutoring line, and only needed good clothes to make it his. He +took four pounds of his salary in advance—he was in the habit of +doing this; he never had any of his salary left by the end of term, it +having vanished in advance loans beforehand. With this he was to buy +two suits, a hat, new boots, and collars. When it came to making the +purchases, he found, what he had overlooked previously in his +optimistic way, that four pounds did not go very far. At the time, I +remember, I thought his method of grappling with the situation<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[310]</a></span> +humorous. He bought a hat for three and sixpence, and got the suits +and the boots on the installment system, paying a small sum in +advance, as earnest of more to come. He then pawned one suit to pay +the first few installments, and finally departed, to be known no more. +His address he had given, with a false name, at an empty house, and +when the tailor arrived with the minions of the law, all he found was +an annoyed caretaker and a pile of letters written by himself, +containing his bill in its various stages of evolution.</p> + +<p>Or again. There was a bicycle and photograph shop near the school. He +blew into this one day and his roving eye fell on a tandem bicycle. He +did not want a tandem bicycle, but that influenced him not at all. He +ordered it, provisionally. He also ordered an enlarging camera, a +Kodak, and a magic lantern. The order was booked and the goods were to +be delivered when he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[311]</a></span> had made up his mind concerning them. After a +week the shopman sent round to ask if there were any further +particulars which Mr. Ukridge would like to learn before definitely +ordering them. Mr. Ukridge sent word back that he was considering the +matter, and that in the meantime would he be so good as to let him +have that little clockwork man in his window, which walked when wound +up? Having got this, and not paid for it, Ukridge thought that he had +done handsomely by the bicycle and photograph man, and that things +were square between them. The latter met him a few days afterwards and +expostulated plaintively. Ukridge explained. "My good man," he said, +"you know, I really think we need say no more about the matter. +Really, you've come out of it very well. Now, look here, which would +you rather be owed for? A clockwork man, which is broken, and you can +have it back, or a tan<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[312]</a></span>dem bicycle, an enlarging camera, a Kodak, and +a magic lantern? What?" His reasoning was too subtle for the +uneducated mind. The man retired, puzzled and unpaid, and Ukridge kept +the clockwork toy.</p> + +<p>A remarkable financier, Ukridge. I sometimes think that he would have +done well in the city.</p> + +<p>I did not go to bed till late that night. There was something so +peaceful in the silence that brooded over everything that I stayed on, +enjoying it. Perhaps it struck me as all the more peaceful because I +could not help thinking of the troublous times that were to come. +Already I seemed to hear the horrid roar of a herd of infuriated +creditors. I seemed to see fierce brawlings and sackings in progress +in this very garden.</p> + +<p>"It will be a coarse, brutal spectacle, Robert," I said.</p> + +<p>Bob uttered a little whine, as if he, too, were endowed with powers of +prophecy.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[313]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_STORM_BREAKS" id="THE_STORM_BREAKS"></a>THE STORM BREAKS</h2> + + +<p><img src="images/chap_22.jpg" alt="Chap_22" width="200" height="207" /></p> + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_r.jpg" alt="R" width="50" height="50" /></div> + + +<p>ather to my surprise, the next morning passed off uneventfully. By +lunch time I had come to the conclusion that the expected trouble +would not occur that day, and I felt that I might well leave my post +for the afternoon while I went to the professor's to pay my respects.</p> + +<p>The professor was out when I arrived. Phyllis was in, and as we had a +good many things of no importance to say to each other, it was not +till the evening that I started for the farm again.</p> + +<p>As I approached the sound of voices smote my ears.</p> + +<p>I stopped. I could hear Beale speaking. Then came the rich notes of +Vickers, the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[314]</a></span> butcher. Then Beale again. Then Dawlish, the grocer. +Then a chorus.</p> + +<p>The storm had burst, and in my absence.</p> + +<p>I blushed for myself. I was in command, and I had deserted the fort in +time of need. What must the faithful hired man be thinking of me? +Probably he placed me, as he had placed Ukridge, in the ragged ranks +of those who have shot the moon.