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It was not so much that you +sympathised and encouraged--where you really came out strong was that +you gave me the stuff. I like people who sympathise with me. I am +grateful to those who encourage me. But the man to whom I raise the +Wodehouse hat--owing to the increased cost of living, the same old +brown one I had last year--it is being complained of on all sides, but +the public must bear it like men till the straw hat season comes +round--I say, the man to whom I raise this venerable relic is the man +who gives me the material. + +Sixteen years ago, my William, when we were young and spritely lads; +when you were a tricky centre-forward and I a fast bowler; when your +head was covered with hair and my list of "Hobbies" in Who's Who +included Boxing; I received from you one morning about thirty closely- +written foolscap pages, giving me the details of your friend -----'s +adventures on his Devonshire chicken farm. Round these I wove as funny +a plot as I could, but the book stands or falls by the stuff you gave +me about "Ukridge"--the things that actually happened. + +You will notice that I have practically re-written the book. There was +some pretty bad work in it, and it had "dated." As an instance of the +way in which the march of modern civilisation has left the 1906 +edition behind, I may mention that on page twenty-one I was able to +make Ukridge speak of selling eggs at six for fivepence! + + Yours ever, + P. G. WODEHOUSE + +London, 1920. + + + + LOVE AMONG THE CHICKENS + + + +CHAPTER I + +A LETTER WITH A POSTSCRIPT + +"A gentleman called to see you when you were out last night, sir," +said Mrs. Medley, my landlady, removing the last of the breakfast +things. + +"Yes?" I said, in my affable way. + +"A gentleman," said Mrs. Medley meditatively, "with a very powerful +voice." + +"Caruso?" + +"Sir?" + +"I said, did he leave a name?" + +"Yes, sir. Mr. Ukridge." + +"Oh, my sainted aunt!" + +"Sir!" + +"Nothing, nothing." + +"Thank you, sir," said Mrs. Medley, withdrawing from the presence. + +Ukridge! Oh, hang it! I had not met him for years, and, glad as I am, +as a general thing, to see the friends of my youth when they drop in +for a chat, I doubted whether I was quite equal to Ukridge at the +moment. A stout fellow in both the physical and moral sense of the +words, he was a trifle too jumpy for a man of my cloistered and +intellectual life, especially as just now I was trying to plan out a +new novel, a tricky job demanding complete quiet and seclusion. It had +always been my experience that, when Ukridge was around, things began +to happen swiftly and violently, rendering meditation impossible. +Ukridge was the sort of man who asks you out to dinner, borrows the +money from you to pay the bill, and winds up the evening by embroiling +you in a fight with a cabman. I have gone to Covent Garden balls with +Ukridge, and found myself legging it down Henrietta Street in the grey +dawn, pursued by infuriated costermongers. + +I wondered how he had got my address, and on that problem light was +immediately cast by Mrs. Medley, who returned, bearing an envelope. + +"It came by the morning post, sir, but it was left at Number Twenty by +mistake." + +"Oh, thank you." + +"Thank you, sir," said Mrs. Medley. + +I recognised the handwriting. The letter, which bore a Devonshire +postmark, was from an artist friend of mine, one Lickford, who was at +present on a sketching tour in the west. I had seen him off at +Waterloo a week before, and I remember that I had walked away from the +station wishing that I could summon up the energy to pack and get off +to the country somewhere. I hate London in July. + +The letter was a long one, but it was the postscript which interested +me most. + + +" . . . By the way, at Yeovil I ran into an old friend of ours, +Stanley Featherstonehaugh 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, with a borrowed pipe by way of luggage. It +seems he has been in England for some time. 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 entreating the lady behind the bar to 'put it in a pewter'; and +there was S. F. U. in a villainous old suit of grey flannels (I'll +swear it was the one he had on last time I saw him) with pince-nez +tacked on to his ears with ginger-beer wire as usual, and a couple of +inches of bare neck showing between the bottom of his collar and the +top of his coat--you remember how he could never get a stud to do its +work. He also wore a mackintosh, though it was a blazing day. + +"He greeted me with effusive shouts. Wouldn't hear of my standing the +racket. Insisted on being host. When we had finished, he fumbled in +his pockets, looked pained and surprised, and drew me aside. 'Look +here, Licky, old horse,' he said, 'you know I never borrow money. It's +against my principles. But I /must/ have a couple of bob. Can you, my +dear good fellow, oblige me with a couple of bob till next Tuesday? +I'll tell you what I'll do. (In a voice full of emotion). I'll let you +have this (producing a beastly little threepenny bit with a hole in it +which he had probably picked up in the street) 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 . . . Still,--no, no . . . You must take it, you +must take it. Licky, old man, shake hands, old horse. Shake hands, my +boy.' He then tottered to the bar, deeply moved, and paid up out of +the five shillings which he had made it as an after-thought. He asked +after you, and said you were one of the noblest men 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." + + +It seemed to me that the advice was good and should be followed. I +needed a change of air. London may have suited Doctor Johnson, but in +the summer time it is not for the ordinary man. What I wanted, to +enable me to give the public of my best (as the reviewer of a weekly +paper, dealing with my last work, had expressed a polite hope that I +would continue to do) was a little haven in the country somewhere. + +I rang the bell. + +"Sir?" said Mrs. Medley. + +"I'm going away for a bit," I said. + +"Yes, sir." + +"I don't know where. I'll send you the address, so that you can +forward letters." + +"Yes, sir." + +"And, if Mr. Ukridge calls again . . ." + +At this point a thunderous knocking on the front door interrupted me. +Something seemed to tell me who was at the end of that knocker. I +heard Mrs. Medley's footsteps pass along the hall. There was the click +of the latch. A volume of sound rushed up the stairs. + +"Is Mr. Garnet in? Where is he? Show me the old horse. Where is the +man of wrath? Exhibit the son of Belial." + +There followed a violent crashing on the stairs, shaking the house. + +"Garnet! Where are you, laddie? Garnet!! GARNET!!!!!" + +Stanley Featherstonehaugh Ukridge was in my midst. + + + +CHAPTER II + +MR. AND MRS. S. F. UKRIDGE + +I have often thought that Who's Who, though a bulky and well-meaning +volume, omits too many of England's greatest men. It is not +comprehensive enough. I am in it, nestling among the G's:-- + +"Garnet, Jeremy, o.s. of late Henry Garnet, vicar of Much Middlefold, +Salop; author. Publications: 'The Outsider,' 'The Manoeuvres of +Arthur.' Hobbies: Cricket, football, swimming, golf. Clubs: Arts." + +But if you search among the U's for UKRIDGE, Stanley +Featherstonehaugh, details of whose tempestuous career would make +really interesting reading, you find no mention of him. It seems +unfair, though I imagine Ukridge bears it with fortitude. That much- +enduring man has had a lifetime's training in bearing things with +fortitude. + +He seemed in his customary jovial spirits now, as he dashed into the +room, clinging on to the pince-nez which even ginger-beer wire rarely +kept stable for two minutes together. + +"My dear old man," he shouted, springing at me and seizing my hand in +the grip like the bite of a horse. "How /are/ you, old buck? This is +good. By Jove, this is fine, what?" + +He dashed to the door and looked out. + +"Come on Millie! Pick up the waukeesis. Here's old Garnet, looking +just the same as ever. Devilish handsome fellow! You'll be glad you +came when you see him. Beats the Zoo hollow!" + +There appeared round the corner of Ukridge a young woman. She paused +in the doorway and smiled pleasantly. + +"Garny, old horse," said Ukridge with some pride, "this is /her/! The +pride of the home. Companion of joys and sorrows and all the rest of +it. In fact," in a burst of confidence, "my wife." + +I bowed awkwardly. The idea of Ukridge married was something too +overpowering to be readily assimilated. + +"Buck up, old horse," said Ukridge encouragingly. He had a painful +habit of addressing all and sundry by that title. In his school-master +days--at one period of his vivid career he and I had been colleagues +on the staff of a private school--he had made use of it 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 +due to alcohol, and hoping for the best. He also used it to perfect +strangers in the streets, and on one occasion had been heard to +address a bishop by that title, rendering that dignitary, as Mr. Baboo +Jaberjee would put it, /sotto voce/ with gratification. "Surprised to +find me married, what? Garny, old boy,"--sinking his voice to a +whisper almost inaudible on the other side of the street--"take my +tip. Go and jump off the dock yourself. You'll feel another man. Give +up this bachelor business. It's a mug's game. I look on you bachelors +as excrescences on the social system. I regard you, old man, purely +and simply as a wart. Go and get married, laddie, go and get married. +By gad, I've forgotten to pay the cabby. Lend me a couple of bob, +Garny old chap." + +He was out of the door and on his way downstairs before the echoes of +his last remark had ceased to shake the window. I was left to +entertain Mrs. Ukridge. + +So far her share in the conversation had been confined to the pleasant +smile which was apparently her chief form of expression. Nobody talked +very much when Ukridge was present. She sat on the edge of the +armchair, looking very small and quiet. I was conscious of feeling a +benevolent pity for her. If I had been a girl, I would have preferred +to marry a volcano. A little of Ukridge, as his former head master had +once said in a moody, reflective voice, went a very long way. "You and +Stanley have known each other a long time, haven't you?" said the +object of my commiseration, breaking the silence. + +"Yes. Oh, yes. Several years. We were masters at the same school." + +Mrs. Ukridge leaned forward with round, shining eyes. + +"Really? Oh, how nice!" she said ecstatically. + +Not yet, to judge from her expression and the tone of her voice, had +she found any disadvantages attached to the arduous position of being +Mrs. Stanley Ukridge. + +"He's a wonderfully versatile man," I said. + +"I believe he could do anything." + +"He'd have a jolly good try!" + +"Have you ever kept fowls?" asked Mrs. Ukridge, with apparent +irrelevance. + +I had not. She looked disappointed. + +"I was hoping you might have had some experience. Stanley, of course, +can turn his hand to anything; but I think experience is rather a good +thing, don't you?" + +"Yes. But . . ." + +"I have bought a shilling book called 'Fowls and All About Them,' and +this week's copy of C.A.C." + +"C.A.C.?" + +"/Chiefly About Chickens/. It's a paper, you know. But it's all rather +hard to understand. You see, we . . . but here is Stanley. He will +explain the whole thing." + +"Well, Garny, old horse," said Ukridge, re-entering the room after +another energetic passage of the stairs. "Years since I saw you. Still +buzzing along?" + +"Still, so to speak, buzzing," I assented. + +"I was reading your last book the other day." + +"Yes?" I said, gratified. "How did you like it?" + +"Well, as a matter of fact, laddie, I didn't get beyond the third +page, because the scurvy knave at the bookstall said he wasn't running +a free library, and in one way and another there was a certain amount +of unpleasantness. Still, it seemed bright and interesting up to page +three. But let's settle down and talk business. I've got a scheme for +you, Garny old man. Yessir, the idea of a thousand years. Now listen +to me for a moment. Let me get a word in edgeways." + +He sat down on the table, and dragged up a chair as a leg-rest. Then +he took off his pince-nez, wiped them, re-adjusted the ginger-beer +wire behind his ears, and, having hit a brown patch on the knee of his +grey flannel trousers several times, in the apparent hope of removing +it, resumed: + +"About fowls." + +The subject was beginning to interest me. It showed a curious tendency +to creep into the conversation of the Ukridge family. + +"I want you to give me your undivided attention for a moment. I was +saying to my wife, as we came here, 'Garnet's the man! Clever devil, +Garnet. Full of ideas.' Didn't I, Millie?" + +"Yes, dear." + +"Laddie," said Ukridge impressively, "we are going to keep fowls." + +He shifted himself farther on to the table and upset the ink-pot. + +"Never mind," he said, "it'll soak in. It's good for the texture. Or +am I thinking of tobacco-ash on the carpet? Well, never mind. Listen +to me! When I said that we were going to keep fowls, I didn't mean in +a small, piffling sort of way--two cocks and a couple of hens and a +golf-ball for a nest-egg. We are going to do it on a large scale. We +are going to run a chicken farm!" + +"A chicken farm," echoed Mrs. Ukridge with an affectionate and +admiring glance at her husband. + +"Ah," I said, feeling my responsibilities as chorus. "A chicken farm." + +"I've thought it all over, laddie, and it's as clear as mud. No +expenses, large profits, quick returns. Chickens, eggs, and the money +streaming in faster than you can bank it. Winter and summer +underclothing, my bonny boy, lined with crackling Bradbury's. It's the +idea of a lifetime. Now listen to me for a moment. You get your hen--" + +"One hen?" + +"Call it one for the sake of argument. It makes my calculations +clearer. Very well, then. Harriet the hen--you get her. Do you follow +me so far?" + +"Yes. You get a hen." + +"I told you Garnet was a dashed bright fellow," said Ukridge +approvingly to his attentive wife. "Notice the way he keeps right +after one's ideas? Like a bloodhound. Well, where was I?" + +"You'd just got a hen." + +"Exactly. The hen. Pricilla the pullet. Well, it lays an egg every day +of the week. You sell the eggs, six for half a crown. Keep of hen +costs nothing. Profit--at least a couple of bob on every dozen eggs. +What do you think of that?" + +"I think I'd like to overhaul the figures in case of error." + +"Error!" shouted Ukridge, pounding the table till it groaned. "Error?" +Not a bit of it. Can't you follow a simple calculation like that? Oh, +I forgot to say that you get--and here is the nub of the thing--you +get your first hen on tick. Anybody will be glad to let you have the +hen on tick. Well, then, you let this hen--this first, original hen, +this on-tick-hen--you let it set and hatch chickens. Now follow me +closely. Suppose you have a dozen hens. Very well, then. When each of +the dozen has a dozen chickens, you send the old hens back to the +chappies you borrowed them from, with thanks for 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 endorse the +big cheques. Isn't that so, Millie?" + +"Yes, dear." + +"We've fixed it all up. Do you know Combe Regis, in Dorsetshire? On +the borders of Devon. Bathing. Sea-air. Splendid scenery. Just the +place for a chicken farm. A friend of Millie's--girl she knew at +school--has lent us a topping old house, with large grounds. All we've +got to do is to get in the fowls. I've ordered the first lot. We shall +find them waiting for us when we arrive." + +"Well," I said, "I'm sure I wish you luck. Mind you let me know how +you get on." + +"Let you know!" roared Ukridge. "Why, my dear old horse, you're coming +with us." + +"Am I?" I said blankly. + +"Certainly you are. We shall take no refusal. Will we, Millie?" + +"No, dear." + +"Of course not. No refusal of any sort. Pack up to-night and meet us +at Waterloo to-morrow." + +"It's awfully good of you . . ." + +"Not a bit of it--not a bit of it. This is pure business. I was saying +to Millie as we came along that you were the very man for us. A man +with your flow of ideas will be invaluable on a chicken farm. +Absolutely invaluable. You see," proceeded Ukridge, "I'm one of those +practical fellows. The hard-headed type. 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, laddie. Flashes of inspiration and all that sort of +thing. Of course, you take your share of the profits. That's +understood. Yes, yes, I must insist. Strict business between friends. +Now, taking it that, at a conservative estimate, the net profits for +the first fiscal year amount to--five thousand, no, better be on the +safe side--say, four thousand five hundred pounds . . . But we'll +arrange all that end of it when we get down there. Millie will look +after that. She's the secretary of the concern. She's been writing +letters to people asking for hens. So you see it's a thoroughly +organised business. How many hen-letters did you write last week, old +girl?" + +"Ten, dear." + +Ukridge turned triumphantly to me. + +"You hear? Ten. Ten letters asking for hens. That's the way to +succeed. Push and enterprise." + +"Six of them haven't answered, Stanley, dear, and the rest refused." + +"Immaterial," said Ukridge with a grand gesture. "That doesn't matter. +The point is that the letters were written. It shows we are solid and +practical. Well now, can you get your things ready by to-morrow, Garny +old horse?" + +Strange how one reaches an epoch-making moment in one's life without +recognising it. If I had refused that invitation, I would not have--at +any rate, I would have missed a remarkable experience. It is not given +to everyone to see Stanley Featherstonehaugh Ukridge manage a chicken +farm. + +"I was thinking of going somewhere where I could get some golf," I +said undecidedly. + +"Combe Regis is just the place for you, then. Perfect hot-bed of +golf. Full of the finest players. Can't throw a brick without hitting +an amateur champion. Grand links at the top of the hill not half a +mile from the farm. Bring your clubs. You'll be able to play in the +afternoons. Get through serious work by lunch time." + +"You know," I said, "I am absolutely inexperienced as regards fowls. I +just know enough to help myself to bread sauce when I see one, but no +more." + +"Excellent! You're just the man. You will bring to the work a mind +unclouded by theories. You will act solely by the light of your +intelligence. And you've got lots of that. That novel of yours showed +the most extraordinary intelligence--at least as far as that blighter +at the bookstall would let me read. I wouldn't have a professional +chicken farmer about the place if he paid to come. If he applied to +me, I should simply send him away. Natural intelligence is what we +want. Then we can rely on you?" + +"Very well," I said slowly. "It's very kind of you to ask me." + +"Business, laddie, pure business. Very well, then. We shall catch the +eleven-twenty at Waterloo. Don't miss it. Look out for me on the +platform. If I see you first, I'll shout." + + + +CHAPTER III + +WATERLOO STATION, SOME FELLOW-TRAVELLERS, AND A GIRL WITH BROWN HAIR + +The austerity of Waterloo Station was lightened on the following +morning at ten minutes to eleven, when I arrived to catch the train to +Combe Regis, by several gleams of sunshine and a great deal of bustle +and activity on the various platforms. A porter took my suitcase and +golf-clubs, and arranged an assignation on Number 6 platform. I bought +my ticket, and made my way to the bookstall, where, in the interests +of trade, I inquired in a loud and penetrating voice if they had got +Jeremy Garnet's "Manoeuvres of Arthur." Being informed that they had +not, I clicked my tongue reproachfully, advised them to order in a +supply, as the demand was likely to be large, and spent a couple of +shillings on a magazine and some weekly papers. Then, with ten minutes +to spare, I went off in search of Ukridge. + +I found him on platform six. The eleven-twenty was already alongside, +and presently I observed my porter cleaving a path towards me with the +suit-case and golf-bag. + +"Here you are!" shouted Ukridge vigorously. "Good for you. Thought you +were going to miss it." + +I shook hands with the smiling Mrs. Ukridge. + +"I've got a carriage and collared two corner seats. Millie goes down +in another. She doesn't like the smell of smoke when she's travelling. +Hope we get the carriage to ourselves. Devil of a lot of people here +this morning. Still, the more people there are in the world, the more +eggs we shall sell. I can see with half an eye that all these +blighters are confirmed egg-eaters. Get in, sonnie. I'll just see the +missis into her carriage, and come back to you." + +I entered the compartment, and stood at the door, looking out in the +faint hope of thwarting an invasion of fellow-travellers. Then I +withdrew my head suddenly and sat down. An elderly gentleman, +accompanied by a pretty girl, was coming towards me. It was not this +type of fellow traveller whom I had hoped to keep out. I had noticed +the girl at the booking office. She had waited by the side of the +queue while the elderly gentleman struggled gamely for the tickets, +and I had had plenty of opportunity of observing her appearance. I had +debated with myself whether her hair should rightly be described as +brown or golden. I had finally decided on brown. Once only had I met +her eyes, and then only for an instant. They might be blue. They might +be grey. I could not be certain. Life is full of these problems. + +"This seems to be tolerably empty, my dear Phyllis," said the elderly +gentleman, coming to the door of the compartment and looking in. +"You're sure you don't object to a smoking-carriage?" + +"Oh no, father. Not a bit." + +"Then I think . . ." said the elderly gentleman, 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. + +"That's good," he said, settling himself and pulling out a cigar case. + +The bustle of the platform had increased momentarily, 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 search of seats. +Piercing voices ordered unknown "Tommies" and "Ernies" to "keep by +aunty, now." Just as Ukridge returned, that /sauve qui peut/ of the +railway crowd, the dreaded "Get in anywhere," began to be heard, and +the next moment an avalanche of warm humanity poured into the +carriage. + +The newcomers consisted of a middle-aged lady, addressed as Aunty, +very stout and clad in a grey alpaca dress, skin-tight; a youth called +Albert, not, it was to appear, a sunny child; a niece of some twenty +years, stolid and seemingly without interest in life, and one or two +other camp-followers and retainers. + +Ukridge slipped into his corner, adroitly foiling Albert, who had made +a dive in that direction. Albert regarded him fixedly and +reproachfully for a space, then sank into the seat beside me and began +to chew something that smelt of aniseed. + +Aunty, meanwhile, was distributing her substantial weight evenly +between the feet of the Irish gentleman and those of his daughter, as +she leaned out of the window to converse with a lady friend in a straw +hat and hair curlers, accompanied by three dirty and frivolous boys. +It was, she stated, lucky that she had caught the train. I could not +agree with her. The girl with the brown hair and the eyes that were +neither blue or grey was bearing the infliction, I noticed, with +angelic calm. She even smiled. This was when the train suddenly moved +off with a jerk, and Aunty, staggering back, sat down on the bag of +food which Albert had placed on the seat beside him. + +"Clumsy!" observed Albert tersely. + +"/Albert/, you mustn't speak to Aunty so!" + +"Wodyer want to sit on my bag for then?" said Albert disagreeably. + +They argued the point. Argument in no wise interfered with Albert's +power of mastication. The odour of aniseed became more and more +painful. Ukridge had lighted a cigar, and I understood why Mrs. +Ukridge preferred to travel in another compartment, for + + "In his hand he bore the brand + Which none but he might smoke." + +I looked across the carriage stealthily to see how the girl was +enduring this combination of evils, and noticed that she had begun to +read. And as she put the book down to look out of the window, I saw +with a thrill that trickled like warm water down my spine that her +book was "The Manoeuvres of Arthur." I gasped. That a girl should look +as pretty as that and at the same time have the rare intelligence to +read Me . . . well, it seemed an almost superhuman combination of the +excellencies. And more devoutly than ever I cursed in my heart these +intrusive outsiders who had charged in at the last moment and +destroyed for ever my chance of making this wonderful girl's +acquaintance. But for them, we might have become intimate in the first +half hour. As it was, what were we? Ships that pass in the night! She +would get out at some beastly wayside station, and vanish from my life +without my ever having even spoken to her. + +Aunty, meanwhile, having retired badly worsted from her encounter with +Albert, who showed a skill in logomachy that marked him out as a +future labour member, was consoling herself with meat sandwiches. The +niece was demolishing sausage rolls. The atmosphere of the carriage +was charged with a blend of odours, topping all Ukridge's cigar, now +in full blast. + +The train raced on towards the sea. It was a warm day, and a torpid +peace began to settle down upon the carriage. Ukridge had thrown away +the stump of his cigar, and was now leaning back with his mouth open +and his eyes shut. Aunty, still clutching a much-bitten section of a +beef sandwich, was breathing heavily and swaying from side to side. +Albert and the niece were dozing, Albert's jaws working automatically, +even in sleep. + +"What's your book, my dear?" asked the Irishman. + +" 'The Manoeuvres of Arthur,' father. By Jeremy Garnet." + +I would not have believed without the evidence of my ears that my name +could possibly have sounded so musical. + +"Molly McEachern gave it to me when I left the Abbey. 