</p> + +<p>Fortunately, having just come from the professor's, I was in the +costume which of all my wardrobe was most calculated to impress. To a +casual observer I should probably suggest wealth and respectability. I +stopped for a moment to cool myself, for, as is my habit when pleased +with life, I had been walking fast, then I opened the gate and strode +in, trying to look as opulent as possible.</p> + +<p>It was an animated scene that met my eyes. In the middle of the lawn +stood the devoted Beale, a little more flushed than<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[315]</a></span> I had seen him +hitherto, parleying with a burly and excited young man without a coat. +Grouped round the pair were some dozen men, young, middle-aged, and +old, all talking their hardest. I could distinguish nothing of what +they were saying. I noticed that Beale's left cheek bone was a little +discolored, and there was a hard, dogged expression on his face. He, +too, was in his shirt sleeves.</p> + +<p>My entry created no sensation. Nobody, apparently, had heard the latch +click, and nobody had caught sight of me. Their eyes were fixed on the +young man and Beale. I stood at the gate and watched them.</p> + +<p>There seemed to have been trouble already. Looking more closely I +perceived sitting on the grass apart a second young man. His face was +obscured by a dirty pocket handkerchief, with which he dabbed tenderly +at his features. Every now and then the shirt-sleeved young man flung +his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[316]</a></span> hand toward him with an indignant gesture, talking hard the +while. It did not need a preternaturally keen observer to deduce what +had happened. Beale must have fallen out with the young man who was +sitting on the grass and smitten him, and now his friend had taken up +the quarrel.</p> + +<p>"Now this," I said to myself, "is rather interesting. Here in this one +farm we have the only three known methods of dealing with duns. Beale +is evidently an exponent of the violent method. Ukridge is an apostle +of evasion. I shall try conciliation. I wonder which of us will be the +most successful."</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, not to spoil Beale's efforts by allowing him too little +scope for experiment, I refrained from making my presence known, and +continued to stand by the gate, an interested spectator.</p> + +<p>Things were evidently moving now. The young man's gestures became +more<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[317]</a></span> vigorous. The dogged look on Beale's face deepened. The comments +of the ring increased in point and pungency.</p> + +<p>"What did you hit him for, then?"</p> + +<p>This question was put, always in the same words and with the same air +of quiet triumph, at intervals of thirty seconds by a little man in a +snuff-colored suit with a purple tie. Nobody ever answered him or +appeared to listen to him, but he seemed each time to think that he +had clinched the matter and cornered his opponent.</p> + +<p>Other voices chimed in.</p> + +<p>"You hit him, Charlie. Go on. You hit him."</p> + +<p>"We'll have the law."</p> + +<p>"Go on, Charlie."</p> + +<p>Flushed with the favor of the many-headed, Charlie now proceeded from +threats to action. His right fist swung round suddenly. But Beale was +on the alert. He ducked sharply, and the next<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[318]</a></span> minute Charlie was +sitting on the ground beside his fallen friend. A hush fell on the +ring, and the little man in the purple tie was left repeating his +formula without support.</p> + +<p>I advanced. It seemed to me that the time had come to be conciliatory. +Charlie was struggling to his feet, obviously anxious for a second +round, and Beale was getting into position once more. In another five +minutes conciliation would be out of the question.</p> + +<p>"What's all this?" I said.</p> + +<p>My advent caused a stir. Excited men left Beale and rallied round me. +Charlie, rising to his feet, found himself dethroned from his position +of man of the moment, and stood blinking at the setting sun and +opening and shutting his mouth. There was a buzz of conversation.</p> + +<p>"Don't all speak at once, please," I said. "I can't possibly follow +what you say.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[319]</a></span> Perhaps you will tell me what you want?"</p> + +<p>I singled out a short, stout man in gray. He wore the largest whiskers +ever seen on human face.</p> + +<p>"It's like this, sir. We all of us want to know where we are."</p> + +<p>"I can tell you that," I said, "you're on our lawn, and I should be +much obliged if you would stop digging your heels into it."</p> + +<p>This was not, I suppose, conciliation in the strictest and best sense +of the word, but the thing had to be said.</p> + +<p>"You don't understand me, sir," he said excitedly. "When I said we +didn't know where we were, it was a manner of speaking. We want to +know how we stand."</p> + +<p>"On your heels," I replied gently, "as I pointed out before."