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." + +I hated Miss McEachern without further evidence. + +"And what do you think of it?" + +"I like it," said the girl decidedly. The carriage swam before my +eyes. "I think it is very clever." + +What did it matter after that that the ass in charge of the Waterloo +bookstall had never heard of "The Manoeuvres of Arthur," and that my +publishers, whenever I slunk in to ask how it was selling, looked at +me with a sort of grave, paternal pity and said that it had not really +"begun to move?" Anybody can write one of those rotten popular novels +which appeal to the unthinking public, but it takes a man of intellect +and refinement and taste and all that sort of thing to turn out +something that will be approved of by a girl like this. + +"I wonder who Jeremy Garnet is," she said. "I've never heard of him +before. I imagine him rather an old young man, probably with an +eyeglass, and conceited. And I should think he didn't know many girls. +At least if he thinks Pamela an ordinary sort of girl. She's a +cr-r-eature," said Phyllis emphatically. + +This was a blow to me. I had always looked on Pamela as a well-drawn +character, and a very attractive, kittenish little thing at that. That +scene between her and the curate in the conservatory . . . And when +she talks to Arthur at the meet of the Blankshires . . . I was sorry +she did not like Pamela. Somehow it lowered Pamela in my estimation. + +"But I like Arthur," said the girl. + +This was better. A good chap, Arthur,--a very complete and thoughtful +study of myself. If she liked Arthur, why, then it followed . . . but +what was the use? I should never get a chance of speaking to her. We +were divided by a great gulf of Aunties and Alberts and meat +sandwiches. + +The train was beginning to slow down. Signs of returning animation +began to be noticeable among the sleepers. Aunty's eyes opened, stared +vacantly round, closed, and reopened. The niece woke, and started +instantly to attack a sausage roll. Albert and Ukridge slumbered on. + +A whistle from the engine, and the train drew up at a station. Looking +out, I 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 +heading a stampede out of the door. + +The Irishman and his daughter also rose, and got out. I watched them +leave stoically. It would have been too much to expect that they +should be going any further. + +"Where are we?" said Ukridge sleepily. "Yeovil? Not far now. I tell +you what it is, old horse, I could do with a drink." + +With that remark he closed his eyes again, and returned to his +slumbers. And, as he did so, my eye, roving discontentedly over the +carriage, was caught by something lying in the far corner. It was "The +Manoeuvres of Arthur." The girl had left it behind. + +I suppose what follows shows the vanity that obsesses young authors. +It did not even present itself to me as a tenable theory that the book +might have been left behind on purpose, as being of no further use to +the owner. It only occurred to me that, if I did not act swiftly, the +poor girl would suffer a loss beside which the loss of a purse or +vanity-case were trivial. + +Five seconds later I was on the platform. + +"Excuse me," I said, "I think . . . ?" + +"Oh, thank you so much," said the girl. + +I made my way back to the carriage, and lit my pipe in a glow of +emotion. + +"They are blue," I said to my immortal soul. "A wonderful, deep, soft, +heavenly blue, like the sea at noonday." + + + +CHAPTER IV + +THE ARRIVAL + +From Axminster to Combe Regis the line runs through country as +attractive 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 we reached our destination. + +The arrangements for the carrying of luggage at Combe 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 into the valley and +up the hill on the opposite side to the address written on the labels. +The owner walks. Combe Regis is not a place for the halt and maimed. + +Ukridge led us 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. + +Half-way up the slope on the other side of the valley we left the road +and made our way across a spongy field, Ukridge explaining that this +was a short cut. We climbed through a hedge, crossed a stream and +another field, and after negotiating a difficult bank, topped with +barbed wire, found ourselves in a garden. + +Ukridge mopped his forehead, and restored his pince-nez to their +original position from which the passage of the barbed wire had +dislodged them. + +"This is the place," he said. "We've come in by the back way. Saves +time. Tired, Millie?" + +"A little, dear. I should like some tea." + +"Same here," I agreed. + +"That'll be all right," said Ukridge. "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. +That's the way to do things, Garny old horse. Quiet efficiency. +Perfect organisation." + +We were at the front door by this time. Ukridge rang the bell. The +noise echoed through the house, but there was no answering footsteps. +He rang again. There is no mistaking the note of a bell in an empty +house. It was plain that the competent man and his wife were out. + +"Now what?" I said. + +Mrs. Ukridge looked at her husband with calm confidence. + +"This," said Ukridge, leaning against the door and endeavouring to +button his collar at the back, "reminds me of an afternoon in the +Argentine. Two other cheery sportsmen 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 drink, and we'd just got the door open +when the owner turned up from behind a tree with a shot-gun. It was a +little difficult to explain. As a matter of fact, we never did what +you might call really thresh the matter out thoroughly in all its +aspects, and you'd be surprised what a devil of a time it takes to +pick buck-shot out of a fellow. There was a dog, too." + +He broke off, musing dreamily on the happy past, and at this moment +history partially repeated itself. From the other side of the door +came a dissatisfied whine, followed by a short bark. + +"Hullo," said Ukridge, "Beale has a dog." He frowned, annoyed. "What +right," he added in an aggrieved tone, "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 day and night to support Beale, and +when I try to get into my own house his infernal dog barks at me. Upon +my Sam it's hard!" He brooded for a moment on the injustice of things. +"Here, let me get to the keyhole. I'll reason with the brute." + +He put his mouth to the keyhole and roared "Goo' dog!" through it. +Instantly the door shook as some heavy object hurled itself against +it. The barking rang through the house. + +"Come round to the back," said Ukridge, giving up the idea of +conciliation, "we'll get in through the kitchen window." + +The kitchen window proved to be insecurely latched. Ukridge threw it +open and we climbed in. The dog, hearing the noise, raced back along +the passage and flung himself at the door, scratching at the panels. +Ukridge listened with growing indignation. + +"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 that's the sort of +discipline they used to keep in his regiment, thank God, we've got a +Navy! Damn, I've broken a plate. How's 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 goes another plate. +Where's Mrs. Beale, too? By Jove, that woman wants killing as much as +her blackguard of a husband. Whoever heard of a cook deliberately +leaving her post on the day when her master and mistress were expected +back? The abandoned woman. Look here, I'll give that dog three +minutes, and if it doesn't stop scratching that door by then, I'll +take a rolling pin and go out and have a heart-to-heart talk with it. +It's a little hard. My own house, and the first thing I find when I +arrive is somebody else's beastly dog scratching holes in the doors +and ruining the expensive paint. Stop it, you brute!" + +The dog's reply was to continue his operations with immense vigour. + +Ukridge's eyes gleamed behind their glasses. + +"Give me a good large jug, laddie," he said with ominous calm. + +He took the largest of the jugs from the dresser and strode with it +into the scullery, whence came a sound of running water. He returned +carrying the jug with both hands, his mien that of a general who sees +his way to a masterstroke of strategy. + +"Garny, old horse," he said, "freeze onto the handle of the door, and, +when I give the word, fling wide the gates. Then watch that animal get +the surprise of a lifetime." + +I attached myself to the handle as directed. Ukridge gave the word. We +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 enemy was thinking the thing over in some safe retreat. + +"Settled /his/ hash," said Ukridge complacently. "Nothing like +resource, Garny my boy. Some men would have gone on letting a good +door be ruined." + +"And spoiled the dog for a ha'porth of water," I said. + +At this moment Mrs. Ukridge announced that the kettle was boiling. +Over a cup of tea Ukridge became the man of business. + +"I wonder when those fowls are going to arrive. They should have been +here to-day. It's a little hard. Here am I, all eagerness and anxiety, +waiting to start an up-to-date chicken farm, and no fowls! I can't run +a chicken farm without fowls. If they don't come to-morrow, I shall +get after those people with a hatchet. There must be no slackness. +They must bustle about. After tea I'll show you the garden, and we'll +choose a place for a fowl-run. To-morrow we must buckle to. Serious +work will begin immediately after breakfast." + +"Suppose," I said, "the fowls arrive before we're ready for them?" + +"Why, then they must wait." + +"But you can't keep fowls cooped up indefinitely in a crate." + +"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. Organisation, my boy. That's the +watchword. Quiet efficiency." + +"I hope you are going to let the hens hatch some of the eggs, dear," +said Mrs. Ukridge. "I should love to have some little chickens." + +"Of course. By all means. My idea," said Ukridge, "was this. These +people will send us fifty fowls of sorts. That means--call it forty- +five eggs a day. Let 'em . . . Well, I'm hanged! There's that dog +again. Where's the jug?" + +But this time an unforeseen interruption prevented the manoeuvre being +the success it had been before. I had turned the handle and was about +to pull the door open, while Ukridge, looking like some modern and +dilapidated version of the /Discobolus/, stood beside me with his jug +poised, when a voice spoke from the window. + +"Stand still!" said the voice, "or I'll corpse you!" + +I dropped the handle. Ukridge dropped the jug. Mrs. Ukridge dropped +her tea-cup. At the window, with a double-barrelled 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 my waistcoat. + +Ukridge emitted a roar like that of a hungry lion. + +"Beale! You scoundrelly, unprincipled, demon! What the devil 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." + +He pointed to the floor. The very old pair of tennis shoes which he +wore were by this time generously soaked with the spilled water. + +"Lor, Mr. Ukridge, sir, is that you?" said the red-headed man calmly. +"I thought you was burglars." + +A short 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. + +"That's Bob," he said. + +"I don't know what you call the brute," said Ukridge. "Come in and tie +him up. And mind what you're doing with that gun. After you've +finished with the dog, I should like a brief chat with you, laddie, if +you can spare the time and have no other engagements." + +Mr. Beale, having carefully deposited the gun against the wall and +dropped a pair of very limp rabbits on the floor, proceeded to climb +in through the window. This operation concluded, he stood to one side +while the besieged garrison passed out by the same route. + +"You will find me in the garden," said Ukridge coldly. "I've one or +two little things to say to you." + +Mr. Beale grinned affably. He seemed to be a man of equable +temperament. + +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. I seemed to see myself sitting in a deck-chair on the +lawn, smoking and looking through the trees at the harbour below. It +was a spot, I felt, in which it would be an easy and a pleasant task +to shape the plot of my novel. I was glad I had come. About now, +outside my lodgings in town, a particularly foul barrel-organ would be +settling down to work. + +"Oh, there you are, Beale," said Ukridge, as the servitor appeared. +"Now then, what have you to say?" + +The hired man looked thoughtful for a moment, then said that it was a +fine evening. + +"Fine evening?" shouted Ukridge. "What on earth has that got to do +with it? I want to know why you and Mrs. Beale were out when we +arrived." + +"The missus went to Axminster, Mr. Ukridge, sir." + +"She had no right to go to Axminster. It isn't part of her duties to +go gadding about to Axminster. I don't pay her enormous sums to go to +Axminster. You knew I was coming this evening." + +"No, sir." + +"What!" + +"No, sir." + +"Beale," said Ukridge with studied calm, the strong man repressing +himself. "One of us two is a fool." + +"Yes, sir." + +"Let us sift this matter to the bottom. You got my letter?" + +"No, sir." + +"My letter saying that I should arrive to-day. You didn't get it?" + +"No, sir." + +"Now, look here, Beale, this is absurd. 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." + +He stood looking at the envelope which he had produced from his +breast-pocket. A soft smile played over Mr. Beale's wooden face. He +coughed. + +"Beale," said Ukridge, "you--er--there seems to have been a mistake." + +"Yes, sir." + +"You are not so much to blame as I thought." + +"No, sir." + +There was a silence. + +"Anyhow," said Ukridge in inspired tones, "I'll go and slay that +infernal dog. I'll teach him to tear my door to pieces. Where's your +gun, Beale?" + +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 ingenious and diverting tricks. + + + +CHAPTER V + +BUCKLING TO + +Sunshine, streaming into my bedroom through the open window, woke me +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 with brisk scuffling. On the gravel in +front of the house lay the mongrel, Bob, blinking lazily. + +The gleam of the sea through the trees turned my thoughts to bathing. +I dressed quickly and went out. Bob rose to meet me, waving an +absurdly long tail. The hatchet was definitely buried now. That little +matter of the jug of water was forgotten. + +A walk of five minutes down the hill brought me, accompanied by Bob, +to the sleepy little town. I passed through the narrow street, and +turned on to the beach, walking in the direction of the combination of +pier and break-water which loomed up through the faint mist. + +The tide was high, and, leaving my clothes to the care of Bob, who +treated them as a handy bed, I dived into twelve feet of clear, cold +water. As I swam, I compared it with the morning tub of London, and +felt that I had done well to come with Ukridge to this pleasant spot. +Not that I could rely on unbroken calm during the whole of my visit. I +knew nothing of chicken-farming, but I 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, I laughed, +and swallowed a generous mouthful of salt water; and, turning, swam +back to Bob and my clothes. + +On my return, I found Ukridge, in his shirt sleeves and minus a +collar, assailing a large ham. Mrs. Ukridge, looking younger and more +child-like than ever in brown holland, smiled at me over the tea-pot. + +"Hullo, old horse," bellowed Ukridge, "where have you been? Bathing? +Hope it's made you feel fit for work, because we've got to buckle to +this morning." + +"The fowls have arrived, Mr. Garnet," said Mrs. Ukridge, opening her +eyes till she looked like an astonished kitten. "/Such/ a lot of them. +They're making such a noise." + +To support her statement there floated in through the window a +cackling which for volume and variety beat anything I 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 Ukridge's +farm. + +"There seems to have been no stint," I said. + +"Quite a goodish few, aren't there?" said Ukridge complacently. "But +that's what we want. No good starting on a small scale. The more you +have, the bigger the profits." + +"What sorts have you got mostly?" I asked, showing a professional +interest. + +"Oh, all sorts. My theory, laddie, is this. It doesn't matter a bit +what kind we get, because they'll all lay; and if we sell settings of +eggs, which we will, we'll merely say it's an unfortunate accident if +they turn out mixed when hatched. Bless you, people don't mind what +breed a fowl is, so long as it's got two legs and a beak. These dealer +chaps were so infernally particular. 'Any Dorkings?' they said. 'All +right,' I said, 'bring on your Dorkings.' 'Or perhaps you will require +a few Minorcas?' 'Very well,' I said, 'unleash the Minorcas.' They +were going on--they'd have gone on for hours--but I stopped 'em. 'Look +here, my dear old college chum,' I said kindly but firmly to the +manager johnny--decent old buck, with the manners of a marquess,-- +'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. Mix +'em up, laddie,' I said, 'mix 'em up.' And he has, by jove. You go +into the yard and look at 'em. Beale has turned them out of their +crates. There must be one of every breed ever invented." + +"Where are you going to put them?" + +"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 +feel like it, and pick up worms, or whatever they feed on. We must rig +them up some sort of shanty, I suppose, this morning. We'll go and +tell 'em to send up some wire-netting and stuff from the town." + +"Then we shall want hen-coops. We shall have to make those." + +"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, of course." + +"Cheaper to make them. Suppose we get a lot of boxes. Sugar boxes are +as good as any. It won't take long to knock up a few coops." + +Ukridge thumped the table with enthusiasm, upsetting his cup. + +"Garny, old horse, you're a marvel. You think of everything. We'll +buckle to right away, and get the whole place fixed up the same as +mother makes it. What an infernal noise those birds are making. I +suppose they don't feel at home in the yard. Wait till they see the A1 +compact residential mansions we're going to put up for them. Finished +breakfast? Then let's go out. Come along, Millie." + +The red-headed Beale, discovered leaning in an attitude of thought on +the yard gate and observing the feathered mob below with much +interest, was roused from his reflections and despatched to the town +for the wire and sugar boxes. Ukridge, taking his place at the gate, +gazed at the fowls with the affectionate air of a proprietor. + +"Well, they have certainly taken you at your word," I said, "as far as +variety is concerned." + +The man with the manners of a marquess seemed to have been at great +pains to send a really representative selection of fowls. There were +blue ones, black ones, white, grey, yellow, brown, big, little, +Dorkings, Minorcas, Cochin Chinas, Bantams, Wyandottes. It was an +imposing spectacle. + +The Hired Man returned towards 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 I, 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 my 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 Ukridge the advisability of a halt for refreshments. + +"That's the way to do it," he said, beaming through misty pince-nez +over a long glass. "That is the stuff to administer to 'em! At this +rate we shall have the place in corking condition before bedtime. +Quiet efficiency--that's the wheeze! What do you think of those for +coops, Beale?" + +The Hired Man examined them woodenly. + +"I've seen worse, sir." + +He continued his examination. + +"But not many," he added. Beale's passion for the truth had made him +unpopular in three regiments. + +"They aren't so bad," I said, "but I'm glad I'm not a fowl." + +"So you ought to be," said Ukridge, "considering the way you've put up +that wire. You'll have them strangling themselves." + +In spite of earnest labour 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 in a letter which I wrote that night to +my friend Lickford. + + +" . . . Have you ever played a game called Pigs in Clover? We have +just finished a merry 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 on the beach. Wants some exercise, I suppose. Personally, I +feel as if I should never move again. 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 in +the cube sugar-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 shan't 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 Stanley Featherstonehaugh! +He likes his manoeuvres to be on a large, dashing, Napoleonic scale. +He said, 'Open the yard gate and let the blighters come out into the +open; then sail in and drive them in mass formation 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 theatre. +Then we closed in on them to bring off the big drive. For about thirty +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 in that direction, with Bob after it, barking his +hardest. The fowl was showing a rare turn of speed and gaining +rapidly. Presently Bob came back, panting, having evidently given the +thing up. We, in the meantime, were chasing the rest of the birds all +over the garden. The affair 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 we introduced some sort of system into it. Mrs. +Ukridge 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 sugar-box coops in a row, and when we +caught a fowl we put it in 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 still in Dorsetshire, but +I should not like to bet on it. + +"So you see things are being managed on the up-to-date chicken farm on +good, sound Ukridge principles. It is only the beginning. I look with +confidence for further interesting events. I believe if Ukridge kept +white mice he would manage to get feverish excitement out of it. He is +at present lying on the sofa, smoking one of his infernal brand of +cigars, drinking whisky and soda, and complaining with some bitterness +because the whisky isn't as good as some he once tasted in Belfast. +From the basement I can hear faintly the murmur of innumerable fowls." + + + +CHAPTER VI + +MR. GARNET'S NARRATIVE-- +HAS TO DO WITH A REUNION + +The 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?" but they were coops within the +meaning of the Act, and we induced 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, Ukridge holding himself +proudly aloof. While Beale and I worked ourselves to a fever in the +sun, the senior partner of the firm sat on a deck-chair in the shade, +offering not unkindly criticism and advice and from time to time +abusing his creditors, who were numerous. For we had hardly been in +residence a day before he began to order in a vast supply of necessary +and unnecessary things, all on credit. Some he got from the village, +others from neighbouring towns. Axminster he laid heavily under +contribution. He even went as far afield as Dorchester. He had a +persuasive way with him, and the tradesmen seemed to treat him like a +favourite son. The things began to pour in from all sides,--groceries, +whisky, a piano, a gramophone, pictures. Also cigars in great +profusion. He was not one of those men who want but little here below. + +As regards the financial side of these transactions, his method was +simple and masterly. If a tradesman suggested that a small cheque on +account would not be taken amiss, as one or two sordid fellows did, he +became pathetic. + +"Confound it, sir," he would say with tears in his voice, laying a +hand on the man's shoulders in a wounded way, "it's a trifle hard, +when a gentleman comes to settle in your neighbourhood, that you +should dun him for money before he has got the preliminary expenses +about the house off his back." 