</p> + +<p>"I am Brass, sir, of Axminster. My account with Mr. Ukridge is ten +pounds<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[320]</a></span> eight shillings and fourpence. I want to know—"</p> + +<p>The whole strength of the company now joined in.</p> + +<p>"You know me, Mr. Garnet. Appleby, in the High—" (voice lost in the +general roar) "... and eightpence."</p> + +<p>"My account with Mr. Uk——"</p> + +<p>"... settle—"</p> + +<p>"I represent Bodger—"</p> + +<p>A diversion occurred at this point. Charlie, who had long been eyeing +Beale sourly, dashed at him with swinging fists and was knocked down +again. The whole trend of the meeting altered once more. Conciliation +became a drug. Violence was what the public wanted. Beale had three +fights in rapid succession. I was helpless. Instinct prompted me to +join the fray, but prudence told me that such a course would be fatal.</p> + +<p>At last, in a lull, I managed to catch the hired retainer by the arm +as he drew<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[321]</a></span> back from the prostrate form of his latest victim.</p> + +<p>"Drop it, Beale," I whispered hotly, "drop it. We shall never manage +these people if you knock them about. Go indoors and stay there while +I talk to them."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Garnet, sir," said he, the light of battle dying out of his eyes, +"it's 'ard. It's cruel 'ard. I ain't 'ad a turn-up, not to <i>call</i> a +turn-up, since I've bin a time-expired man. I ain't hitting of 'em, +Mr. Garnet, sir, not hard I ain't. That there first one of 'em he +played me dirty, hittin' at me when I wasn't looking. They can't say +as I started it."</p> + +<p>"That's all right, Beale," I said soothingly. "I know it wasn't your +fault, and I know it's hard on you to have to stop, but I wish you +would go indoors. I must talk to these men, and we sha'n't have a +moment's peace while you're here. Cut along."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[322]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Very well, sir. But it's 'ard. Mayn't I 'ave just one go at that +Charlie, Mr. Garnet?" he asked wistfully.</p> + +<p>"No, no. Go in."</p> + +<p>"And if they goes for you, sir, and tries to wipe the face off you?"</p> + +<p>"They won't, they won't. If they do, I'll shout for you."</p> + +<p>He went reluctantly into the house, and I turned again to my audience.</p> + +<p>"If you will kindly be quiet for a moment—" I said.</p> + +<p>"I am Appleby, Mr. Garnet, in the High Street. Mr. Ukridge—"</p> + +<p>"Eighteen pounds fourteen shillings—"</p> + +<p>"Kindly glance—"</p> + +<p>I waved my hands wildly above my head.</p> + +<p>"Stop! Stop! Stop!" I shouted.</p> + +<p>The babble continued, but diminished gradually in volume. Through the +trees, as I waited, I caught a glimpse of the sea. I wished I was out +on the Cob, where be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[323]</a></span>yond these voices there was peace. My head was +beginning to ache, and I felt faint for want of food.</p> + +<p>"Gentlemen!" I cried, as the noise died away.</p> + +<p>The latch of the gate clicked. I looked up and saw a tall thin young +man in a frock coat and silk hat enter the garden. It was the first +time I had seen the costume in the country.</p> + +<p>He approached me.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Ukridge, sir?" he said.</p> + +<p>"My name is Garnet. Mr. Ukridge is away at the moment."</p> + +<p>"I come from Whiteley's, Mr. Garnet. Our Mr. Blenkinsop having written +on several occasions to Mr. Ukridge, calling his attention to the fact +that his account has been allowed to mount to a considerable figure, +and having received no satisfactory reply, desired me to visit him. I +am sorry that he is not at home."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[324]</a></span></p> + +<p>"So am I," I said with feeling.</p> + +<p>"Do you expect him to return shortly?"</p> + +<p>"No," I said, "I do not."</p> + +<p>He was looking curiously at the expectant band of duns. I forestalled +his question.</p> + +<p>"Those are some of Mr. Ukridge's creditors," I said. "I am just about +to address them. Perhaps you will take a seat. The grass is quite dry. +My remarks will embrace you as well as them."</p> + +<p>Comprehension came into his eyes, and the natural man in him peeped +through the polish.</p> + +<p>"Great Scott, has he done a bunk?" he cried.</p> + +<p>"To the best of my knowledge, yes," I said.</p> + +<p>He whistled.</p> + +<p>I turned again to the local talent.</p> + +<p>"Gentlemen!" I shouted.</p> + +<p>"Hear, hear!" said some idiot.</p> + +<p>"Gentlemen, I intend to be quite frank<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[325]</a></span> with you. We must decide just +how matters stand between us." (A voice: "Where's Ukridge?") "Mr. +Ukridge left for London suddenly (bitter laughter) yesterday +afternoon. Personally I think he will come back very shortly."</p> + +<p>Hoots of derision greeted this prophecy.</p> + +<p>I resumed:</p> + +<p>"I fail to see your object in coming here. I have nothing for you. I +couldn't pay your bills if I wanted to."