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. Why, +damme, in all my experience I've never heard anything like it!" Upon +which the man would apologise, and go away, forgiven, with a large +order for more goods. + +By these statesmanlike methods he had certainly made the place very +comfortable. I suppose we all realised that the things would have to +be paid for some day, but the thought did not worry us. + +"Pay?" bellowed Ukridge on the only occasion when I ventured to bring +up the unpleasant topic, "of course we shall pay. Why not? I don't +like to see this faint-hearted spirit in you, old horse. The money +isn't coming in yet, I admit, but we must give it time. Soon we shall +be turning over hundreds a week, hundreds! I'm in touch with all the +big places,--Whiteley's, Harrod's, all the nibs. Here I am, I said to +them, with a large chicken farm with all the modern improvements. You +want eggs, old horses, 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, +I'll admit their terms did not come up to my expectations altogether, +but we must not sneer at small prices at first. + +"When we get a connection, we shall be able to name our terms. It +stands to reason, laddie. Have you ever seen a man, woman, or child +who wasn't eating an egg or just going to eat an egg or just coming +away from eating an egg? I tell you, the good old egg is the +foundation of daily life. Stop the first man you meet in the street +and ask him which he'd sooner lose, his egg or his wife, and see what +he says! We're on to a good thing, Garny, my boy. Pass the whisky!" + +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 power of his hens +which would have flattered them if they could have known it. It might +also have stimulated their efforts in that direction, which up to date +were feeble. + +It was now, as I have said, Thursday, the twenty-second of July,--a +glorious, sunny morning, of the kind which Providence sends +occasionally, simply in order to allow the honest smoker to take his +after-breakfast pipe under ideal conditions. These are the pipes to +which a man looks back in after years with a feeling of wistful +reverence, pipes smoked in perfect tranquillity, mind and body alike +at rest. It is over pipes like these that we dream our dreams, and +fashion our masterpieces. + +My pipe was behaving like the ideal pipe; and, as I strolled +spaciously about the lawn, my novel was growing nobly. I had neglected +my literary work for the past week, owing to the insistent claims of +the fowls. I am not one of those men whose minds work in placid +independence of the conditions of life. But I was making up for lost +time now. With each blue cloud that left my lips and hung in the still +air above me, striking scenes and freshets of sparkling dialogue +rushed through my brain. Another uninterrupted half hour, and I have +no doubt that I should have completed the framework of a novel which +would have placed me in that select band of authors who have no +christian names. Another half hour, and posterity would have known me +as "Garnet." + +But it was not to be. + +"Stop her! Catch her, Garny, old horse!" + +I had wandered into the paddock at the moment. I looked up. Coming +towards me at her best pace was a small hen. I recognised her +immediately. It was the disagreeable, sardonic-looking bird which +Ukridge, on the strength of an alleged similarity of profile to his +wife's nearest relative, had christened Aunt Elizabeth. A Bolshevist +hen, always at the bottom of any disturbance in the fowl-run, a bird +which ate its head off daily at our expense and bit the hands which +fed it by resolutely declining to lay a single egg. Behind this fowl +ran Bob, doing, as usual, the thing that he ought not to have done. +Bob's wrong-headedness in the matter of our hens was a constant source +of inconvenience. From the first, he had seemed to regard the laying- +in of our stock purely in the nature of a tribute to his sporting +tastes. He had a fixed idea that he was a hunting dog and that, +recognising this, we had very decently provided him with the material +for the chase. + +Behind Bob came Ukridge. But a glance was enough to tell me that he +was a negligible factor in the pursuit. He was not built for speed. +Already the pace had proved too much for him, and he had appointed me +his deputy, with full powers to act. + +"After her, Garny, old horse! Valuable bird! Mustn't be lost!" + +When not in a catalepsy of literary composition, I am essentially the +man of action. I laid aside my novel for future reference, and we +passed out of the paddock in the following order. First, Aunt +Elizabeth, as fresh as paint, going well. Next, Bob, panting and +obviously doubtful of his powers of staying the distance. Lastly, +myself, determined, but wishing I were five years younger. + +After the first field Bob, like the dilettante and unstable dog he +was, gave it up, and sauntered off to scratch at a rabbit-hole with an +insufferable air of suggesting that that was what he had come out for +all the time. I continued to pound along doggedly. I was grimly +resolute. I had caught Aunt Elizabeth's eye as she passed me, and the +contempt in it had cut me to the quick. This bird despised me. I am +not a violent or a quick-tempered man, but I have my self-respect. I +will not be sneered at by hens. All the abstract desire for Fame which +had filled my mind five minutes before was concentrated now on the +task of capturing this supercilious bird. + +We had been travelling down hill all this time, but at this point we +crossed a 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. + +Whether Aunt Elizabeth, too, was beginning to feel the effects of her +run, or whether she did it out of the pure effrontery of her warped +and unpleasant nature, I do not know; but she now slowed down to walk, +and even began to peck in a tentative manner at the grass. Her +behaviour infuriated me. I felt that I was being treated as a cipher. +I vowed that this bird should realise yet, even if, as seemed +probable, I burst in the process, that it was no light matter to be +pursued by J. Garnet, author of "The Manoeuvres of Arthur," etc., a +man of whose work so capable a judge as the Peebles /Advertiser/ had +said "Shows promise." + +A judicious increase of pace brought me within a yard or two of my +quarry. But Aunt Elizabeth, apparently distrait, had the situation +well in hand. She darted from me with an amused chuckle, and moved off +rapidly again up the hill. + +I followed, but there was that within me that told me I had shot my +bolt. The sun blazed down, concentrating its rays on my back to the +exclusion of the surrounding scenery. It seemed to follow me about +like a limelight. + +We had reached level ground. Aunt Elizabeth had again slowed to a +walk, and I was capable of no better pace. Very gradually I closed in. +There was a high boxwood hedge in front of us; and, just as I came +close enough once more to stake my all on a single grab, Aunt +Elizabeth, with another of her sardonic chuckles, dived in head- +foremost and struggled through in the mysterious way in which birds do +get through hedges. The sound of her faint spinster-like snigger came +to me as I stood panting, and roused me like a bugle. The next moment +I too had plunged into the hedge. + +I was in the middle of it, 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 the gravel path of a private garden. Beyond the +path was a croquet lawn, and on this lawn I perceived, as through a +glass darkly, three figures. The mist cleared from my eyes, and I +recognised two of them. + +One was the middle-aged Irishman who had travelled down with us in the +train. The other was his blue-eyed daughter. + +The third member of the party was a man, a stranger to me. By some +miracle of adroitness he had captured Aunt Elizabeth, and was holding +her in spite of her protests in a workmanlike manner behind the wings. + + + +CHAPTER VII + +THE ENTENTE CORDIALE IS SEALED + +There are moments and moments. The present one belonged to the more +painful variety. + +Even to my exhausted mind it was plain that there was a need here for +explanations. An Irishman's croquet-lawn is his castle, and strangers +cannot plunge in through hedges without inviting comment. + +Unfortunately, speech was beyond me. I could have emptied a water- +butt, laid down and gone to sleep, or melted ice with a touch of the +finger, but I could not speak. The conversation was opened by the +other man, in whose restraining hand Aunt Elizabeth now lay, outwardly +resigned but inwardly, as I, who knew her haughty spirit, could guess, +boiling with baffled resentment. I could see her looking out of the +corner of her eye, trying to estimate the chances of getting in one +good hard peck with her aquiline beak. + +"Come right in," said the man pleasantly. "Don't knock." + +I stood there, gasping. I was only too well aware that I presented a +quaint appearance. I had removed my hat before entering the hedge, and +my hair was full of twigs and other foreign substances. My face was +moist and grimy. My mouth hung open. My legs felt as if they had +ceased to belong to me. + +"I must apol- . . ." I began, and ended the sentence with gulps. + +The elderly gentleman looked at me with what seemed to be indignant +surprise. His daughter appeared to my guilty conscience to be looking +through me. Aunt Elizabeth sneered. The only friendly face was the +man's. He regarded me with a kindly smile, as if I were some old +friend who had dropped in unexpectedly. + +"Take a long breath," he advised. + +I took several, and felt better. + +"I must apologise for this intrusion," I said successfully. +"Unwarrantable" would have rounded off the sentence neatly, but I +would not risk it. It would have been mere bravado to attempt +unnecessary words of five syllables. I took in more breath. "The fact +is, I did--didn't know there was a private garden beyond the hedge. If +you will give me my hen . . ." + +I stopped. Aunt Elizabeth was looking away, as if endeavouring to +create an impression of having nothing to do with me. I am told by one +who knows that hens cannot raise their eyebrows, not having any; but I +am prepared to swear that at this moment Aunt Elizabeth raised hers. I +will go further. She sniffed. + +"Here you are," said the man. "Though it's hard to say good-bye." + +He held out the hen to me, and at this point a hitch occurred. He did +his part, the letting go, all right. It was in my department, the +taking hold, that the thing was bungled. Aunt Elizabeth slipped from +my grasp like an eel, stood for a moment eyeing me satirically with +her head on one side, then fled and entrenched herself in some bushes +at the end of the lawn. + +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 is a dignified retreat. But there is one thing essential to a +dignified retreat. You must know the way out. It was the lack of that +knowledge that kept me standing there, looking more foolish than +anyone has ever looked since the world began. I could not retire by +way of the hedge. If I could have leaped the hedge with a single +debonair bound, that would have been satisfactory. But the hedge was +high, and I did not feel capable at the moment of achieving a debonair +bound over a footstool. + +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 organised army. The common object, the pursuit of the +elusive Aunt Elizabeth, made us friends. In the first minute of the +proceedings the Irishman was addressing me as "me dear boy," and the +man, who had introduced himself as Mr. Chase--a lieutenant, I learned +later, 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 merely broken; it was +shivered into a million fragments. + +"Go in and drive her out, Garnet," shouted Mr. Chase. "In my direction +if you can. Look out on the left, Phyllis." + +Even in that disturbing moment I could not help noticing his use of +the Christian name. It seemed to me more than sinister. I did not like +the idea of dashing young lieutenants in the senior service calling a +girl Phyllis whose eyes had haunted me since I had first seen them. + +Nevertheless, I crawled into the bushes and administered to Aunt +Elizabeth a prod in the lower ribs--if hens have lower ribs. The more +I study hens, the more things they seem able to get along without-- +which abruptly disturbed her calm detachment. She shot out at the spot +where Mr. Chase was waiting with his coat off, and was promptly +enveloped in that garment and captured. + +"The essence of strategy," observed Mr. Chase approvingly, "is +surprise. A neat piece of work!" + +I thanked him. He deprecated my thanks. He had, he said, only done his +duty, as expected to by England. He then introduced me to the elderly +Irishman, who was, it seemed, a professor at Dublin University, by +name, Derrick. Whatever it was that he professed, it was something +that did not keep him for a great deal of his time at the University. +He informed me that he always spent his summers at Combe Regis. + +"I was surprised to see you at Combe Regis," I said. "When you got out +at Yeovil, I thought I had seen the last of you." + +I think I am gifted beyond other men as regards the unfortunate +turning of sentences. + +"I meant," I added, "I was afraid I had." + +"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." + +"It would be a kindness," said Mr. Chase, "if you would forget +Garnet's as now exhibited. You seem to have collected a good deal of +the scenery coming through that hedge." + +"I was wondering----" I said. "A wash--if I might----" + +"Of course, me boy, of course," said the professor. "Tom, take Mr. +Garnet off to your room, and then we'll have lunch. You'll stay to +lunch, Mr. Garnet?" + +I thanked him, commented on possible inconvenience to his +arrangements, was overruled, and went off with my friend the +lieutenant to the house. We imprisoned Aunt Elizabeth in the stables, +to her profound indignation, gave directions for lunch to be served to +her, and made our way to Mr. Chase's room. + +"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. + +"I have never spoken to him," I said. "We travelled down from London +in the same carriage." + +"He's a dear old boy, if you rub him the right way. But--I'm telling +you this for your good and guidance; a man wants a chart in a strange +sea--he can cut up rough. And, when he does, he goes off like a four- +point-seven and the population for miles round climbs trees. I think, +if I were you, I shouldn't mention Sir Edward Carson at lunch." + +I promised that I would try to avoid the temptation. + +"In fact, you'd better keep off Ireland altogether. It's the safest +plan. Any other subject you like. 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 Ireland. Shall we do down?" + +We got to know each other at lunch. + +"Do you hunt hens," asked Tom Chase, who was mixing the salad--he was +one of those men who seemed to do everything a shade better than +anyone else--"for amusement or by your doctor's orders? Many doctors, +I believe, insist on it." + +"Neither," I said, "and especially not for amusement. The fact is, +I've been lured down here by a friend of mine who has started a +chicken farm--" + +I was interrupted. All three of them burst out laughing. Tom Chase +allowed the vinegar to trickle on to the cloth, missing the salad-bowl +by a clear two inches. + +"You don't mean to tell us," he said, "that you really come from the +one and only chicken farm? Why, you're the man we've all been praying +to meet for days past. You're the talk of the town. If you can call +Combe Regis a town. Everybody is discussing you. Your methods are new +and original, aren't they?" + +"Probably. Ukridge knows nothing about fowls. I know less. He +considers it an advantage. He says our minds ought to be unbiassed." + +"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 management of poultry? You do not?" + +I hastened to disclaim any such feat. I had never really approved of +these infernal talks on the art of chicken-farming which Ukridge had +dropped into the habit of delivering when anybody visited our farm. I +admit that it was a pleasing spectacle to see my managing director in +a pink shirt without a collar and very dirty flannel trousers +lecturing the intelligent native; but I had a feeling that the thing +tended to expose our ignorance to men who had probably had to do with +fowls from their cradle up. + +"His lectures are very popular," said Phyllis Derrick with a little +splutter of mirth. + +"He enjoys them," I said. + +"Look here, Garnet," said Tom 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?" + +"He's not a millionaire yet, but I believe he intends to be one +shortly, with the assistance of the fowls. But you mustn't look on me +as in any way responsible for the arrangements at the farm. I am +merely a labourer. The brainwork of the business lies in Ukridge's +department. As a matter of fact, I came down here principally in +search of golf." + +"Golf?" said Professor Derrick, with the benevolent approval of the +enthusiast towards a brother. "I'm glad you play golf. We must have a +round together." + +"As soon as ever my professional duties will permit," I said +gratefully. + + * * * * * + +There was croquet after lunch,--a game of which I am a poor performer. +Phyllis Derrick and I played the professor and Tom 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. + +"I was reading a book," she said, 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?" + +"My name is Jeremy, Miss Derrick." + +"Oh, you wrote it?" She turned a little pink. "Then you must have--oh, +nothing." + +"I couldn't help it, I'm afraid." + +"Did you know what I was going to say?" + +"I guessed. You were going to say that I must have heard your +criticisms in the train. You were very lenient, I thought." + +"I didn't like your heroine." + +"No. What is a 'creature,' Miss Derrick?" + +"Pamela in your book is a 'creature,' " she replied unsatisfactorily. + +Shortly after this 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. The +sun was setting as I left to return to the farm, with Aunt Elizabeth +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, seeming to come from +another world, a sheep-bell tinkled, deepening the silence. Alone in a +sky of the palest blue there gleamed a small, bright star. + +I addressed this star. + +"She was certainly very nice to me. Very nice indeed." The star said +nothing. + +"On the other hand, I take it that, having had a decent up-bringing, +she would have been equally polite to any other man whom she had +happened to meet at her father's house. Moreover, I don't feel +altogether easy in my mind about that naval chap. I fear the worst." + +The star winked. + +"He calls her Phyllis," I said. + +"Charawk!" chuckled Aunt Elizabeth from her basket, in that beastly +cynical, satirical way which has made her so disliked by all right- +thinking people. + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +A LITTLE DINNER AT UKRIDGE'S + +"Edwin comes to-day," said Mrs. Ukridge. + +"And the Derricks," said Ukridge, sawing at the bread in his energetic +way. "Don't forget the Derricks, Millie." + +"No, dear. Mrs. Beale is going to give us a very nice dinner. We +talked it over yesterday." + +"Who is Edwin?" I asked. + +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 neighbours and their +interest in our doings, and the Hired Retainer had been sent off next +morning with a note from Mrs. Ukridge inviting them to look over the +farm and stay to dinner. + +"Edwin?" said Ukridge. "Oh, beast of a cat." + +"Oh, Stanley!" said Mrs. Ukridge plaintively. "He's not. He's such a +dear, Mr. Garnet. A beautiful, pure-bred Persian. He has taken +prizes." + +"He's always taking something. That's why he didn't come down with +us." + +"A great, horrid, /beast/ of a dog bit him, Mr. Garnet. And poor +Edwin had to go to a cats' hospital." + +"And I hope," said Ukridge, "the experience will do him good. Sneaked +a dog's dinner, Garnet, under his very nose, if you please. Naturally +the dog lodged a protest." + +"I'm so afraid that he will be frightened of Bob. He will be very +timid, and Bob's so boisterous. Isn't he, Mr. Garnet?" + +"That's all right," said Ukridge. "Bob won't hurt him, unless he tries +to steal his dinner. In that case we will have Edwin made into a rug." + +"Stanley doesn't like Edwin," said Mrs. Ukridge, sadly. + +Edwin arrived early in the afternoon, and was shut into the kitchen. +He struck me as a handsome cat, but nervous. + +The Derricks followed two hours later. Mr. Chase was not of the party. + +"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." + +"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?" + +"Never, sir," said the professor. + +"Because I knew just such another fat little buffer there a few years +ago. Gay old bird, he was. He--" + +"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 colour. Ukridge's +breezy way of expressing himself is apt to electrify the stranger. + +"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 +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." + +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 poker-like +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. + +"For goodness sake, be careful," I whispered. "You've no notion how +touchy he is." + +"But /I/ said nothing," he replied, amazed. + +"Hang it, you know, nobody likes to be called a fat little buffer to +his face." + +"What! My dear old man, nobody minds a little thing like that. We +can't be stilted and formal. It's ever so much more friendly to relax +and be chummy." + +Here we rejoined the others, and I was left with a leaden foreboding +of gruesome 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. + +For the time being, however, all went well. In his role of lecturer he +offended no one, and Phyllis and her father behaved admirably. They +received his strangest theories without a twitch of the mouth. + +"Ah," the professor would say, "now is that really so? Very +interesting indeed." + +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. + +"And you have really had no previous experience in chicken-farming?" +she said. + +"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." + +"I see," said Phyllis. + +It was while matters were progressing with this 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. + +"Beg pardon, Mr. Ukridge, sir." + +Ukridge was in the middle of a very eloquent excursus on the feeding +of fowls, a subject on which he held views of his own as ingenious as +they were novel. The interruption annoyed him. + +"Well, Beale," he said, "what is it?" + +"That there cat, sir, what came to-day." + +"Oh, Beale," cried Mrs. Ukridge in agitation, "/what/ has happened?" + +"Having something to say to the missis--" + +"What has happened? Oh, Beale, don't say that Edwin has been hurt? +Where is he? Oh, /poor/ Edwin!" + +"Having something to say to the missis--" + +"If Bob has bitten him I hope he had his nose /well/ scratched," said +Mrs. Ukridge vindictively. + +"Having something to say to the missis," resumed the Hired Retainer +tranquilly, "I went into the kitchen ten minutes back. The cat was +sitting on the mat." + +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. + +"Yes, Beale, yes?" said Mrs. Ukridge. "Oh, do go on." + +" 'Hullo, puss,' I says to him, 'and 'ow are /you/, sir?' 'Be +careful,' says the missis. ' 'E's that timid,' she says, 'you wouldn't +believe,' she says. ' 'E's only just settled down, as you may say,' +she says. 'Ho, don't you fret,' I says to her, ' 'im and me +understands each other. 'Im and me,' I says, 'is old friends. 'E's my +dear old pal, Corporal Banks.' 