</p> + +<p>It began to be borne in upon me that I was becoming unpopular.</p> + +<p>"I am here simply as Mr. Ukridge's guest," I proceeded. After all, why +should I spare the man? "I have nothing whatever to do with his +business affairs. I refuse absolutely to be regarded as in any way +indebted to you. I am sorry for you. You have my sympathy. That is all +I can give you, sympathy—and good advice."</p> + +<p>Dissatisfaction. I was getting myself dis<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[326]</a></span>liked. And I had meant to be +so conciliatory, to speak to these unfortunates words of cheer which +should be as olive oil poured into a wound. For I really did +sympathize with them. I considered that Ukridge had used them +disgracefully. But I was irritated. My head ached abominably.</p> + +<p>"Then am I to tell our Mr. Blenkinsop," asked the frock-coated one, +"that the money is not and will not be forthcoming?"</p> + +<p>"When next you smoke a quiet cigar with your Mr. Blenkinsop," I +replied courteously, "and find conversation flagging, I rather think I +<i>should</i> say something of the sort."</p> + +<p>"We shall, of course, instruct our solicitors at once to institute +legal proceedings against your Mr. Ukridge."</p> + +<p>"Don't call him my Mr. Ukridge. You can do whatever you please."</p> + +<p>"That is your last word on the subject."</p> + +<p>"I hope so."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[327]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Where's our money?" demanded a discontented voice from the crowd.</p> + +<p>Then Charlie, filled with the lust of revenge, proposed that the +company should sack the place.</p> + +<p>"We can't see the color of our money," he said pithily, "but we can +have our own back."</p> + +<p>That settled it. The battle was over. The most skillful general must +sometimes recognize defeat. I could do nothing further with them. I +had done my best for the farm. I could do no more.</p> + +<p>I lit my pipe and strolled into the paddock.</p> + +<p>Chaos followed. Indoors and out of doors they raged without check. +Even Beale gave the thing up. He knocked Charlie into a flower bed and +then disappeared in the direction of the kitchen.</p> + +<p>It was growing dusk. From inside the house came faint sounds of mirth, +as the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[328]</a></span> sacking party emptied the rooms of their contents. In the fowl +run a hen was crooning sleepily in its coop. It was a very soft, +liquid, soothing sound.</p> + +<p>Presently out came the invaders with their loot—one with a picture, +another with a vase, another bearing the gramophone upside down.</p> + +<p>Then I heard somebody—Charlie again, it seemed to me—propose a raid +on the fowl run.</p> + +<p>The fowls had had their moments of unrest since they had been our +property, but what they had gone through with us was peace compared +with what befell them then. Not even on that second evening of our +visit, when we had run unmeasured miles in pursuit of them, had there +been such confusion. Roused abruptly from their beauty sleep, they +fled in all directions. The summer evening was made hideous with the +noise of them.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[329]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Disgraceful, sir. Is it not disgraceful!" said a voice at my ear.</p> + +<p>The young man from Whiteley's stood beside me. He did not look happy. +His forehead was damp. Somebody seemed to have stepped on his hat and +his coat was smeared with mold.</p> + +<p>I was turning to answer him, when from the dusk in the direction of +the house came a sudden roar. A passionate appeal to the world in +general to tell the speaker what all this meant.</p> + +<p>There was only one man of my acquaintance with a voice like that. I +walked without hurry toward him.</p> + +<p>"Good evening, Ukridge," I said.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[330]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="AFTER_THE_STORM" id="AFTER_THE_STORM"></a>AFTER THE STORM</h2> + + +<p><img src="images/chap_23.jpg" alt="Chap_23" width="200" height="207" /></p> + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_a.jpg" alt="A" width="51" height="50" /></div> + + +<p> yell of welcome drowned the tumult of the looters.</p> + +<p>"Is that you, Garny, old horse? What's up? What's the matter? Has +everybody gone mad? Who are those blackguardly scoundrels in the fowl +run? What are they doing? What's been happening?"</p> + +<p>"I have been entertaining a little meeting of your creditors," I said. +"And now they are entertaining themselves."</p> + +<p>"But what did you let them do it for?"</p> + +<p>"What is one among so many?" I said.</p> + +<p>"Oh," moaned Ukridge, as a hen flashed past us, pursued by a criminal, +"it's a little hard. I can't go away for a day—"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[331]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You can't," I said. "You're right there. You can't go away without a +word—"</p> + +<p>"Without a word? What do you mean? Garny, old boy, pull yourself +together. You're overexcited. Do you mean to tell me you didn't get my +note?"</p> + +<p>"What note?"</p> + +<p>"The one I left on the dining-room table."</p> + +<p>"There was no note there."</p> + +<p>"What!"</p> + +<p>I was reminded of the scene that had taken place on the first day of +our visit.</p> + +<p>"Feel in your pockets," I said.</p> + +<p>And history repeated itself. One of the first things he pulled out was +the note.</p> + +<p>"Why, here it is!" he said in amazement.</p> + +<p>"Of course. Where did you expect it to be? Was it important?"</p> + +<p>"Why, it explained the whole thing."</p> + +<p>"Then," I said, "I wish you'd let me<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[332]</a></span> read it. A note that can explain +what's happened ought to be worth reading."</p> + +<p>I took the envelope from his hand and opened it.</p> + +<p>It was too dark to read, so I lit a match. A puff of wind extinguished +it. There is always just enough wind to extinguish a match.</p> + +<p>I pocketed the note.</p> + +<p>"I can't read it now," I said. "Tell me what it was about."</p> + +<p>"It was telling you to sit tight and not to worry about us going +away—"</p> + +<p>"That's good about worrying. You're a thoughtful chap, Ukridge."</p> + +<p>"—because we should be back in a day or two."</p> + +<p>"And what sent you up to town?"</p> + +<p>"Why, we went to touch Millie's Aunt Elizabeth."</p> + +<p>A light began to shine on my darkness.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" I said.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[333]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You remember Aunt Elizabeth? We got a letter from her not so long +ago."</p> + +<p>"I know whom you mean. She called you a gaby."</p> + +<p>"And a guffin."</p> + +<p>"Of course. I remember thinking her a shrewd and discriminating old +lady, with a great gift of description. So you went to touch her?"</p> + +<p>"That's it. I suddenly found that things were getting into an A1 +tangle, and that we must have more money. So I naturally thought of +Aunt Elizabeth. She isn't what you might call an admirer of mine, but +she's very fond of Millie, and would do anything for her if she's +allowed to chuck about a few home-truths before doing it. So we went +off together, looked her up at her house, stated our painful case, and +corralled the money. Millie and I shared the work. She did the asking, +while I inquired after the rheumatism. She men<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[334]</a></span>tioned the precise +figure that would clear us. I patted the toy Pomeranian. Little beast! +Got after me quick, when I wasn't looking, and chewed my ankle."</p> + +<p>"Thank Heaven for that," I said.</p> + +<p>"In the end Millie got the money and I got the home truths."</p> + +<p>"Did she call you a gaby?"</p> + +<p>"Twice. And a guffin three times."</p> + +<p>"But you got the money?"</p> + +<p>"Rather. And I'll tell you another thing. I scored heavily at the end +of the visit. Lady Lakenheath was doing stunts with proverbs—"</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon?"</p> + +<p>"Quoting proverbs, you know, bearing on the situation. 'Ah, my dear,' +she said to Millie, 'marry in haste, repent at leisure!' 'I'm afraid +that proverb doesn't apply to us,' said Millie, 'because I haven't +repented.' What do you think of that, old horse?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[335]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Millie's an angel," I replied.</p> + +<p>Just then the angel joined us. She had been exploring the house, and +noting the damage done. Her eyes were open to their fullest extent as +she shook hands with me.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mr. Garnet," she said, "<i>couldn't</i> you have stopped them?"</p> + +<p>I felt a cur. Had I done as much as I might have done to stem the +tide?</p> + +<p>"I'm awfully sorry, Mrs. Ukridge," I said. "I really don't think I +could have done more. We tried every method. Beale had seven fights, +and I made a speech on the lawn, but it was all no good."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps we can collect these men and explain things," I added. "I +don't believe any of them know you've come back."</p> + +<p>"Send Beale round," said Ukridge. "Beale!"</p> + +<p>The hired retainer came running out at the sound of the well-known +voice.</p> + +<p>"Lumme, Mr. Ukridge, sir!" he gasped.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[336]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was the first time Beale had ever betrayed any real emotion in my +presence. To him, I suppose, the return of Ukridge was as sensational +and astounding an event as the reappearance of one from the tomb would +have been. He was not accustomed to find those who had shot the moon +revisiting their old haunts.