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." + +"Oh, do--go--on, Beale. What has happened to Edwin?" + +The Hired Retainer proceeded in calm, even tones. + +"We was talking there, ma'am, when Bob, what 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, "blowed if the old cat didn't give one jump, and +move in quick time up the chimney, where 'e now remains, paying no +'eed to the missis' attempts to get him down again." + +Sensation, as they say in the reports. + +"But he'll be cooked," cried Phyllis, open-eyed. + +"No, he won't. Nor will our dinner. Mrs. Beale always lets the kitchen +fire out during the afternoon. And how she's going to light it with +that----" + +There was a pause while one might count three. It was plain that the +speaker was struggling with himself. + +"--that cat," he concluded safely, "up the chimney? It's a cold dinner +we'll get to-night, if that cat doesn't come down." + +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. + +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. + +"What's all this, Mrs. Beale?" said Ukridge. + +"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." + +"Prod at him with a broom handle, Mrs. Beale," said Ukridge. + +"Oh, don't hurt poor Edwin," said Mrs. Ukridge. + +"I 'ave tried that, sir, but I can't reach him, and I'm 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." + +"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." + +"A regular, jolly picnic-dinner," repeated the professor gloomily. I +could read what was passing in his mind,--remorse for having come at +all, and a faint hope that it might not be too late to back out of it. + +"That will be splendid," said Phyllis. + +"Er, I think, my dear sir," said her father, "it would be hardly fair +for us to give any further trouble to Mrs. Ukridge and yourself. If +you will allow me, therefore, I will----" + +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 endorse his view that there was a tin of sardines +and part of a cold fowl and plenty of bread and cheese. + +"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." + +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. + +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 young or the very +hungry. The uncompromising coldness and solidity of the viands was +enough to appall a man conscious that his digestion needed humouring. +A huge cheese faced us in almost a swashbuckling way. I do not know +how else to describe it. It wore a blatant, rakish, /nemo-me-impune- +lacessit/ air, 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. Finally, a +black bottle of whisky stood grimly beside Ukridge's plate. The +professor looked the sort of man who drank claret of a special year, +or nothing. + +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 +pretence. The professor was very silent by the time we had finished. +Ukridge had been terrible. The professor had forced himself to be +genial. He had tried to talk. He had told stories. And when he began +one--his stories would have been the better for a little more +briskness and condensation--Ukridge almost invariably interrupted him, +before he had got half way through, without a word of apology, and +started on some anecdote of his own. He furthermore disagreed with +nearly every opinion the professor 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 offence, that another man--or the same man +at a better meal--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. + +It burst after dinner. + +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. I had been expecting it momentarily, but my heart seemed to +stand still when it actually arrived. + +Ukridge probably knew less about the Irish question than any male +adult in the kingdom, but he had boomed forth some very positive +opinions of his own on the subject before I could get near enough to +him to whisper a warning. When I did, I suppose I must have whispered +louder than I had intended, for the professor heard me, and my words +acted as the match to the powder. + +"He's touchy about Ireland, is he?" he thundered. "Drop it, is it? And +why? Why, sir? I'm one of the best tempered men that ever came from +Dublin, let me tell you, and I will not stay here to be insulted by +the insinuation that I cannot discuss Ireland as calmly as any one in +this company or out of it. Touchy about Ireland, is it? Touchy--?" + +"But, professor--" + +"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." + +"Father--" + +"And let me tell you, Mr. Ukridge, that I consider your opinions +poisonous. Poisonous, sir. And you know nothing whatever about the +subject, sir. Every word you say betrays your profound ignorance. I +don't wish to see you or to speak to you again. Understand that, sir. +Our acquaintance began to-day, and it will cease to-day. Good-night to +you, sir. Come, Phyllis, me dear. Mrs. Ukridge, good-night." + + + +CHAPTER IX + +DIES IRAE + +Why 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 read only a few days +before our cold-dinner party a shop-woman, annoyed 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, said the writer, " '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 role of the young +copper, the fun of the thing appealed to me not at all. + +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. + +But to me it was a serious matter. More than serious. If I have done +my work as historian with an adequate degree of skill, the reader +should have gathered by this time the state of my feelings. + + "I did not love as others do: + None ever did that I've heard tell of. + My passion was a by-word through + The town she was, of course, the belle of." + +At least it was--fortunately--not quite that; but it was certainly +genuine and most disturbing, and it grew with the days. Somebody with +a taste for juggling with figures might write a very readable page or +so of statistics in connection with the growth of love. 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 interview +had been brief and our conversation conventional; but it is the +intervals between the meeting that do the real damage. Absence--I do +not claim the thought as my own--makes the heart grow fonder. And now, +thanks to Ukridge's amazing idiocy, a barrier had been thrust between +us. Lord knows, the business of fishing for a girl's heart is +sufficiently difficult and delicate without the addition of needless +obstacles. To cut out the naval miscreant under equal conditions would +have been a task ample enough for my modest needs. It was terrible to +have to re-establish myself in the good graces of the professor before +I could so much as begin to dream of Phyllis. Ukridge gave me no balm. + +"Well, after all," he said, when I pointed out to him quietly but +plainly my opinion of his tactlessness, "what does it matter? Old +Derrick isn't the only person in the world. If he doesn't want to know +us, laddie, we just jolly well pull ourselves together and stagger +along without him. It's quite possible to be happy without knowing old +Derrick. Millions of people are going about the world at this moment, +singing like larks out of pure light-heartedness, who don't even know +of his existence. And, as a matter of fact, old horse, we haven't time +to waste making friends and being the social pets. Too much to do on +the farm. Strict business is the watchword, my boy. We must be the +keen, tense men of affairs, or, before we know where we are, we shall +find ourselves right in the gumbo. + +"I've noticed, Garny, old horse, that you haven't been the whale for +work lately that you might be. You must buckle to, laddie. There must +be no slackness. We are at a critical stage. On our work now depends +the success of the speculation. Look at those damned cocks. They're +always fighting. Heave a stone at them, laddie, while you're up. +What's the matter with you? You seem pipped. Can't get the novel off +your chest, or what? You take my tip and give your brain a rest. +Nothing like manual labour 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--" + +"--and didn't call him a fat little 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. + +"My dear old son, he didn't mind being called a fat little buffer. You +keep harping on that. It's no discredit to a man to be a fat little +buffer. Some of the noblest men I have met have been fat little +buffers. What was the matter with old Derrick was a touch of liver. I +said to myself, when I saw him eating cheese, 'that fellow's going to +have a nasty shooting pain sooner or later.' I say, laddie, just heave +another rock or two at those cocks, will you. They'll slay each +other." + +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 following morning on +the beach, he cut me in the most uncompromising manner. + +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 mass of soft brown hair. But to me she appeared almost +commonplace in comparison. + +It is never pleasant to be cut dead, even when you have done something +to deserve it. It is like treading 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. + +That, at least, was how I read off the message. + +Two days later I met Mr. Chase in the village. + +"Hullo, so you're back," I said. + +"You've discovered my secret," he admitted; "will you have a cigar or +a cocoanut?" + +There was a pause. + +"Trouble I hear, while I was away," he said. + +I nodded. + +"The man I live with, Ukridge, did what you warned me against. Touched +on the Irish question." + +"Home Rule?" + +"He mentioned it among other things." + +"And the professor went off?" + +"Like a bomb." + +"He would. So now you have parted brass rags. It's a pity." + +I agreed. I am glad to say that I suppressed the desire to ask him to +use his influence, if any, with Mr. Derrick to effect a +reconciliation. I felt that I must play the game. To request one's +rival to give one assistance in the struggle, to the end that he may +be the more readily cut out, can hardly be considered cricket. + +"I ought not to be speaking to you, you know," said Mr. Chase. "You're +under arrest." + +"He's still----?" I stopped for a word. + +"Very much so. I'll do what I can." + +"It's very good of you." + +"But the time is not yet ripe. He may be said at present to be +simmering down." + +"I see. Thanks. Good-bye." + +"So long." + +And Mr. Chase walked on with long strides to the Cob. + +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 is the game of disappointed +lovers. On the other hand, it does 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 demeanour 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. + +Once or twice, after dinner, when Ukridge was smoking one of his +special cigars while Mrs. Ukridge nursed Edwin (now moving in society +once more, and in his right mind), I lit my pipe and walked out across +the fields through the cool summer night till I came to the hedge that +shut off the Derrick's 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. 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. + +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. + + "God makes sech nights, all white and still, + Fur'z you to look and listen." + +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. + + + +CHAPTER X + +I ENLIST THE SERVICES OF A MINION + +It would be interesting to know to what extent the work of authors is +influenced by their private affairs. If life is flowing smoothly, are +the novels they write in that period of content coloured 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 Hugh Walpole? If Maxim Gorky +were invited to lunch by Trotsky, to meet Lenin, would he sit down and +dash off a trifle in the vein of Stephen Leacock? Probably the eminent +have the power of detaching their writing self from their living, +work-a-day self; but, for my own part, the frame of mind in which I +now found myself had a disastrous effect on my novel that was to be. 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. A magnificent despondency became its keynote. It would not do. +I felt that I must make a resolute effort to shake off my depression. +More than ever the need of 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. + +In the meantime I worked hard among the fowls, drove furiously on the +links, and swam about the harbour when the affairs of the farm did not +require my attention. + +Things were not going well on our model chicken farm. Little accidents +marred the harmony of life in the fowl-run. On one occasion a hen--not +Aunt Elizabeth, I am sorry to say,--fell into a pot of tar, and came +out an unspeakable object. Ukridge put his spare pair of tennis shoes +in the incubator to dry them, and permanently spoiled the future of +half-a-dozen eggs which happened to have got there first. Chickens +kept straying into the wrong coops, where they got badly pecked by the +residents. Edwin slew a couple of Wyandottes, and was only saved from +execution by the tears of Mrs. Ukridge. + +In spite of these occurrences, however, his buoyant optimism never +deserted Ukridge. + +"After all," he said, "What's one bird more or less? Yes, I know I +made a fuss when that beast of a cat lunched off those two, but that +was simply the principle of the thing. I'm not going to pay large sums +for chickens purely in order that a cat which I've never liked can +lunch well. Still, we've plenty left, and the eggs are coming in +better now, though we've still 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 going 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 things down here, and these men have the impertinence to bother +me about their wretched business. Come in and have a drink, laddie, +and let's talk it over." + +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 +trying to get my novel into shape. 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. + +"Garny, come here. I want you to see the most astounding thing." + +"What's the matter?" I asked. + +"Blast if I know. Look at those chickens. They've been doing that for +the last half-hour." + +I inspected the chickens. There was certainly something the matter +with them. They were yawning--broadly, as if we bored them. They stood +about singly and in groups, opening and shutting their beaks. It was +an uncanny spectacle. + +"What's the matter with them?" + +"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." + +"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 /can/ be the matter with it?" + +"I 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!" + +No answer. + +"Beale!!" + +A sturdy form in shirt-sleeves appeared through the bushes, carrying a +boot. We seemed to have interrupted him in the act of cleaning it. + +"Beale, you know all about fowls. What's the matter with these +chickens?" + +The Hired Retainer examined the blase birds with a wooden expression +on his face. + +"Well?" said Ukridge. + +"The 'ole thing 'ere," said the Hired Retainer, "is these 'ere fowls +have been and got the roop." + +I had never heard of the disease before, but it sounded bad. + +"Is that what makes them yawn like that?" said Mrs. Ukridge. + +"Yes, ma'am." + +"Poor things!" + +"Yes, ma'am." + +"And have they all got it?" + +"Yes, ma'am." + +"What ought we to do?" asked Ukridge. + +"Well, my aunt, sir, when 'er fowls 'ad the roop, she gave them +snuff." + +"Give them snuff, she did," he repeated, with relish, "every morning." + +"Snuff!" said Mrs. Ukridge. + +"Yes, ma'am. She give 'em snuff till their eyes bubbled." + +Mrs. Ukridge uttered a faint squeak at this vivid piece of word- +painting. + +"And did it cure them?" asked Ukridge. + +"No, sir," responded the expert soothingly. + +"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 +the nearest farmer, and give him my compliments, and ask him what he +does when his fowls get the roop." + +"Yes, sir." + +"No, I'll go, Ukridge," I said. "I want some exercise." + +I whistled to Bob, who was investigating a mole-heap in the paddock, +and set off in the direction of the village of Up Lyme to consult +Farmer Leigh on the matter. He had sold us some fowls shortly after +our arrival, so might be expected to feel a kindly interest in their +ailing families. + +The path to Up Lyme lies across deep-grassed meadows. At intervals it +passes over a stream by means of a footbridge. The stream curls +through the meadows like a snake. + +And at the first of these bridges I met Phyllis. + +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. She carried a sketching-block. All nice +girls sketch a little. + +There was room for one alone on the footbridge, and I drew back to let +her pass. + +It being the privilege of woman to make the first sign of recognition, +I said nothing. I merely lifted my hat in a non-committing fashion. + +"Are you going to cut me, I wonder?" I said to myself. She answered +the unspoken question as I hoped it would be answered. + +"Mr. Garnet," she said, stopping at the end of the bridge. A pause. + +"I couldn't tell you so before, but I am so sorry this has happened." + +"Oh, thanks awfully," I said, realising 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, +suggestive, 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. + +"Of course you understand my friends--must be my father's friends." + +"Yes," I said gloomily, "I suppose so." + +"So you must not think me rude if I--I----" + +"Cut me," said I, with masculine coarseness. + +"Don't seem to see you," said she, with feminine delicacy, "when I am +with my father. You will understand?" + +"I shall understand." + +"You see,"--she smiled--"you are under arrest, as Tom says." + +Tom! + +"I see," I said. + +"Good-bye." + +"Good-bye." + +I watched her out of sight, and went on to interview Mr. Leigh. + +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 we went +Dorkings with pasts, and Cochin Chinas which he had cured of diseases +generally fatal on, as far as I could gather, Christian Science +principles. + +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--and +also a slight headache. A visit to the Cob would, I thought, do me +good. I had missed my bathe that morning, and was in need of a breath +of sea-air. + +It was high-tide, and there was deep water on three sides of the Cob. + +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, possibly a +descendant of the gentleman of that name who went to Widdicombe Fair +with Bill Brewer and old Uncle Tom Cobley and all on a certain +memorable occasion, and assisted at the fatal accident to Tom Pearse's +grey mare. + +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 never looked to me as if he were at all likely to catch a fish. Yet +he persevered. + +There are few things more restful than to watch some one else busy +under a warm sun. As I sat there, my pipe drawing nicely as the result +of certain explorations conducted that morning with a straw, my mind +ranged idly over large subjects and small. I thought of love and +chicken-farming. I mused on the immortality of the soul and the +deplorable speed at which two ounces of tobacco disappeared. 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. + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + + * * * * * + +It was precisely three minutes to twelve--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. + +Briefly it was this. Providence had failed to give satisfaction. I +would, therefore, cease any connection with it, and start a rival +business on my own account. After all, if you want a thing done well, +you must do it yourself. + +In other words, since a 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. + +I had now to fight it out with Conscience. I quote the brief report +which subsequently appeared in the /Recording Angel/:-- + + * * * * * + +/Three-Round Contest/: CONSCIENCE (Celestial B.C.) v. J. GARNET +(Unattached). + +/Round One/.--Conscience came to the scratch smiling and confident. +Led off lightly with a statement that it would be bad for a man of the +professor's age to get wet. Garnet countered heavily, alluding to the +warmth of the weather and the fact that the professor habitually +enjoyed a bathe every day. Much sparring, Conscience not quite so +confident, and apparently afraid to come to close quarters with this +man. Time called, with little damage done. + +/Round Two/.--Conscience, much freshened by the half minute's rest, +feinted with the charge of deceitfulness, and nearly got home heavily +with "What would Phyllis say if she knew?" Garnet, however, side- +stepped cleverly with "But she won't know," and followed up the +advantage with a damaging, "Besides, it's all for the best." The round +ended with a brisk rally on general principles, Garnet crowding in a +lot of work. Conscience down twice, and only saved by the call of +time. + +/Round Three (and last)/.--Conscience came up very weak, and with +Garnet as strong as ever it was plain that the round would be a brief +one. This proved to be the case. Early in the second minute Garnet +cross-countered with "All's Fair in Love and War." Conscience down and +out. The winner left the ring without a mark. + + * * * * * + +I rose, feeling much refreshed. + +That afternoon I interviewed Mr. Hawk in the bar-parlour of the Net +and Mackerel. + +"Hawk," I said to him darkly, over a mystic and conspirator-like pot +of ale, "I want you, next time you take Professor Derrick out +fishing"--here I glanced round, to make sure that we were not +overheard--"to upset him." + +His astonished face rose slowly from the pot of ale like a full moon. + +"What 'ud I do that for?" he gasped. + +"Five shillings, I hope," said I, "but I am prepared to go to ten." + +He gurgled. + +I encored his pot of ale. + +He kept on gurgling. + +I argued with the man. + +I spoke splendidly. I was eloquent, but at the same time concise. My +choice of words was superb. I crystallised my ideas into pithy +sentences which a child could have understood. + +And at the end of half-an-hour he had grasped 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 humour which was to be expected from a gentleman from London. I am +afraid he must at one period in his career have lived at one of those +watering-places at which trippers congregate. He did not seem to think +highly of the Londoner. + +I let it rest at that. I could not give my true reason, and this +served as well as any. + + * * * * * + +At the last moment he recollected that he, too, would get wet when the +accident took place, and he raised the price to a sovereign. + +A mercenary man. It is painful to see how rapidly the old simple +spirit is dying out of our rural districts. Twenty years ago a +fisherman would have been charmed to do a little job like that for a +screw of tobacco. + + + +CHAPTER XI + +THE BRAVE PRESERVER + +I could have wished, during the next few days, that Mr. Harry Hawk's +attitude towards myself had not been so unctuously confidential and +mysterious. It was unnecessary, in my opinion, for him to grin +meaningly when 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 (ten shillings down and ten 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 Providence. Mr. Hawk's demeanour seemed to say, "We +are two reckless scoundrels, but bless you, /I/ won't give away your +guilty secret." The climax came one morning as I was going along the +street towards the beach. I was passing a dark doorway, when out +shimmered Mr. Hawk as if he had been a spectre instead of the most +substantial man within a radius of ten miles. + +" 'St!" He whispered. + +"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?" + +"Mr. Derrick goes out this morning, zur." + +"Thank goodness for that," I said. "Get it over this morning, then, +without fail. I couldn't stand another day of it." + +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. + +I got up and began to pace restlessly to and fro. + +Presently from the farther end of the harbour there put off Mr. Hawk's +boat, bearing its precious cargo. My mouth became dry with excitement. + +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. + +My eyes were glued upon Mr. Hawk's broad back. Only when going in to +bat at cricket have I experienced a similar feeling of suspense. The +boat lay almost motionless on the water. I had never seen the sea +smoother. Little ripples plashed against the side of the Cob. + +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 headforemost to the bottom, oppressed with +the indescribably clammy sensation which comes when one's clothes are +thoroughly wet. + +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, and swam to +where the professor's head bobbed on the waters. + +"Keep cool," I said. A silly remark in the circumstances. + +He was swimming energetically but unskilfully. He appeared to be one +of those men who can look after themselves in the water only when they +are in bathing costume. In his shore clothes it would have taken him a +week to struggle to land, if he had got there at all, which was +unlikely. + +I know all about saving people from drowning. We used to practise 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 with much /eclat/ 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 of sea-water two or three hearty draughts. + +The crowd was enthusiastic. + +"Brave young feller," said somebody. + +I blushed. This was Fame. + +"Jumped in, he did, sure enough, an' saved the gentleman!" + +"Be the old soul drownded?" + +"That girt fule, 'Arry 'Awk!" + +I was sorry for Mr. Hawk. Popular opinion was against him. What the +professor said of him, when he recovered his breath, I cannot repeat, +--not because I do not remember it, but because there is a line, and +one must draw it. Let it be sufficient to say that on the subject of +Mr. Hawk he saw eye to eye with the citizen who had described him as a +"girt fule." 