</p> + +<p>"Go round the place and tell those blackguards that I've come back, +and would like to have a word with them on the lawn. And if you find +any of them stealing my fowls, knock them down."</p> + +<p>"I 'ave knocked down one or two," said Beale with approval. "That +Charlie—"</p> + +<p>"That's right, Beale. You're an excellent man, and I will pay you your +back wages to-night before I go to bed."</p> + +<p>"Those fellers, sir," said Beale, having expressed his gratification, +"they've been and scattered most of them birds already,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[337]</a></span> sir. They've +been chasin' of 'em for this hour back."</p> + +<p>Ukridge groaned.</p> + +<p>"Demons!" he said. "Demons!"</p> + +<p>Beale went off.</p> + +<p>The audience assembled on the lawn in the moonlight. Ukridge, with his +cap well over his eyes and his mackintosh hanging around him like a +Roman toga, surveyed them stonily, and finally began his speech.</p> + +<p>"You—you—you—you blackguards!" he said.</p> + +<p>I always like to think of Ukridge as he appeared at that moment. There +have been times when his conduct did not recommend itself to me. It +has sometimes happened that I have seen flaws in him. But on this +occasion he was at his best. He was eloquent. He dominated his +audience.</p> + +<p>He poured scorn upon his hearers, and they quailed. He flung invective +at them, and they wilted.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[338]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was hard, he said, it was a little hard that a gentleman could not +run up to London for a couple of days on business without having his +private grounds turned upside down. He had intended to deal well by +the tradesmen of the town, to put business in their way, to give them +large orders. But would he? Not much. As soon as ever the sun had +risen and another day begun, their miserable accounts should be paid +in full and their connection with him be cut off. Afterwards it was +probable that he would institute legal proceedings against them for +trespass and damage to property, and if they didn't all go to prison +they might consider themselves uncommonly lucky, and if they didn't +fly the spot within the brief space of two ticks he would get among +them with a shotgun. He was sick of them. They were no gentlemen, but +cads. Scoundrels. Creatures that it would be rank flattery to describe +as human beings.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[339]</a></span> That's the sort of things <i>they</i> were. And now they +might go—<i>quick</i>!</p> + +<p>The meeting then dispersed, without the usual vote of thanks.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>We were quiet at the farm that night. Ukridge sat like Marius among +the ruins of Carthage and refused to speak. Eventually he took Bob +with him and went for a walk.</p> + +<p>Half an hour later I, too, wearied of the scene of desolation. My +errant steps took me in the direction of the sea. As I approached I +was aware of a figure standing in the moonlight, gazing moodily out +over the waters. Beside the figure was a dog.</p> + +<p>I would not disturb his thoughts. The dark moments of massive minds +are sacred. I forebore to speak to him. As readily might one of the +generals of the Grand<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[340]</a></span> Army have opened conversation with Napoleon +during the retreat from Moscow.</p> + +<p>I turned softly and walked the other way. When I looked back he was +still there.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"><a name="pic_6" id="pic_6"></a> +<img src="images/image_07.jpg" width="500" height="579" alt=""I did think Mr. Garnet would have fainted when the +best man said, 'I can't find it, old horse!'"" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"I did think Mr. Garnet would have fainted when the +best man said, 'I can't find it, old horse!'"</span> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[341]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="EPILOGUE" id="EPILOGUE"></a>EPILOGUE</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Argument</span>. From the <i>Morning Post: "... and graceful, wore a simple +gown of stiff satin and old lace, and a heavy lace veil fell in soft +folds over the shimmering skirt. A reception was subsequently held by +Mrs. O'Brien, aunt of the bride, at her house in Ennismore Gardens."</i></p> + + +<p class="center">IN THE SERVANTS' HALL</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Cook</span>. ... And as pretty a wedding, Mr. Hill, as ever I did see.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Butler</span>. Indeed, Mrs. Minchley? And how did our niece look?</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[342]</a></span></p><p><span class="smcap">The Cook</span> (<i>closing her eyes in silent rapture</i>). Well, +<i>there</i>! That lace! (<i>In a burst of ecstacy</i>.) Well, <i>there</i>!! +Words can't describe it, Mr. Hill.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Butler</span>. Indeed, Mrs. Minchley?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Cook</span>. And Miss Phyllis—Mrs. Garnet, I <i>should</i> say—she was as +calm as calm. And looking beautiful as—well, there! Now, Mr. Garnet, +he <i>did</i> look nervous, if you like, and when the best man—such a +queer-looking awkward man, in a frock coat that <i>I</i> wouldn't have been +best man at a wedding in—when he lost the ring and said—quite loud, +everybody could hear him—"I can't find it, old horse!" why I did +think Mr. Garnet would have fainted away, and so I said to Jane, as +was sitting beside me. But he found it at the last moment, and all +went on as merrily, as you may say, as a wedding bell.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Jane</span> (<i>sentimentally</i>). Reely, these weddings, you know, they do give +you a sort of feeling, if you catch my meaning, Mrs. Minchley.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Butler</span> (<i>with the air of a high priest who condescends for once to +unbend<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[343]</a></span> and frolic with lesser mortals</i>). Ah! it'll be your turn next, +Miss Jane.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Jane</span> (<i>who has long had designs on this dignified bachelor</i>). Oh, Mr. +Hill, reely! You do poke your fun.</p> + +<p class="f2">[<i>Raises her eyes to his, and drops them swiftly, leaving him with a +pleasant sensation of having said a good thing particularly neatly, +and a growing idea that he might do worse than marry Jane, take a nice +little house in Chelsea somewhere, and let lodgings. He thinks it +over.</i></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Tilby</span> (<i>a flighty young person who, when she has a moment or two to +spare from the higher flirtation with the local policeman, puts in a +little light work about the bedrooms</i>). Oh, I say, this'll be one in +the eye for Riggetts, pore little feller. (<i>Assuming an air of +advanced melodrama.</i>) Ow! She 'as forsiken me! I'll go and blow me +little<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[344]</a></span> 'ead off with a blunderbuss! Ow that one so fair could be so +false!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Master Thomas Riggetts</span> (<i>the page boy, whose passion for the lady who +has just become Mrs. Garnet has for many months been a byword in the +servants' hall</i>). Huh! (<i>To himself bitterly.</i>) Tike care, tike care, +lest some day you drive me too far. [<i>Is left brooding darkly.</i></p> + + +<p class="center">UPSTAIRS</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Bride</span>. ... Thank you.... Oh, thank you.... Thank you so much.... +Thank you <i>so</i> much ... oh, thank you.... Thank you.... Thank you <i>so</i> +much.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Bridegroom</span>. Thanks.... Oh, thanks.... Thanks awf'lly.... Thanks +awf'lly.... Thanks awf'lly.... Oh, thanks awf'lly ... (<i>with a +brilliant burst of invention, amounting almost to genius</i>) Thanks +<i>frightfully</i>.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[345]</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Bride</span> (<i>to herself, rapturously</i>). A-a-a-h!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Bridegroom</span> (<i>dabbing at his forehead with his handkerchief during +a lull</i>). I shall drop.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Best Man</span> (<i>appearing suddenly at his side with a glass</i>). Bellows +to mend, old horse, what? Keep going. You're doing fine. Bless you. +Bless you.</p> + +<p class="f3">[<i>Drifts away.</i></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Elderly Stranger</span> (<i>to bridegroom</i>). Sir, I have jigged your wife on my +knee.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Bridegroom</span> (<i>with absent politeness</i>). Ah! Lately?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Elderly Stranger</span>. When she was a baby, sir.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Bridegroom</span> (<i>from force of habit</i>). Oh, thanks. Thanks awf'lly.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Bride</span> (<i>to herself</i>). <i>Why</i> can't one get married every +day!... (<i>catching sight of a young gentleman whose bi-weekly conversation +with her in the past was wont<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[346]</a></span> to consist of two remarks on the weather and +one proposal of marriage</i>). <i>Oh</i>! Oh, what a <i>shame</i> inviting poor +little Freddy Fraddle! Aunt Kathleen <i>must</i> have known! How could she be +so cruel! Poor little fellow, he must be suffering dreadfully!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Poor Little Freddy Fraddle</span> (<i>addressing his immortal soul as he +catches sight of the bridegroom, with a set smile on his face, shaking +hands with an obvious bore</i>). Poor devil, poor, poor devil! And to +think that I—! Well, well! There but for the grace of God goes +Frederick Fraddle.