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. + +The professor stood up, and stretched out his hand. I grasped it. + +"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 conduct and hope that bygones will be +bygones." + +I came out strong. I continued to hold his hand. The crowd raised a +sympathetic cheer. + +I said, "Professor, the fault was mine. Show that you have forgiven me +by coming up to the farm and putting on something dry." + +"An excellent idea, me boy; I /am/ a little wet." + +"A little," I agreed. + +We walked briskly up the hill to the farm. + +Ukridge met us at the gate. + +He diagnosed the situation rapidly. + +"You're all wet," he said. I admitted it. + +"Professor Derrick has had an unfortunate boating accident," I +explained. + +"And Mr. Garnet heroically dived in, in all his clothes, and saved me +life," broke in the professor. "A hero, sir. A--/choo/!" + +"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. /Beale/! 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 grey 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're changed. Socks! Socks forward. Show socks. Here you are. Coat? +Try this blazer. That's right--that's right." + +He bustled about till the professor was clothed, then marched him +downstairs, and gave him a cigar. + +"Now, what's all this? What happened?" + +The professor explained. He was severe in his narration upon the +unlucky Mr. Hawk. + +"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." + +"Garnet must have seen. What happened, old horse?" + +"It was very sudden," I said. "It seemed to me as if the man had got +an attack of cramp. That would account for it. He has the reputation +of being a most sober and trustworthy fellow." + +"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." + +"A great curse, drink," said the professor. "Why, yes, Mr. Ukridge, I +think I will. Thank you. Thank you. That will be enough. Not all the +soda, if you please. Ah! this tastes pleasanter than salt water, Mr. +Garnet. Eh? Eh? Ha--Ha!" + +He 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. + +"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 wooden putter. +It is wonderful what a difference it makes." + +Golf is a great bond of union. We wandered about the grounds +discussing the game, the /entente cordiale/ growing more firmly +established every moment. + +"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." + +"My only feat worthy of mention since I started the game," I said, +"has been to halve a round with Angus M'Lurkin at St. Andrews." + +"/The/ M'Lurkin?" asked the professor, impressed. + +"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." + +"Still----," said the professor. "Yes, we must really arrange to +meet." + +With Ukridge, who was in one of his less tactless moods, he became +very friendly. + +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 sympathise. Ukridge was all +sympathy. + +"The man is an unprincipled scoundrel," he said, "and should be torn +limb from limb. Take my advice, and don't go out with him again. Show +him that you are not a man to be trifled with. The spilt child dreads +the water, what? Human life isn't safe with such men as Hawk roaming +about." + +"You are perfectly right, sir. The man can have no defence. I shall +not employ him again." + +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 narrow path. +But the professor would listen to no defence. My attempts at excusing +him were ill received. Indeed, the professor shewed such 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. + +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. + +We saw the professor off the premises in 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. + +"Rum old buffer," said Ukridge meditatively, pouring himself out +another whisky and soda. "My goodness, I should have liked to have +seen him in the water. Why do I miss these good things?" + + + +CHAPTER XII + +SOME EMOTIONS AND YELLOW LUPIN + +The 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. + +"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 +get that'll bring us in ready money. The farm is in a critical +condition. The coffers are low, deuced 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." + +"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. As for eggs, they are +far too much for us." + +For the last week monotony had been the keynote of our commissariat. +We had 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 ringing the changes on boiled chicken and roast +chicken and boiled eggs and poached eggs. Mr. Whistler, set to paint +sign-boards 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. + +"The fact is," said Ukridge, "these tradesmen round here seem to be a +sordid, suspicious lot. They clamour for money." + +He mentioned a few examples. Vickers, the butcher, had been the first +to strike, with the remark that he would like to see the colour 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 Combe Regis seemed as deficient +in Simple Faith as they were in Norman Blood. + +"Can't you pay some of them a little on account?" I suggested. "It +would set them going again." + +"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." + +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 +been obliged to sink much more money than was pleasant in restocking +the run. The battle which took place on the first day after the +election of the new members was a sight to remember. The results of it +were still noticeable in the depressed aspect of certain of the +recently enrolled. + +"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 of 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. The 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." + +It is a peculiarity of situations of this kind that the ideas of +debtor and creditor as to what constitutes a good time never coincide. + + * * * * * + +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, sometimes Phyllis, or on long walks by +myself. There was one particular walk along the cliffs, 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 and smoke by the hour. If ever I am stricken with smoker's heart, +or staggers, or tobacco amblyopia, or any other of the cheery things +which doctors predict for the devotee of the weed, I shall feel that I +sowed the seeds of it that summer in that little clearing overlooking +the sea. A man in love needs much tobacco. A man thinking out a novel +needs much tobacco. I was in the grip of both maladies. Somehow I +found that my ideas flowed more readily in that spot than in any +other. + +I had not been inside the professor's grounds since the occasion when +I had gone in through the box-wood 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. 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. I felt +that I should have put the question with such an exaggerated show of +indifference that all would have been discovered. + +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. + +I went into the garden. She was sitting under the cedar by the tennis- +lawn, reading. She looked up as I approached. + +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 maid +for not having had the sense to explain that she was out. + +"I--er--called in the hope of seeing Professor Derrick," I said. + +"You would find him on the links," she replied. It seemed to me that +she spoke wistfully. + +"Oh, it--it doesn't matter," I said. "It wasn't anything important." + +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 to any extent for my anxiety to see him. + +"How are the chickens, Mr. Garnet?" said she. + +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. + +"Then the cat did come down from the chimney?" said Phyllis. + +We both laughed, and--I can answer for myself--I felt the better for +it. + +"He came down next day," I said, "and made an excellent lunch of one +of our best fowls. He also killed another, and only just escaped death +himself at the hands of Ukridge." + +"Mr. Ukridge doesn't like him, does he?" + +"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 steady eye on him." + +"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." + +"The incubator has not done all that it should have done," I said. +"Ukridge looks 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." + +"Are you quite sure that the way you are doing it is the best way to +manage a chicken farm?" + +"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 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 any old +thing 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." + +"Did Mr. Ukridge do that?" + +"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 Combe Regis with him and +help him farm chickens. I have not regretted it." + +"It is a lovely place, isn't it?" + +"The loveliest I have ever seen. How charming your garden is." + +"Shall we go and look at it? You have not seen the whole of it." + +As she rose, I saw her book, which she had laid face downwards on the +grass beside her. It was the same much-enduring copy of the +"Manoeuvres of Arthur." I was thrilled. This patient perseverance must +surely mean something. She saw me looking at it. + +"Did you draw Pamela from anybody?" she asked suddenly. + +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. + +As we wandered down from the garden paths, she gave me her opinion of +the book. In the main it was appreciative. I shall always associate +the scent of yellow lupin with the higher criticism. + +"Of course, I don't know anything about writing books," she said. + +"Yes?" my tone implied, or I hope it did, that she was an expert on +books, and that if she was not it didn't matter. + +"But I don't think you do your heroines well. I have just got 'The +Outsider--' " (My other novel. Bastable & Kirby, 6s. Satirical. All +about Society--of which I know less than I know about chicken-farming. +Slated by /Times/ and /Spectator/. Well received by /London Mail/ and +/Winning Post/)--"and," continued Phyllis, "Lady Maud is exactly the +same as Pamela in the 'Manoeuvres of Arthur.' I thought you must have +drawn both characters from some one you knew." + +"No," I said. "No. Purely imaginary." + +"I am so glad," said Phyllis. + +And then neither of us seemed to have anything to say. My knees began +to tremble. I realised that the moment had arrived when my fate must +be put to the touch; and I feared that 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 lupin was too much +for me. + +"Miss Derrick," I said hoarsely. + +Phyllis was looking with more intentness than the attractions of the +flower justified at a rose she held in her hand. The bee hummed in the +lupin. + +"Miss Derrick," I said, and stopped again. + +"I say, you people," said a cheerful voice, "tea is ready. Hullo, +Garnet, how are you? That medal arrived yet from the Humane Society?" + +I spun round. Mr. Tom Chase was standing at the end of the path. The +only word that could deal adequately with the situation slapped +against my front teeth. I grinned a sickly grin. + +"Well, Tom," said Phyllis. + +And there was, I thought, just the faintest tinkle of annoyance in her +voice. + + * * * * * + +"I've been bathing," said Mr. Chase, /a propos des bottes/. + +"Oh," I replied. "And I wish," I added, "that you'd drowned yourself." + +But I added it silently to myself. + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +TEA AND TENNIS + +"Met the professor's late boatman on the Cob," said Mr. Chase, +dissecting a chocolate cake. + +"Clumsy man," said Phyllis. "I hope he was ashamed of himself. I shall +never forgive him for trying to drown papa." + +My heart bled for Mr. Henry Hawk, that modern martyr. + +"When I met him," said Tom Chase, "he looked as if he had been trying +to drown his sorrow as well." + +"I knew he drank," said Phyllis severely, "the very first time I saw +him." + +"You might have warned the professor," murmured Mr. Chase. + +"He couldn't have upset the boat if he had been sober." + +"You never know. He may have done it on purpose." + +"Tom, how absurd." + +"Rather rough on the man, aren't you?" I said. + +"Merely a suggestion," continued Mr. Chase airily. "I've been reading +sensational novels lately, and it seems to me that Mr. Hawk's cut out +to be a minion. Probably some secret foe of the professor's bribed +him." + +My heart stood still. Did he know, I wondered, and was this all a +roundabout way of telling me he knew? + +"The professor may be a member of an Anarchist League, or something, +and this is his punishment for refusing to assassinate some +sportsman." + +"Have another cup of tea, Tom, and stop talking nonsense." + +Mr. Chase handed in his cup. + +"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." + +"Why do they upset themselves on purpose at Malta particularly?" +inquired Phyllis. + +"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-bodied gentleman in +custody jumps to his feet, upsets the boat, and swims for 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, respecting the length of time between drinks. Just one more +cup, please, Phyllis." + +"But how does all that apply?" I asked, dry-mouthed. + +"Mr. 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. /Now/, who's going to drag in Sherlock Holmes?" + +"You don't really think--?" I said, feeling like a criminal in the +dock when the case is going against him. + +"I think friend Hawk has been re-enacting the joys of his vanished +youth, so to speak." + +"He ought to be prosecuted," said Phyllis, blazing with indignation. + +Alas, poor Hawk! + +"Nobody's safe with a man of that sort, hiring out a boat." Oh, +miserable Hawk! + +"But why on earth should he play a trick like that on Professor +Derrick, Chase?" + +"Pure animal spirits, probably. Or he may, as I say, be a minion." + +I was hot all over. + +"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." + +"I--I think you're making a mistake," I said. + +"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." + +He helped himself to another section of the chocolate cake. + +"Haven't you finished /yet/, Tom?" inquired Phyllis. "I'm sure Mr. +Garnet's getting tired of sitting talking here," she said. + +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. + +"You don't seem to realise," 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 entirely suspended, and we lived on ham and +sardines--without bread." + +"How horrible!" + +"On the other hand," added Mr. Chase philosophically, "it didn't +matter much, because we were all ill most of the time." + +"Don't be nasty, Tom." + +"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." + +"Five minutes! It was three-quarters of an hour, and everything was +simply frozen." + +"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 mine cold. Mine is the truer wisdom. 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?" + +"What a pity Norah isn't here," said Phyllis. "We could have had a +four." + +"But she is at present wasting her sweetness on the desert air of +Yeovil. You had better sit down 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 Tilden Back-Handed Slosh. A winner every time." + +We proceeded to the tennis court. I played with the sun in my eyes. I +might, if I chose, emphasise that fact, and attribute my subsequent +rout to it, adding, by way of solidifying the excuse, that I was +playing in a strange court with a borrowed racquet, and that my mind +was preoccupied--firstly, with /l'affaire/ Hawk, secondly, and +chiefly, with the gloomy thought that Phyllis and my opponent seemed +to be on friendly 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. His +returns behaved like jumping crackers. He won the first game in +precisely six strokes. He served. Only once did I take the service +with the full face of the racquet, and then I seemed to be stopping a +bullet. I returned it into the net. The last of the series struck the +wooden edge of my racquet, and soared over the back net into the +shrubbery, after the manner of a snick to long slip off a fast bowler. + +"Game," said Mr. Chase, "we'll look for that afterwards." + +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 +instinctively 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. All my self-respect was ebbing. A little +more of this, and I should become crushed,--a mere human 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. + +I opened with a couple of faults. The sight of Phyllis, sitting calm +and cool in her chair under the cedar, unnerved me. I served another +fault. And yet another. + +"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." + +I loathe facetiousness in moments of stress. + +I frowned austerely, made no reply, and served another fault, my +fifth. + +Matters had reached a crisis. Even if I had to lob it underhand, I +must send the ball over the net with the next stroke. + +I restrained myself this time, eschewing the careless vigour 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. + +What happened then I cannot exactly say. I saw my opponent spring +forward like a panther and whirl his racquet. 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. + +"Love-forty," said Mr. Chase. "Phyllis!" + +"Yes?" + +"That was the Tilden Slosh." + +"I thought it must be," said Phyllis. + +In the third game I managed to score fifteen. By the merest chance I +returned one of his red-hot serves, and--probably through surprise--he +failed to send it back again. + +In the fourth and fifth games I omitted to score. Phyllis had left the +cedar now, and was picking flowers from the beds behind the court. + +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. + +The Tilden Slosh diminished my lead by fifteen. 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 by the flood--I served. Fault. I served +again,--a beauty. He returned it 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--! + +The Slosh had beaten me on the post. + +"Game /and/--," said Mr. Chase, tossing his racquet into the air and +catching it by the handle. "Good game that last one." + +I turned to see what Phyllis thought of it. + +At the eleventh hour I had shown her of what stuff I was made. + +She had disappeared. + +"Looking for Miss Derrick?" said Chase, jumping the net, and joining +me in my court, "she's gone into the house." + +"When did she go?" + +"At the end of the fifth game," said Chase. + +"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 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 of it? +Yes, so do I. I really think I must run. You won't mind. Good-night, +then. See you to-morrow, I hope." + +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. /It/ never got beaten by six games to love under the very +eyes of a lady-star. /It/ was never cut out ignominiously by +infernally capable lieutenants in His Majesty's Navy. No wonder it was +cheerful. + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +A COUNCIL OF WAR + +"The fact is," said Ukridge, "if things go on as they are now, my lad, +we shall be in the cart. This business wants bucking up. We don't seem +to be making headway. Why it is, I don't know, but we are /not/ making +headway. Of course, what we want is time. If only these scoundrels of +tradesmen would leave us alone for a spell we could get things going +properly. But we're hampered and rattled and worried all the time. +Aren't we, Millie?" + +"Yes, dear." + +"You don't let me see the financial side of the thing enough," I +complained. "Why don't you keep me thoroughly posted? 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." + +"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." + +"Yes," said Ukridge, "I saw to that." + +"As far as I can see," I continued, "we're going strong. Chicken for +breakfast, lunch, and dinner is a shade monotonous, perhaps, but look +at the business we're doing. We sold a whole heap of eggs last week." + +"But not enough, Garny old man. We aren't making our presence felt. +England isn't ringing with our name. We sell a dozen eggs where we ought +to be selling them by the hundred, carting them off in trucks for the +London market and congesting the traffic. 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. Devilish unpleasant they're making +themselves. You see, laddie, there's no denying it--we /did/ touch +them for the deuce of a lot of things on account, and they agreed to +take it out in eggs. All they've done so far is to take it out in +apologetic letters from Millie. Now, I don't suppose there's a woman +alive who can write a better apologetic letter than her nibs, but, if +you're broad-minded and can face facts, you can't help seeing that the +juiciest apologetic letter is not an egg. I meant to say, look at it +from their point of view. Harrod--or Whiteley--comes into his store in +the morning, rubbing his hands expectantly. 'Well,' he says, 'how many +eggs from Combe Regis to-day?' And instead of leading him off to a +corner piled up with bursting crates, they show him a four-page letter +telling him it'll all come right in the future. I've never run a store +myself, but I should think that would jar a chap. Anyhow, the +blighters seem to be getting tired of waiting." + +"The last letter from Harrod's was quite pathetic," said Mrs. Ukridge +sadly. + +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 rare specimens which Ukridge had +actually managed to despatch to Brompton and Bayswater. + +Ukridge, having induced himself to be broad-minded for five minutes, +now began to slip back to his own personal point of view and became +once more the man with a grievance. His fleeting sympathy with the +wrongs of Mr. Harrod and Mr. Whiteley disappeared. + +"What it all amounts to," he said complainingly, "is that they're +infernally unreasonable. I've done everything possible to meet them. +Nothing could have been more manly and straightforward than my +attitude. I told them in my last letter but three that I proposed to +let them have the eggs on the /Times/ instalment system, and they said +I was frivolous. They said that to send thirteen eggs as payment for +goods supplied to the value of 25 pounds 1s. 8 1/2 d. was mere trifling. +Trifling, I'll trouble you! That's the spirit in which they meet my +suggestions. It was Harrod who did that. I've never met Harrod +personally, but I'd like to, just to ask him if that's his idea of +cementing amiable business relations. He knows just as well as anyone +else that without credit commerce has no elasticity. It's an +elementary rule. I'll bet he'd have been sick if chappies had refused +to let him have tick when he was starting his store. Do you suppose +Harrod, when he started in business, paid cash down on the nail for +everything? Not a bit of it. He went about taking people by the coat- +button and asking them to be good chaps and wait till Wednesday week. +Trifling! Why, those thirteen eggs were absolutely all we had over +after Mrs. Beale had taken what she wanted for the kitchen. As a +matter of fact, if it's anybody's fault, it's Mrs. Beale's. That woman +literally eats eggs." + +"The habit is not confined to her," I said. + +"Well, what I mean to say is, she seems to bathe in them." + +"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 +omelettes." + +"She can't make omelettes without breaking eggs," I urged. + +"She can't make them without breaking us, dammit," said Ukridge. "One +or two more omelettes, and we're done for. No fortune on earth could +stand it. We mustn't have any more omelettes, Millie. We must +economise. Millions of people get on all right without omelettes. I +suppose there are families where, if you suddenly produced an +omelette, the whole strength of the company would get up and cheer, +led by father. Cancel the omelettes, old girl, from now onward." + +"Yes, dear. But--" + +"Well?" + +"I don't /think/ Mrs. Beale would like that very much, dear. She has +been complaining a good deal about chicken at every meal. She says +that the omelettes are the only things that give her a chance. She +says there are always possibilities in an omelette." + +"In short," I said, "what you propose to do is deliberately to remove +from this excellent lady's life the one remaining element of poetry. +You mustn't do it. Give Mrs. Beale her omelettes, and let's hope for a +larger supply of eggs." + +"Another thing," said Ukridge. "It isn't only that there's a shortage +of eggs. That wouldn't matter so much if only we kept hatching out +fresh squads of chickens. I'm not saying the hens aren't doing their +best. I take off my hat to the hens. As nice a hard-working lot as I +ever want to meet, full of vigour and earnestness. It's that damned +incubator that's letting us down all the time. The rotten thing won't +work. /I/ don't know what's the matter with it. The long and the short +of it is that it simply declines to incubate." + +"Perhaps it's your dodge of letting down the temperature. You +remember, you were telling me? I forget the details." + +"My dear old boy," he said earnestly, "there's nothing wrong 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 +deuced 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, +old girl?" + +"Harrod's, I think, dear,--yes, it was Harrod's. It came down with the +first lot of things." + +"Then," said Ukridge, banging the table with his fist, while his +glasses flashed triumph, "we've got 'em. The Lord has delivered +Harrod's into our hand. Write and answer that letter of theirs to- +night, Millie. Sit on them." + +"Yes, dear." + +"Tell 'em that we'd have sent them their confounded eggs long ago, if +only their rotten, twopenny-ha'penny incubator had worked with any +approach to decency." He paused. "Or would you be sarcastic, Garny, +old horse? No, better put it so that they'll understand. Say that I +consider that the manufacturer of the thing ought to be in Colney +Hatch--if he isn't there already--and that they are scoundrels for +palming off a groggy machine of that sort on me." + +"The ceremony of opening the morning's letters at Harrod's ought to be +full of interest and excitement to-morrow," I said. + +This dashing counter-stroke seemed to relieve Ukridge. His pessimism +vanished. 