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Bridegroom</span> (<i>to the</i> <span class="smcap">Obvious Bore</span>). Thanks. Thanks awf'lly.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Obvious Bore</span> (<i>in measured tones</i>).... are going, as you say, to +Wales for your honeymoon, you should on no account miss the +opportunity of seeing the picturesque ruins of Llanxwrg Castle, which +are among the most prominent spectacles of Carnarvonshire, a county, +which I under<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[347]</a></span>stand you to say, you propose to include in your visit. +The ruins are really part of the village of Twdyd-Prtsplgnd, but your +best station would be Golgdn. There is a good train service to and +from that spot. If you mention my name to the custodian of the ruins, +he will allow you to inspect the grave of the celebrated ——</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Immaculate Youth</span> (<i>interrupting</i>). Hello, Garnet, old man. Don't know +if you remember me. Latimer, of Oriel. I was a fresher in your third +year. Gratters!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Bridegroom</span> (<i>with real sincerity for once</i>). Thanks. Thanks +awf'lly.</p> + +<p class="f2">[<i>They proceed to talk Oxford shop together, to the exclusion of the +O. B., who glides off in search of another victim</i>.</p> + + +<p class="center">IN THE STREET</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Coachman</span> (<i>to his horse</i>). <i>Kim</i> up, then!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[348]</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Horse</span> (<i>to itself</i>). Deuce of a time these people are. Why don't +they hurry. I want to be off. I'm certain we shall miss that train.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Best Man</span> (<i>to crowd of perfect strangers, with whom in some +mysterious way he has managed to strike up a warm friendship</i>). Now, +then, you men, stand by. Wait till they come out, then blaze away. +Good handful first shot. That's what you want.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Cook</span> (<i>in the area, to</i> <span class="smcap">Jane</span>). Oh, I do 'ope they won't miss that +train, don't you? Oh, here they come. Oh, don't Miss Phyllis—Mrs. +Garnet—look—well, there. And I can remember her a little slip of a +girl only so high, and she used to come to my kitchen, and she used to +say, "Mrs. Minchley," she used to say—it seems only yesterday—"Mrs. +Minchley, I want—"</p> + +<p class="f3">[<i>Left reminiscing.</i></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Bride</span> (<i>as the page boy's gloomy eye<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[349]</a></span> catches hers, "smiles as she +was wont to smile</i>").</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Master Riggetts</span> (<i>with a happy recollection of his latest-read work of +fiction—"Sir Rupert of the Hall": Meadowsweet Library—to himself</i>). +"Good-by, proud lady. Fare you well. And may you never regret. +May—you—nevorrr—regret!"</p> + +<p class="f3">[<i>Dives passionately into larder, and consoles himself with jam.</i></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Best Man</span> (<i>to his gang of bravoes</i>). Now, then, you men, bang it +in.</p> + +<p class="f2">[<i>They bang it in.</i></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Bridegroom</span> (<i>retrieving his hat</i>). Oh— [<i>Recollects himself in time.</i></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Best Man</span>. Oh, shot, sir! Shot, indeed!</p> + +<p class="f2">[<i>The</i> <span class="smcap">Bride</span> <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Bridegroom</span> <i>enter the carriage amid a storm of +rice.</i></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Best Man</span> (<i>coming to carriage window</i>). Garny, old horse.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Bridegroom</span>. Well?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[350]</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Best Man</span>. Just a moment. Look here, I've got a new idea. The best +ever, 'pon my word it is. I'm going to start a duck farm and run it +without water. What? You'll miss your train? Oh, no, you won't. +There's plenty of time. My theory is, you see, that ducks get thin by +taking exercise and swimming about and so on, don't you know, so that, +if you kept them on land always, they'd get jolly fat in about half +the time—and no trouble and expense. See? What? You bring the missus +down there. I'll write you the address. Good-by. Bless you. Good-by, +Mrs. Garnet.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Bride and Bridegroom</span> (<i>simultaneously, with a smile apiece</i>). +Good-by.</p> + +<p class="f2">[<i>They catch the train and live happily ever afterwards.</i>]</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Love Among the Chickens, by P. G. 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