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 improvements. 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 Interest" column +in the /Daily Mail/. Briefly, each hen was to become a happy +combination of rabbit and ostrich. + +"There is certainly a good time coming," I said. "May it be soon. +Meanwhile, what of the local tradesmen?" + +Ukridge relapsed once more into gloom. + +"They are the worst of the lot. I don't mind the London people 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?" + +"Oh, then those fellows I found you talking to yesterday were duns? I +thought they were farmers, come to hear your views on the rearing of +poultry." + +"Which were they? Little chap with black whiskers and long, thin man +with beard? That was Dawlish, the grocer, and Curtis, the fishmonger. +The others had gone before you came." + +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 farm. 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 meagre 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 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 idea. I am also of the 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. But I +was making quite enough with my pen to support myself, and, be it +never so humble, there is something pleasant in a bachelor existence, +or so I had thought until very recently. + +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 +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. + +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 for 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 completely off their stroke by his good +fortune. + +I disposed of my man without difficulty. We parted a little coldly. He +had 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. + +In the club-house I met the professor, whose demeanour was a welcome +contrast to that of my late opponent. The professor had just routed +his opponent, and so won through to the semi-final. He was warm, but +jubilant. + +I congratulated him, and left the place. + +Phyllis was waiting outside. She often went round the course with him. + +"Good afternoon," I said. "Have you been round with the professor?" + +"Yes. We must have been in front of you. Father won his match." + +"So he was telling me. I was very glad to hear it." + +"Did you win, Mr. Garnet?" + +"Yes. Pretty easily. My opponent had bad luck all through. Bunkers +seemed to have a magnetic attraction for him." + +"So you and father are both in the semi-final? I hope you will play +very badly." + +"Thank you," I said. + +"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?" + +"Really?" + +"Both times he was beaten by the same man." + +"Who was that? Mr. Derrick plays a much better game than anybody I +have seen on these links." + +"It was nobody who is here now. It was a Colonel Jervis. He has not +come to Combe Regis this year. That's why father is hopeful." + +"Logically," I said, "he ought to be certain to win." + +"Yes; but, you see, you were not playing last year, Mr. Garnet." + +"Oh, the professor can make rings round me," I said. + +"What did you go round in to-day?" + +"We were playing match-play, and only did the first dozen holes; but +my average round is somewhere in the late eighties." + +"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." + +"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 as badly as I play tennis. +You'll hardly believe me." + +She smiled reminiscently. + +"Tom is much too good at tennis. His service is perfectly dreadful." + +"It's a little terrifying on first acquaintance." + +"But you're better at golf than at tennis, Mr. Garnet. I wish you were +not." + +"This is special pleading," I said. "It isn't fair to appeal to my +better feelings, Miss Derrick." + +"I didn't know golfers had any where golf was concerned. Do you really +have your off-days?" + +"Nearly always. There are days when I slice with my driver as if it +were a bread-knife." + +"Really?" + +"And when I couldn't putt to hit a haystack." + +"Then I hope it will be on one of those days that you play father." + +"I hope so, too," I said. + +"You hope so?" + +"Yes." + +"But don't you want to win?" + +"I should prefer to please you." + +"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." + +"Most things." + +"And trample on the feelings of anybody." + +"Not everybody," I said. + +At this point the professor joined us. + + + +CHAPTER XV + +THE ARRIVAL OF NEMESIS + +Some 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. + +I awoke three days after my meeting with the professor at the club- +house, 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 suggested 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 humoured 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-devilry by going within so many years of Edwin's +lair, and then darting away. Bob was in his favourite place on the +gravel. I took him with me down to the Cob to watch me bathe. + +"What's the matter with me to-day, Robert, old son?" I asked him, as I +dried myself. + +He blinked lazily, but contributed no suggestion. + +"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." + +Bob yawned, and gave a little whine. + +"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? And didn't you feel bucked +when she patted you? Of course you did. Anybody would. 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 +him. And then he sees her every day, while I have to trust to meeting +her at odd times, and then I generally feel 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." + +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. + +"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. I feel bad." + +I whistled to 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. + +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 short-sighted 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 a gin and gingerbeer 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 molehills, and I went on my way, puzzled and uneasy, with a +distinct impression that I had received the cut direct. + +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 grievance against me. Perhaps Ukridge 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 club-house 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. + +I came to the conclusion that after all the professor had not seen me. + +"I'm an idiot, Bob," I said, as we turned in at the farm gate, "and I +let my imagination run away with me." + +Bob wagged his tail in approval of the sentiment. + +Breakfast was ready when I got in. There was a cold chicken on the +sideboard, devilled chicken on the table, a trio of boiled eggs, and a +dish of scrambled eggs. As regarded quantity Mrs. Beale never failed +us. + +Ukridge was sorting the letters. + +"Morning, Garny," he said. "One for you, Millie." + +"It's from Aunt Elizabeth," said Mrs. Ukridge, looking at the +envelope. + +I had only heard casual mention of this relative hitherto, but I had +built up a mental picture of her partly from remarks which Ukridge had +let fall, but principally from the fact that he had named the most +malignant hen in our fowl-run after her. A severe lady, I imagined +with a cold eye. + +"Wish she'd enclose a cheque," said Ukridge. "She could spare it. +You've no idea, Garny, old man, how disgustingly and indecently rich +that woman is. She lives in Kensington on an income which would do her +well in Park Lane. But as a touching proposition she had proved almost +negligible. She steadfastly refuses to part." + +"I think she would, dear, if she knew how much we needed it. But I +don't like to ask her. She's so curious, and says such horrid things." + +"She does," agreed Ukridge, gloomily. He spoke as one who had had +experience. "Two for you, Garny. All the rest for me. Ten of them, and +all bills." + +He spread the envelopes out on the table, and drew one at a venture. + +"Whiteley's," he said. "Getting jumpy. Are in receipt of my favour of +the 7th inst. and are at a loss to understand. It's rummy about these +blighters, but they never seem able to understand a damn thing. It's +hard! You put things in words of one syllable for them, and they just +goggle and wonder what it all means. They want something on account. +Upon my Sam, I'm disappointed with Whiteley's. I'd been thinking in +rather a kindly spirit of them, and feeling that they were a more +intelligent lot than Harrod's. I'd had half a mind to give Harrod's +the miss-in-baulk and hand my whole trade over to these fellows. But +not now, dash it! Whiteley's have disappointed me. From the way they +write, you'd think they thought I was doing it for fun. How can I let +them have their infernal money when there isn't any? Here's one from +Dorchester. Smith, the chap we got the gramophone from. Wants to know +when I'm going to settle up for sixteen records." + +"Sordid brute!" + +I wanted to get on with my own correspondence, but Ukridge held me +with a glittering eye. + +"The chicken-men, the dealer people, you know, want me to pay 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 mean to say, business is business. +That's what these fellows don't seem to understand. I can't afford to +pay enormous sums for birds which die off quicker than I can get them +in." + +"I shall never speak to Aunt Elizabeth again," said Mrs. Ukridge +suddenly. + +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. + +"What's the matter, old chap?" inquired Ukridge affectionately, +glancing up from his pile of bills and forgetting his own troubles in +an instant. "Buck up! Aunt Elizabeth been getting on your nerves +again? What's she been saying this time?" + +Mrs. Ukridge left the room with a sob. Ukridge sprang at the letter. + +"If that demon doesn't stop writing her infernal letters and upsetting +Millie, I shall strangle her with my bare hands, regardless of her age +and sex." He turned over the pages of the letter till he came to the +passage which had caused the trouble. "Well, upon my Sam! Listen to +this, Garny, old horse. 'You tell me nothing regarding the success of +this chicken farm of yours, and I confess that I find your silence +ominous. 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.' " He stared at me, amazed. "I like that! 'Pon my +soul, that is really rich! I could have believed almost anything of +that blighted female, but I did think she had a reasonable amount of +intelligence. Why, you know that it's just in matters requiring +common-sense and business capability that I come out really strong." + +"Of course, old man," I replied dutifully. "The woman's a fool." + +"That's what she calls me two lines further on. No wonder Millie was +upset. Why can't these cats leave people alone?" + +"Oh, woman, woman!" I threw in helpfully. + +"Always interfering--" + +"Rotten!" + +"And backbiting--" + +"Awful!" + +"I shan't stand it." + +"I shouldn't!" + +"Look here! On the next page she calls me a gaby!" + +"It's time you took a strong line." + +"And in the very next sentence refers to me as a perfect guffin. +What's a guffin, Garny, old boy?" + +I considered the point. + +"Broadly speaking, I should say, one who guffs." + +"I believe it's actionable." + +"I shouldn't wonder." + +Ukridge rushed to the door. + +"Millie!" + +He slammed the door, and I heard him dashing upstairs. + +I turned to my letters. One was from Lickford, with a Cornish +postmark. I glanced through it and laid it aside for a more exhaustive +perusal. + +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? + +The next moment my heart seemed to spring to my throat. + +"Sir," the letter began. + +A pleasant cheery opening! + +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. + + +"You will be good enough 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 humour, to do so in some less practical manner than by bribing +boatmen to upset your--(/friends/ crossed out thickly, and +/acquaintances/ substituted.) If you require further enlightenment in +this matter, the enclosed letter may be of service to you." + + +With which he remained mine faithfully, Patrick Derrick. + +The enclosed letter was from one Jane Muspratt. It was bright and +interesting. + + +"DEAR SIR,--My Harry, Mr. Hawk, sas to me how it was him upsetting the +boat and you, not because he is not steady in a boat which he is no +man more so in Combe Regis, but because one of the gentlemen 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. Derick 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 banknote.--Yours obedly., + JANE MUSPRATT." + + +Oh, woman, woman! + +At the bottom of everything! History is full of tragedies caused by +the lethal sex. 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. + +I cursed Jane Muspratt. What chance had I with Phyllis now? Could I +hope to win over the professor again? I cursed Jane Muspratt for the +second time. + +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. + +The Demon! + +My life--ruined. My future--grey and black. My heart--shattered. And +why? Because of the scoundrel, Hawk. + +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 dastard and varlet, Hawk. + +I crammed my hat on, and hurried out of the house towards the village. + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +A CHANCE MEETING + +I 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. + +I confronted him. + +"Well," I said, "you're a beauty, aren't you?" + +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. His +eyes were filmy, and his manner aggressively solemn. + +"Beauty?" he echoed. + +"What have you got to say for yourself?" + +"Say f'self." + +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. + +"I want to know," I said, "what induced you to be such an abject idiot +as to let our arrangement get known?" + +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. + +He continued to stare at me. Then a sudden flash of intelligence lit +up his features. + +"Mr. Garnick," he said at last. + +"From ch--chicken farm," he continued, with the triumphant air of a +cross-examining King's counsel who has at last got on the track. + +"Yes," I said. + +"Up top the hill," he proceeded, clinchingly. He stretched out a huge +hand. + +"How you?" he inquired with a friendly grin. + +"I want to know," I said distinctly, "what you've got to say for +yourself after letting our affair with the professor become public +property?" + +He paused awhile in thought. + +"Dear sir," he said at last, as if he were dictating a letter, "dear +sir, I owe you--ex--exp----" + +He waved his hand, as who should say, "It's a stiff job, but I'm going +to do it." + +"Explashion," he said. + +"You do," said I grimly. "I should like to hear it." + +"Dear sir, listen me." + +"Go on then." + +"You came me. You said 'Hawk, Hawk, ol' fren', listen me. You tip this +ol' bufflehead into watter,' you said, 'an' gormed if I don't give 'ee +a poond note.' That's what you said me. Isn't that what you said me?" + +I did not deny it. + +" 'Ve' well,' I said you. 'Right,' I said. I tipped the ol' soul into +watter, and I got the poond note." + +"Yes, you took care of that. All this is 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?" + +He waved his hand. + +"Dear sir," he replied, "this way. Listen me." + +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. It was Fate's fault, and +Fate's alone. + +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 London-- +myself--had not plunged in, and at the risk of his life brought the +professor ashore. 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. + +Now, all this, it seemed, Mr. Hawk would have borne cheerfully and +patiently for my sake, or, at any rate for the sake of the crisp pound +note I had given him. But a fresh factor appeared in the problem, +complicating it grievously. To wit, Miss Jane Muspratt. + +"She said to me," explained Mr. Hawk with pathos, " 'Harry 'Awk,' she +said, 'yeou'm a girt fule, an' I don't marry noone 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, 'you can go away, an' I don't want to see yeou again!' " + +This heartless conduct on the part of Miss Muspratt had had the +natural result of making him confess in self-defence; and she had +written to the professor the same night. + +I forgave Mr. Hawk. I think he was hardly sober enough to understand, +for he betrayed no emotion. "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." + +"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----' " + +"That's all right," I replied. "I quite understand. As I say, it's +simply Fate. Good-bye." And I left him. + +As I was going back, I met the professor and Phyllis. They passed me +without a look. + +I wandered on in quite a fervour of self-pity. I was in one of those +moods when life suddenly seems to become irksome, when the future +stretches black and grey in front of one. I should have liked to have +faded almost imperceptibly from the world, like Mr. Bardell, even if, +as in his case, it had involved being knocked on the head with a pint +pot in a public-house cellar. + +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 were stricken with roop. Then, after dinner, when +the lamps were lit, and Mrs. Ukridge nursed 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 +/write/. 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 immovably 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 doorway +became a shambles. + +Thus might I some day feel that all this anguish was really a +blessing--effectively disguised. + + * * * * * + +But I doubted it. + + * * * * * + +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 neighbourhood 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 the sight of the colour 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 +overheated. We lived in a continual atmosphere of worry. Chicken and +nothing but 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 realised 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 +miserably 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, Mrs. 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. + +There was one solitary gleam of variety in our menu. An editor sent me +a cheque for a set of verses. We cashed that cheque and trooped round +the town in a body, laying out the money. We bought a leg of mutton, +and a tongue and sardines, and pine-apple chunks, and potted meat, and +many other noble things, and had a perfect banquet. Mrs. Beale, with +the scenario of a smile on her face, the first that she had worn in +these days of stress, brought in the joint, and uncovered it with an +air. + +"Thank God!" said Ukridge, as he began to carve. + +It was the first time I had ever heard him say a grace, and if ever an +occasion merited such a deviation from habit, this occasion did. + +After that we relapsed into routine again. + +Deprived of physical labour, with the exception of golf and bathing-- +trivial sports compared with work in the fowl-run at its hardest--I +tried to make up for it by working at my novel. + +It refused to materialise. + +The only progress I achieved was with my villain. + +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. + +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 some time, owing principally to an +entirely erroneous idea that I could do more solid work sitting in a +straight hard chair at a table than lying on soft turf with the sea +wind in my eyes. + +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? + + "And soon you will find that the sun and the wind + And the Djinn of the Garden, too, + Have lightened the hump, Cameelious Hump, + The Hump that is black and blue." + +His instructions include digging with a hoe and a shovel also, but I +could omit that. The sun and the wind were what I needed. + +I took the upper road. In certain moods I preferred it to the path +along the cliff. I walked fast. The exercise was soothing. + +To reach my favourite 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. + +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 in from the other side. Phyllis--without the professor. + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +OF A SENTIMENTAL NATURE + +She was wearing a panama, and she carried a sketching-block and camp- +stool. + +"Good evening," I said. + +"Good evening," said she. + +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 rather offended angel. + +"It's a lovely evening," I went on pluckily. + +"Very." + +"The sunset!" + +"Yes." + +"Er--" + +She raised a pair of blue eyes, devoid of all expression save a faint +suggestion of surprise, and 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. + +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. + +She began to paint. + +Now, by all the laws of good taste, I should before this have made a +dignified exit. It was plain that I was not to be 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. + +But there is a definite limit to what a man can do. I remained. + +The sinking sun flung a carpet of gold across the sea. Phyllis' hair +was tinged with it. Little waves tumbled lazily on the beach below. +Except for the song of a distant blackbird, running through its +repertoire before retiring for the night, everything was silent. + +She sat there, dipping and painting and dipping again, with never a +word for me--standing patiently and humbly behind her. + +"Miss Derrick," I said. + +She half turned her head. + +"Yes." + +"Why won't you speak to me?" I said. + +"I don't understand you." + +"Why won't you speak to me?" + +"I think you know, Mr. Garnet." + +"It is because of that boat accident?" + +"Accident!" + +"Episode," I amended. + +She went on painting in silence. From where I stood I could see her +profile. Her chin was tilted. Her expression was determined. + +"Is it?" I said. + +"Need we discuss it?" + +"Not if you do not wish it." + +I paused. + +"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." + +"I should not have thought that possible." + +"The glass is going up," I said. + +"I was not talking about the weather." + +"It was dull of me to introduce such a worn-out topic." + +"You said you could defend yourself." + +"I said I should like the chance to do so." + +"You have it." + +"That's very kind of you. Thank you." + +"Is there any reason for gratitude?" + +"Every reason." + +"Go on, Mr. Garnet. I can listen while I paint. But please sit down. I +don't like being talked to from a height." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"Yes," she said. + +"You remember the unfortunate ending of the festivities?" + +"Well?" + +"If you recall that at all clearly, you will also remember that the +fault was not mine, but Ukridge's." + +"Well?" + +"It was his behaviour that annoyed Professor Derrick. The position, +then, was this, that I was to be cut off from the pleasantest +friendship I had ever formed----" + +I stopped for a moment. She bent a little lower over her easel, but +remained silent. + +"----Simply through the tactlessness of a prize idiot." + +"I like Mr. Ukridge." + +"I like him, too. But I can't pretend that he is anything but an idiot +at times." + +"Well?" + +"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." + +"You didn't think of the shock to my father." + +"I did. It worried me very much." + +"But you upset him all the same." + +"Reluctantly." + +She looked up, and our eyes met. I could detect no trace of +forgiveness in hers. + +"You behaved abominably," she said. + +"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 explain. I should not have liked you to have gone 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-bye, Miss Derrick." + +I got up. + +"Are you going?" + +"Why not?" + +"Please sit down again." + +"But you wish to be alone----" + +"Please sit down!" + +There was a flush on the cheek turned towards me, and the chin was +tilted higher. + +I sat down. + +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 flown. + +"I am glad you told me, Mr. Garnet." + +She dipped her brush in the water. + +"Because I don't like to think badly of--people." + +She bent her head over her painting. + +"Though I still think you behaved very wrongly. And I am afraid my +father will never forgive you for what you did." + +Her father! As if he counted. + +"But you do?" I said eagerly. + +"I think you are less to blame than I thought you were at first." + +"No more than that?" + +"You can't expect to escape all consequences. You did a very stupid +thing." + +"I was tempted." + +The sky was a dull grey now. It was growing dusk. The grass on which I +sat was wet with dew. + +I stood up. + +"Isn't it getting a little dark for painting?" I said. "Are you sure +you won't catch cold? It's very damp." + +"Perhaps it is. And it is late, too." + +She shut her paint-box, and emptied the little mug on to the grass. + +"May I carry your things?" I said. + +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. + +" '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." + +"I found it so this evening." + +She glanced at me quickly. + +"You're not looking well," she said. "Are you sure you are not +overworking yourself?" + +"No, it's not that." + +Somehow we had stopped, as if by agreement, and were facing each +other. There was a look in her eyes I had never seen there before. The +twilight hung like a curtain between us and the world. We were alone +together in a world of our own. + +"It is because I had offended you," I said. + +She laughed a high, unnatural laugh. + +"I have loved you ever since I first saw you," I said doggedly. + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +UKRIDGE GIVES ME ADVICE + +Hours 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 felt much the same sensation, for we both +became on the instant intensely practical and businesslike. + +"But about your father," I said. + +"That's the difficulty." + +"He won't give us his consent?" + +"I'm afraid he wouldn't dream of it." + +"You can't persuade him?" + +"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." + +"Norah?" + +"My sister. She's going to be married in October. I wonder if we shall +ever be as happy as they will." + +"Happy! They will be miserable compared with us. Not that I know who +the man is." + +"Why, Tom of course. Do you mean to say you really didn't know?" + +"Tom! Tom Chase?" + +"Of course." + +I gasped. + +"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." + +"Don't you like Tom?" + +"Very much. I always did. But I was awfully jealous of him." + +"You weren't! How silly of you." + +"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." + +"When was that? What were you doing there?" + +"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." + +"Poor old boy!" + +"Hoping to hear you sing. And when you did sing, and he joined in all +flat, I used to swear. You'll probably find most of the bark scorched +off the tree I leaned against." + +"Poor old man! Still, it's all over now, isn't it?" + +"And when I was doing my very best to show off before you at tennis, +you went away just as I got into form." + +"I'm very sorry, but I couldn't know, could I? I though you always +played like that." + +"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." + +"One doesn't love a man because he's good at tennis." + +"What /does/ a girl see to love in a man?" I inquired abruptly; and +paused on the verge of a great discovery. + +"Oh, I don't know," she replied, most unsatisfactorily. + +And I could draw no views from her. + +"But about father," said she. "What /are/ we to do?" + +"He objects to me." + +"He's perfectly furious with you." + +"Blow, blow," I said, "thou winter wind. Thou are not so unkind----" + +"He'll never forgive you." + +"----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. Who ever 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." + +"Jerry!" + +I started. + +"Again!" I said. + +"What?" + +"Say it again. Do, please. Now." + +"Very well. Jerry!" + +"It was the first time you had called me by my Christian name. I don't +suppose you've the remotest notion how splendid it sounds when you say +it. There is something poetical, almost holy, about it." + +"Jerry, please!" + +"Say on." + +"Do be sensible. Don't you see how serious this is? We must think how +we can make father consent." + +"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." + +"Try." + +"I'll pull myself together. . . . Now, say on once more." + +"We can't marry without his consent." + +"Why not?" I said, not having a marked respect for the professor's +whims. "Gretna Green is out of date, but there are registrars." + +"I hate the very idea of a registrar," she said with decision. +"Besides----" + +"Well?" + +"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 +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." + +"Who wouldn't?" I said. + +"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." + +"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? 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." + +"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." + +I realised 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 +limelight and the centre of the stage and the applause. Besides, every +one instinctively dislikes being under an obligation which they 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. + +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's elect. + +"You don't think," I said, "that time, the Great Healer, and so on--? +He won't feel kindlier disposed towards me--say in a month's time?" + +"Of course he /might/," said Phyllis; but she spoke doubtfully. + +"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." + +"About telling father----?" + +"Need we, do you think?" I said. + +"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." + +"You count this among your darker crimes, then?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"Where shall I find him?" + +"He is certain to go to the beach before breakfast for a swim." + +"Good. I'll be there." + + * * * * * + +"Ukridge," I said, when I got back, "I want your advice." + +It stirred him like a trumpet blast. I suppose, 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. + +"Bring it out, laddie!" he replied cordially. "I'm with you. Here, +come along into the garden, and state your case." + +This suited me. It is always easier to talk intimately in the dark, +and I did not wish to be interrupted by the sudden entrance of the +Hired Man or Mrs. Beale, of which there was always a danger indoors. +We walked down to the paddock. Ukridge lit a cigar. + +"Ukridge," I said, "I'm engaged!" + +"What!" A huge hand whistled through the darkness and smote me heavily +between the shoulder-blades. "By Jove, old boy, I wish you luck. 'Pon +my Sam I do! Best thing in the world for you. Bachelors are mere +excrescences. Never knew what happiness was till I married. When's the +wedding to be?" + +"That's where I want your advice. What you might call a difficulty has +arisen about the wedding. It's like this. I'm engaged to Phyllis +Derrick." + +"Derrick? Derrick?" + +"You can't have forgotten her! Good Lord, what eyes some men have! +Why, if I'd only seen her once, I should have remembered her all my +life." + +"I know, now. Rather a pretty girl, with blue eyes." + +I stared at him blankly. It was not much good, as he could not see my +face, but it relieved me. "Rather a pretty girl!" What a description! + +"Of course, yes," continued Ukridge. "She came to dinner here one +night with her father, that fat little buffer." + +"As you were careful to call him to his face at the time, confound +you! It was that that started all the trouble." + +"Trouble? What trouble?" + +"Why, her father. . . ." + +"By Jove, I remember now! So worried lately, old boy, that my memory's +gone groggy. Of course! Her father fell into the sea, and you fished +him out. Why, damme, it's like the stories you read." + +"It's also very like the stories I used to write. But they had one +point about them which this story hasn't. They invariably ended +happily, with the father joining the hero's and heroine's hands and +giving his blessing. Unfortunately, in the present case, that doesn't +seem likely to happen." + +"The old man won't give his consent?" + +"I'm afraid not. I haven't asked him yet, but the chances are against +it." + +"But why? What's the matter with you? You're an excellent chap, sound +in wind and limb, and didn't you once tell me that, if you married, +you came into a pretty sizeable bit of money?" + +"Yes, I do. That part of it is all right." + +Ukridge's voice betrayed perplexity. + +"I don't understand this thing, old horse," he said. "I should have +thought the old boy would have been all over you. Why, damme, I never +heard of anything like it. You saved his life! You fished him out of +the water." + +"After chucking him in. That's the trouble." + +"You chucked him in?" + +"By proxy." + +I explained. Ukridge, I regret to say, laughed in a way that must have +been heard miles away in distant villages in Devonshire. + +"You devil!" he bellowed. " 'Pon my Sam, old horse, to look at you one +would never have thought you'd have had it in you." + +"I can't help looking respectable." + +"What are you going to do about it?" + +"That's where I wanted your advice. You're a man of resource. What +would you do in my place?" + +Ukridge tapped me impressively on the shoulder. + +"Laddie," he said, "there's one thing that'll carry you through any +mess." + +"And that is----?" + +"Cheek, my boy, cheek. Gall. Nerve. Why, take my case. I never told +you how I came to marry, did I. I thought not. Well, it was this way. +It'll do you a bit of good, perhaps, to hear the story, for, mark you, +blessings weren't going cheap in my case either. You know Millie's +Aunt Elizabeth, the female who wrote that letter? Well, when I tell +you that she was Millie's nearest relative and that it was her consent +I had to snaffle, you'll see that I was faced with a bit of a +problem." + +"Let's have it," I said. + +"Well, the first time I ever saw Millie was in a first-class carriage +on the underground. I'd got a third-class ticket, by the way. The +carriage was full, and I got up and gave her my seat, and, as I hung +suspended over her by a strap, damme, I fell in love with her then and +there. You've no conception, laddie, how indescribably ripping she +looked, in a sort of blue dress with a bit of red in it and a hat with +thingummies. Well, we both got out at South Kensington. By that time I +was gasping for air and saw that the thing wanted looking into. I'd +never had much time to bother about women, but I realised that this +must not be missed. I was in love, old horse. It comes over you quite +suddenly, like a tidal wave. . . ." + +"I know! I know! Good Heavens, you can't tell me anything about that." + +"Well, I followed her. She went to a house in Thurloe Square. I waited +outside and thought it over. I had got to get into that shanty and +make her acquaintance, if they threw me out on my ear. So I rang the +bell. 'Is Lady Lichenhall at home?' I asked. You spot the devilish +cunning of the ruse, what? My asking for a female with a title was to +make 'em think I was one of the Upper Ten." + +"How were you dressed?" I could not help asking. + +"Oh, it was one of my frock-coat days. I'd been to see a man about +tutoring his son, and by a merciful dispensation of Providence there +was a fellow living in the same boarding-house with me who was about +my build and had a frock-coat, and he had lent it to me. At least, he +hadn't exactly lent it to me, but I knew where he kept it and he was +out at the time. There was nothing the matter with my appearance. +Quite the young duke, I assure you, laddie, down to the last button. +'Is Lady Lichenhall at home?' I asked. 'No,' said the maid, 'nobody of +that name here. This is Lady Lakenheath's house.' So, you see, I had a +bit of luck at the start, because the names were a bit alike. Well, I +got the maid to show me in somehow, and, once in you can bet I talked +for all I was worth. Kept up a flow of conversation about being +misdirected and coming to the wrong house. Went away, and called a few +days later. Gradually wormed my way in. Called regularly. Spied on +their movements, met 'em at every theatre they went to, and bowed, and +finally got away with Millie before her aunt knew what was happening +or who I was or what I was doing or anything." + +"And what's the moral?" + +"Why, go in like a mighty, rushing wind! Bustle 'em! Don't give 'em a +moment's rest or time to think or anything. Why, if I'd given Millie's +Aunt Elizabeth time to think, where should we have been? Not at Combe +Regis together, I'll bet. You heard that letter, and know what she +thinks of me now, on reflection. If I'd gone slow and played a timid +waiting-game, she'd have thought that before I married Millie, instead +of afterwards. I give you my honest word, laddie, that there was a +time, towards the middle of our acquaintance--after she had stopped +mixing me up with the man who came to wind the clocks--when that woman +ate out of my hand! Twice--on two separate occasions--she actually +asked my advice about feeding her toy Pomeranian! Well, that shows +you! Bustle 'em, laddie! Bustle 'em!" + +"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. I will prise a father's blessing out of him, if I have +to do it with a crowbar." + +"That's the way to talk, old horse. Don't beat about the bush. Tell +him exactly what you want and stand no nonsense. If you don't see what +you want in the window, ask for it. Where did you think of tackling +him?" + +"Phyllis tells me that he always goes for a swim before breakfast. I +thought of going down to-morrow and waylaying him." + +"You couldn't do better. By Jove!" said Ukridge suddenly. "I'll tell +you what I'll do, laddie. I wouldn't do it for everybody, but I look +on you as a favourite son. I'll come with you, and help break the +ice." + +"What!" + +"Don't you be under any delusion, old horse," said Ukridge paternally. +"You haven't got an easy job in front of you and what you'll need more +than anything else, when you really get down to brass-tacks, is a +wise, kindly man of the world at your elbow, to whoop you on when your +nerve fails you and generally stand in your corner and see that you +get a fair show." + +"But it's rather an intimate business. . . ." + +"Never mind! Take my tip and have me at your side. I can say things +about you that you would be too modest to say for yourself. I can +plead your case, laddie. I can point out in detail all that the old +boy will be missing if he gives you the miss-in-baulk. Well, that's +settled, then. About eight to-morrow morning, what? I'll be there, my +boy. A swim will do me good." + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +ASKING PAPA + +Reviewing the matter later, I could see that I made one or two +blunders in my conduct of the campaign to win over Professor Derrick. +In the first place, I made a bad choice of time and place. At the +moment this did not strike me. It is a simple matter, 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 it should be +remembered, an indifferent swimmer, is accosted in the water and out +of his depth, the feat becomes a hard one. It seemed to me that I +should have a better chance with the professor in the water than out +of it. + +My second mistake--and this was brought home to me almost immediately +--was in bringing Ukridge along. Not that I really brought him along; +it was rather a case of being unable to shake him off. When he met me +on the gravel outside the house at a quarter to eight on the following +morning, clad in a dingy mackintosh which, swinging open, revealed a +purple bathing-suit, I confess that my heart sank. Unfortunately, all +my efforts to dissuade him from accompanying me were attributed by him +to a pardonable nervousness--or, as he put it, to the needle. + +"Buck up, laddie!" he roared encouragingly. "I had anticipated this. +Something seemed to tell me that your nerve would go when it came to +the point. You're deuced lucky, old horse, to have a man like me at +your side. Why, if you were alone, you wouldn't have a word to say for +yourself. You'd just gape at the man and yammer. But I'm with you +laddie, I'm with you. If your flow of conversation dries up, count on +me to keep the thing going." + +And so it came about that, having reached the Cob and spying in the +distance the grey head of the professor bobbing about on the face of +the waters, we dived in and swam rapidly towards him. + +His face was turned in the opposite direction when we came up with +him. He was floating peacefully on his back, and it was plain that he +had not observed our approach. For when, treading water easily in his +rear, I wished him good morning in my most conciliatory tone, 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 again, when I +repeated my remark. + +He expelled the last remnant of water from his mouth with a wrathful +splutter, and cleared his eyes with the back of his hand. I confess to +a slight feeling of apprehension as I met his gaze. Nor was my +uneasiness diminished by the spectacle of Ukridge splashing tactfully +in the background like a large seal. Ukridge so far had made no +remarks. He had dived in very flat, and I imagine that his breath had +not yet returned to him. He had the air of one who intends to get used +to his surroundings before trusting himself to speech. + +"The water is delightfully warm," I said. + +"Oh, it's you!" said the professor; and I could not cheat myself into +the belief that he spoke cordially. Ukridge snorted loudly in the +offing. The professor turned sharply, as if anxious to observe this +marine phenomenon; and the annoyed gurgle which he gave showed that he +was not approving of Ukridge either. I did not approve of Ukridge +myself. I wished he had not come. Ukridge, in the water, lacks +dignity. I felt that he prejudiced my case. + +"You are swimming splendidly this morning," I went on perseveringly, +feeling that an ounce of flattery is worth a pound of rhetoric. "If," +I added, "you will allow me to say so." + +"I will not!" he snapped. "I--" here a small wave, noticing that his +mouth was open, stepped in. "I wish," he resumed warmly, "as I said in +me letter, to have nothing to do with you. I consider that ye've +behaved in a manner that can only be described as abominable, and I +will thank you to leave me alone." + +"But allow me--" + +"I will not allow ye, sir. I will allow ye nothing. Is it not enough +to make me the laughing-stock, the butt, sir, of this town, without +pursuing me in this way when I wish to enjoy a quiet swim?" + +"Now, laddie, laddie," said Ukridge, placing a large hand on his +shoulder, "these are harsh words! Be reasonable! Think before you +speak. You little know . . ." + +"Go to the devil!" said the professor. "I wish to have nothing to do +with either of you. I should be glad if you would cease this +persecution. Persecution, sir!" + +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 rejected the successors of the wave he +had swallowed at the beginning of our little chat. The art of +conducting conversation while in the water is not given to every +swimmer. This he seemed to realise, for, as if to close the interview, +he proceeded to make his way as quickly as he could to the shore. +Unfortunately, his first dash brought him squarely up against Ukridge, +who, not having expected the collision, clutched wildly at him and +took him below the surface again. They came up a moment later on the +worst terms. + +"Are you trying to drown me, sir?" barked the professor. + +"My dear old horse," said Ukridge complainingly, "it's a little hard. +You might look where you're going." + +"You grappled with me!" + +"You took me by surprise, laddie. Rid yourself of the impression that +you're playing water-polo." + +"But, professor," I said, joining the group and treading water, "one +moment." + +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 would scarcely have been enhanced thereby. + +"But, professor," I said, "one moment." + +"Go away, sir! I have nothing to say to you." + +"But he has lots to say to you," said Ukridge. "Now's the time, old +horse," he added encouragingly to me. "Spill the news!" + +Without preamble I gave out the text of my address. + +"I love your daughter, Phyllis, Mr. Derrick. She loves me. In fact, we +are engaged." + +"Devilish well put, laddie," said Ukridge approvingly. + +The professor 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 the flow of one's eloquence. The best of +arguments is useless if the listener suddenly disappears in the middle +of it. + +"Stick to it, old horse," said Ukridge. "I think you're going to bring +it off." + +I stuck to it. + +"Mr. Derrick," I said, as his head emerged, "you are naturally +surprised." + +"You would be," said Ukridge. "We don't blame you," he added +handsomely. + +"You--you--you--" So far from cooling the professor, liberal doses of +water seemed to make him more heated. "You impudent scoundrel!" + +My reply was more gentlemanly, more courteous, on a higher plane +altogether. + +I said, winningly: "Cannot we let bygones be bygones?" + +From his remarks I gathered that we could not. I continued. I was +under the unfortunate necessity of having to condense my speech. I was +not able to let myself go as I could have wished, for time was an +important consideration. Ere long, swallowing water at his present +rate, the professor must inevitably become waterlogged. + +"I have loved your daughter," I said rapidly, "ever since I first saw +her . . ." + +"And he's a capital chap," interjected Ukridge. "One of the best. +Known him for years. You'll like him." + +"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." + +"Give it!" advised Ukridge. "Couldn't do better. A very sound fellow. +Pots of money, too. At least he will have when he marries." + +"I know we have not been on the best of terms lately. For Heaven's +sake don't try to talk, or you'll sink. The fault," I said, +generously, "was mine . . ." + +"Well put," said Ukridge. + +"But when you have heard my explanation, I am sure you will forgive +me. There, I told you so." + +He reappeared some few feet to the left. I swam up, and resumed. + +"When you left us so abruptly after our little dinner-party----" + +"Come again some night," said Ukridge cordially. "Any time you're +passing." + +" . . . you put me in a very awkward position. I was desperately in +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 revealing +my feelings to her." + +"Revealing feelings is good," said Ukridge approvingly. "Neat." + +"You see what a fix I was in, don't you? Keep your arms well out. 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." + +"Got as thin as a corkscrew," said Ukridge. + +"At last, seeing you fishing one morning when I was on the Cob, it +struck me all of a sudden . . ." + +"You know how it is," said Ukridge. + +" . . . 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." + +Here I paused, and he seized the opportunity to curse me--briefly, +with a wary eye on an incoming wavelet. + +"If it hadn't been for the inscrutable workings of Providence, which +has a mania for upsetting everything, all would have been well. In +fact, all was well till you found out." + +"Always the way," said Ukridge sadly. "Always the way." + +"You young blackguard!" + +He managed to slip past me, and made for the shore. + +"Look at the thing from the standpoint of a philosopher, old horse," +urged Ukridge, splashing after him. "The fact that the rescue was +arranged oughtn't to matter. I mean to say, you didn't know it at the +time, so, relatively, it was not, and you were genuinely saved from a +watery grave and all that sort of thing." + +I had not imagined Ukridge capable of such an excursion into +metaphysics. I saw the truth of his line of argument so clearly that +it seemed to me impossible for anyone else to get confused over it. I +had certainly pulled the professor out of the water, and the fact that +I had first 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 +certainly have drowned if left to himself--and I was entitled to his +gratitude. That was all there was to be said about it. + +These things both Ukridge and I tried to make plain as we swam along. +But whether it was that the salt water he had swallowed had dulled the +professor's normally keen intelligence or that our power of stating a +case was too weak, the fact remains that he reached the beach an +unconvinced man. + +"Then may I consider," I said, "that your objections are removed? I +have your consent?" + +He stamped angrily, and his bare foot came down on a small, sharp +pebble. With a brief exclamation he seized his foot in one hand and +hopped up the beach. While hopping, he delivered his ultimatum. +Probably the only instance on record of a father adopting this +attitude in dismissing a suitor. + +"You may not!" he cried. "You may consider no such thing. My +objections were never more absolute. You detain me in the water, sir, +till I am blue, sir, blue with cold, in order to listen to the most +preposterous and impudent nonsense I ever heard." + +This was unjust. If he had listened attentively from the first and +avoided interruptions and had not behaved like a submarine we should +have got through the business in half the time. + +I said so. + +"Don't talk to me, sir," he replied, hobbling off to his dressing- +tent. "I will not listen to you. I will have nothing to do with you. I +consider you impudent, sir." + +"I assure you it was unintentional." + +"Isch!" he said--being the first occasion and the last on which I have +ever heard that remarkable monosyllable proceed from the mouth of a +man. And he vanished into his tent. + +"Laddie," said Ukridge solemnly, "do you know what I think?" + +"Well?" + +"You haven't clicked, old horse!" said Ukridge. + + + +CHAPTER XX + +SCIENTIFIC GOLF + +People are continually writing to the papers--or it may be one +solitary enthusiast who writes under a number of pseudonyms--on the +subject of sport, and the over-doing of the same by the modern young +man. I recall one letter in which "Efficiency" gave it as his opinion +that if the Young Man played less golf and did more drill, he would be +all the better for it. I propose to report my doings with the +professor on the links at some length, in order to refute this absurd +view. Everybody ought to play golf, and nobody can begin it too soon. +There ought not to be a single able-bodied infant in the British Isles +who has not foozled a drive. To take my case. Suppose I had employed +in drilling the hours I had spent in learning to handle my clubs. I +might have drilled before the professor by the week without softening +his heart. I might have ported arms and grounded arms and presented +arms, and generally behaved in the manner advocated by "Efficiency," +and what would have been the result? Indifference on his part, or--and +if I overdid the thing--irritation. Whereas, by devoting a reasonable +portion of my youth to learning the intricacies of golf I was +enabled . . . + +It happened in this way. + +To me, as I stood with Ukridge in the fowl-run in 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. 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. + +"Mr. Garnet, sir?" said the foe. + +I recognised him. He was Professor Derrick's gardener. + +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 Combe 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 Club House at half-past +two. If this hour and day were unsuitable, would he kindly arrange +others. The bearer would wait. + +The bearer did wait. He waited for half-an-hour, as I found it +impossible to shift him, not caring to use violence on a man well +stricken in years, without first plying him with drink. He absorbed +more of our diminishing cask of beer than we could conveniently spare, +and then trudged off with a note, beautifully written in the third +person, in which Mr. Garnet, after numerous compliments and thanks, +begged to inform Professor Derrick that he would be at the Club House +at the hour mentioned. + +"And," I added--to myself, not in the note--"I will give him such a +licking that he'll brain himself with a cleek." + +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 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. + +"And I'll do it," I said to Bob, who had trotted up. 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. + +"Bob," I said, running his tail through my fingers, "listen to me, my +old University chum, for I have matured a dark scheme. Don't run away. +You know you don't really want to go and look at that chicken. 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. All right, how was /I/ +to know that you knew that without my telling you? Well, if you +understand so much about the game, you will appreciate my dark scheme. +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, and he's praying-- +if he ever does pray--to the Gods of Golf that he may be allowed to +win, I shall go ahead and beat him by a hole. /I'll/ 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." + +Bob wagged his tail cheerfully. + +"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." + +It has been my aim in the course of this narrative to extenuate +nothing, nor set down aught in malice. Like the gentleman who played +euchre with the Heathen Chinee, I state but 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. + +I felt ruthless towards 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 instead of his mashie at the tenth, all would have been +well; that, if he had putted more carefully on the seventh green, life +would not be drear and blank; that a more judicious manipulation of +his brassey throughout might have given him something to live for. All +these things I knew. + +And they did not touch me. I was adamant. The professor was waiting +for me at the Club House, and greeted me with a cold and stately +inclination of the head. + +"Beautiful day for golf," I observed in my gay, chatty manner. He +bowed in silence. + +"Very well," I thought. "Wait. Just wait." + +"Miss Derrick is well, I hope?" I added, aloud. + +That drew him. He started. His aspect became doubly forbidding. + +"Miss Derrick is perfectly well, sir, I thank you." + +"And you? No bad effect, I hope, from your dip yesterday?" + +"Mr. Garnet, I came here for golf, not conversation," he said. + +We made it so. I drove off from the first tee. It was a splendid +drive. I should not say so if there were any one 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 on to 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. +I could toy with him. + +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 any one 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. + +The ball rolled two yards. + +He looked at it in silence. Then he looked at me--also in silence. + +I was gazing seawards. + +When I looked round he was getting to work with a brassey. + +This time he hit the bunker, and rolled back. He repeated this +manoeuvre twice. + +"Hard luck!" I murmured sympathetically on the third occasion, thereby +going as near to being slain with a niblick 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 of the professor turned to me. + +"I shall pick my ball up," he growled. + +We walked on in silence to the second tee. He did the second hole in +four, which was good. I did it in three, which--unfortunately for him +--was better. + +I won the third hole. + +I won the fourth hole. + +I won the fifth hole. + +I glanced at my opponent out of the corner of my eyes. The man was +suffering. Beads of perspiration stood out on his forehead. + +His play had become wilder and wilder at each hole in arithmetical +progression. If he had been a plough he could hardly have turned up +more soil. The imagination recoiled from the thought of what he could +be doing in another half-hour if he deteriorated at his present speed. + +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 golfer who really almost ceases to be +human under stress of the wild agony of a series of foozles. + +The sixth hole involves the player in a somewhat tricky piece of +cross-country work, owing to the fact that there is a nasty ditch to +be negotiated some fifty yards from the green. It is a beast of a +ditch, which, if you are out of luck, just catches your second shot. +"All hope abandon ye who enter here" might be written on a notice +board over it. + +The professor entered there. The unhappy man sent his second, as nice +and clean a brassey shot as he had made all day, into its very jaws. +And then madness seized him. A merciful local rule, framed by kindly +men who have been in that ditch themselves, enacts that in such a case +the player may take his ball and throw it over his shoulder, losing a +stroke. But once, so the legend runs, a scratch man who found himself +trapped, scorning to avail himself of this rule at the expense of its +accompanying penalty, wrought so shrewdly with his niblick that he not +only got out but actually laid his ball dead: and now optimists +sometimes imitate his gallantry, though no one yet has been able to +imitate his success. + +The professor decided to take a chance: and he failed miserably. As I +was on the green with my third, and, unless I putted extremely poorly, +was morally certain to be down in five, which is bogey for the hole, +there was not much practical use in his continuing to struggle. But he +did in a spirit of pure vindictiveness, as if he were trying to take +it out of the ball. It was a grisly sight to see him, head and +shoulders above the ditch, hewing at his obstinate colonel. It was a +similar spectacle that once induced a lay spectator of a golf match to +observe that he considered hockey a silly game. + +"/Sixteen!/" said the professor between his teeth. Then he picked up +his ball. + +I won the seventh hole. + +I won the eighth hole. + +The ninth we halved, for in the black depths of my soul I had formed a +plan of fiendish subtlety. I intended to allow him to win--with +extreme labour--eight holes in succession. + +Then, when hope was once more strong in him, I would win the last, and +he would go mad. + +I watched him carefully as we trudged on. Emotions chased one another +across 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 seven, 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. I gave him the lead. + +"You have got your form now," I said. + +Talkativeness had it. Dignity retired hurt. Speech came from him in a +rush. When he brought off an excellent drive from the eighteenth tee, +he seemed to forget everything. + +"Me dear boy,"--he began; and stopped abruptly in some confusion. +Silence once more brooded over us as we played ourselves up the +fairway and on to the green. + +He was on the green in four. I reached it in three. His sixth stroke +took him out. + +I putted carefully to the very mouth of the hole. + +I walked up to my ball and paused. I looked at the professor. He +looked at me. + +"Go on," he said hoarsely. + +Suddenly a wave of compassion flooded over me. What right had I to +torture the man like this? + +"Professor," I said. + +"Go on," he repeated. + +"That looks a simple shot," I said, eyeing him steadily, "but I might +miss it." + +He started. + +"And then you would win the Championship." + +He dabbed at his forehead with a wet ball of a handkerchief. + +"It would be very pleasant for you after getting so near it the last +two years." + +"Go on," he said for the third time. But there was a note of +hesitation in his voice. + +"Sudden joy," I said, "would almost certainly make me miss it." + +We looked at each other. He had the golf fever in his eyes. + +"If," I said slowly, lifting my putter, "you were to give your consent +to my marriage with Phyllis----" + +He looked from me to the ball, from the ball to me, and back to the +ball. It was very, very near the hole. + +"Why not?" I said. + +He looked up, and burst into a roar of laughter. + +"You young devil," said he, smiting his thigh, "you young devil, +you've beaten me." + +"On the contrary," I said, "you have beaten me." + + * * * * * + +I left the professor at the Club House 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. + +"Ukridge!" I shouted. + +No answer. + +I flung open the dining-room door. Nobody. + +I went into the drawing-room. It was empty. I drew the garden, and his +bedroom. He was not in either. + +"He must have gone for a stroll," I said. + +I rang the bell. + +The Hired Retainer appeared, calm and imperturbable as ever. + +"Sir?" + +"Oh, where is Mr. Ukridge, Beale?" + +"Mr. Ukridge, sir," said the Hired Retainer nonchalantly, "has gone." + +"Gone!" + +"Yes, sir. Mr. Ukridge and Mrs. Ukridge went away together by the +three o'clock train." + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM + +"Beale," I said, "are you drunk?" + +"Wish I was, sir," said the Hired Man. + +"Then what on earth do you mean? Gone? Where have they gone to?" + +"Don't know, sir. London, I expect." + +"London? Why?" + +"Don't know, sir." + +"When did they go? Oh, you told me that. Didn't they say why they were +going?" + +"No, sir." + +"Didn't you ask! When you saw them packing up and going to the +station, didn't you do anything?" + +"No, sir." + +"Why on earth not?" + +"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 Mackerel, 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." + +"What! They didn't pack!" + +"No, sir." + +We looked at one another. + +"Beale," I said. + +"Sir?" + +"Do you know what I think?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"They've bolted." + +"So I says to the missus, sir. It struck me right off, in a manner of +speaking." + +"This is awful," I said. + +"Yes, sir." + +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. + +"This wants thinking out, Beale," I said. + +"Yes, sir." + +"You'd better ask Mrs. Beale to give me some dinner, and then I'll +think it over." + +"Yes, sir." + +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 +Combe 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 labours can be +considered 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 an able-bodied leech. +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. There was +a chance that aggressive measures would be confined to the enemy at +our gates, the tradesmen of Combe 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 summoned Beale after dinner and held a council of war. It was no +time for airy persiflage. I said, "Beale, we're in the cart." + +"Sir?" + +"Mr. Ukridge going away like this has left me in a most unpleasant +position. I would like to talk it over with you. I daresay you know +that we--that Mr. Ukridge owes a considerable amount of money round +about here to tradesmen?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Well, when they find out that he has--er----" + +"Shot the moon, sir," suggested the Hired Retainer helpfully. + +"Gone up to town," I amended. "When they find out that he has gone up +to town, they are likely to come bothering us a good deal." + +"Yes, sir." + +"I fancy that we shall have them all round here to-morrow. News of +this sort always spreads quickly. The point is, then, what are we to +do?" + +He propounded no scheme, but stood in an easy attitude of attention, +waiting for me to continue. + +I continued. + +"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. Complications set in when we come to consider you +and Mrs. Beale. I suppose you won't care to stop on after this?" + +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. + +"It's a pretty place, Mr. Garnet, sir," he said. + +"It is," I said, "but about other considerations? There's the matter +of wages. Are yours in arrears?" + +"Yes, sir. A month." + +"And Mrs. Beale's the same, I suppose?" + +"Yes, sir. A month." + +"H'm. Well, it seems to me, Beale, you can't lose anything by stopping +on." + +"I can't be paid any less than I have bin, sir," he agreed. + +"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?" + +"Very well, sir." + +"And Mrs. Beale will do the same?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"That's excellent. You're a hero, Beale. I shan't forget you. There's +a cheque coming 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?" + +"Yes, sir." + +Having concluded that delicate business, I lit my pipe, and strolled +out into the garden with Bob. I cursed Ukridge as I walked. It was +abominable of him 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. + +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 stigmatises as shady. They +were small things, it was true; but they ought to have warned me. We +are most of us wise after the event. When the wind has blown, we can +generally discover a multitude of straws which should have shown us +which way it was blowing. + +Once, I remembered, in our schoolmaster 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 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 +humorous. He bought a hat for three-and-sixpence, and got the suits +and the boots on the instalment system, paying a small sum in advance, +as earnest of more to come. He then pawned one suit to pay for the +first few instalments, 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 his 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. + +Or again. There was a bicycle and photograph shop near the school. He +went 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 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 back word 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're 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 tandem 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. + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +THE STORM BREAKS + +Rather to my surprise, the next morning passed off uneventfully. Our +knocker advertised no dun. Our lawn remained untrodden by hob-nailed +boots. 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. The professor was out when I arrived. Phyllis was in, and it +was not till the evening that I started for the farm again. + +As I approached, the sound of voices smote my ears. + +I stopped. I could hear Beale speaking. Then came the rich notes of +Vickers, the butcher. Then Beale again. Then Dawlish the grocer. Then +a chorus. + +The storm had burst, and in my absence. + +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. + +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 opened the gate and strode +in, trying to look as opulent as possible. + +It was an animated scene that met my eyes. In the middle of the lawn +stood the devoted Beale, a little more flushed than 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 cheekbone was a little +discoloured, and there was a hard, dogged expression on his face. He, +too, was in his shirt-sleeves. + +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. + +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 hand towards 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. + +"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." + +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. + +Things were evidently moving now. The young man's gestures became more +vigorous. The dogged look on Beale's face deepened. The comments of +the Ring increased in point and pungency. + +"What did you hit him for, then?" + +The question was put, always the same words and with the same air of +quiet triumph, at intervals of thirty seconds by a little man in a +snuff-coloured 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. + +Other voices chimed in. + +"You hit him, Charlie. Go on. You hit him." + +"We'll have the law." + +"Go on, Charlie." + +Flushed with the favour 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 moment 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. + +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. + +"What's all this?" I said. + +I may mention here that I do not propose to inflict dialect upon the +reader. If he had borne with my narrative thus far, I look on him as a +friend, and feel that he deserves consideration. I may not have +brought out the fact with sufficient emphasis in the foregoing pages, +but nevertheless I protest that I have a conscience. Not so much as a +"thiccy" shall he find. + +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. + +"Don't all speak at once, please," I said. "I can't possibly follow +what you say. Perhaps you will tell me what you want?" + +I singled out a short, stout man in grey. He wore the largest whiskers +ever seen on human face. + +"It's like this, sir. We all of us want to know where we are." + +"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." + +This was not, I suppose, Conciliation in the strictest and best sense +of the word; but the thing had to be said. It is the duty of every +good citizen to do his best to score off men with whiskers. + +"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." + +"On your heels," I replied gently, "as I pointed out before." + +"I am Brass, sir, of Axminster. My account with Mr. Ukridge is ten +pounds eight shillings and fourpence. I want to know----" + +The whole strength of the company now joined in. + +"You know me, Mr. Garnet. Appleby, in the High----" (Voice lost in the +general roar). + +" . . . and eightpence." + +"My account with Mr. Uk . . ." + +" . . . settle . . ." + +"I represent Bodger . . ." + +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. + +At last, in a lull, I managed to catch the Hired Retainer by the arm, +as he drew back from the prostrate form of his latest victim. "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." + +"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 /call/ a +turn-up, since I've been 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." + +"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 shan't have a +moment's peace while you're here. Cut along." + +"Very well, sir. But it's 'ard. Mayn't I 'ave just one go at that +Charlie, Mr. Garnet?" he asked wistfully. + +"No, no. Go in." + +"And if they goes for you, sir, and tries to wipe the face off you?" + +"They won't, they won't. If they do, I'll shout for you." + +He went reluctantly into the house, and I turned again to my audience. + +"If you will kindly be quiet for a moment--" I said. + +"I am Appleby, Mr. Garnet, in the High Street. Mr. Ukridge--" + +"Eighteen pounds fourteen shillings--" + +"Kindly glance--" + +I waved my hands wildly above my head. + +"Stop! stop! stop!" I shouted. + +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 beyond these voices there was peace. My head was +beginning to ache, and I felt faint for want of food. + +"Gentlemen," I cried, as the noise died away. + +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. + +He approached me. + +"Mr. Ukridge, sir?" he said. + +"My name is Garnet. Mr. Ukridge is away at the moment." + +"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." + +"So am I," I said with feeling. + +"Do you expect him to return shortly?" + +"No," I said, "I do not." + +He was looking curiously at the expectant band of duns. I forestalled +his question. + +"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." + +Comprehension came into his eyes, and the natural man in him peeped +through the polish. + +"Great Scott, has he done a bunk?" he cried. + +"To the best of my knowledge, yes," I said. + +He whistled. + +I turned again to the local talent. + +"Gentlemen," I shouted. + +"Hear, hear," said some idiot. + +"Gentlemen, I intend to be quite frank 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." + +Hoots of derision greeted this prophecy. I resumed. + +"I fail to see your object in coming here. I have nothing for you. I +couldn't pay your bills if I wanted to." + +It began to be borne upon me that I was becoming unpopular. + +"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." + +Dissatisfaction. I was getting myself disliked. 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 +sympathise with them. I considered that Ukridge had used them +disgracefully. But I was irritated. My head ached abominably. + +"Then am I to tell our Mr. Blenkinsop," asked the frock-coated one, +"that the money is not and will not be forthcoming?" + +"When next you smoke a quiet cigar with your Mr. Blenkinsop," I +replied courteously, "and find conversation flagging, I rather think I +/should/ say something of the sort." + +"We shall, of course, instruct our solicitors at once to institute +legal proceedings against your Mr. Ukridge." + +"Don't call him my Mr. Ukridge. You can do whatever you please." + +"That is your last word on the subject?" + +"I hope so. But I fear not." + +"Where's our money?" demanded a discontented voice from the crowd. + +An idea struck me. + +"Beale!" I shouted. + +Out came the Hired Retainer at the double. I fancy he thought that his +help was needed to save me from my friends. + +He slowed down, seeing me as yet unassaulted. + +"Sir?" he said. + +"Isn't there a case of that whisky left somewhere, Beale?" + +I had struck the right note. There was a hush of pleased anticipation +among the audience. + +"Yes, sir. One." + +"Then bring it out here and open it." + +Beale looked pained. + +"For /them/, sir!" he ejaculated. + +"Yes. Hurry up." + +He hesitated, then without a word went into the house. A hearty cheer +went up as he reappeared with the case. I proceeded indoors in search +of glasses and water. + +Coming out, I realised my folly in having left Beale alone with our +visitors even for a minute. A brisk battle was raging between him and +a man whom I did not remember to have seen before. The frock-coated +young man was looking on with pale fear stamped upon his face; but the +rest of the crowd were shouting advice and encouragement was being +given to Beale. How I wondered, had he pacified the mob? + +I soon discovered. As I ran up as quickly as I could, hampered as I +was by the jugs and glasses, Beale knocked his man out with the clean +precision of the experienced boxer; and the crowd explained in chorus +that it was the pot-boy, from the Net and Mackerel. Like everything +else, the whisky had not been paid for and the pot-boy, arriving just +as the case was being opened, had made a gallant effort to save it +from being distributed free to his fellow-citizens. By the time he +came to, the glasses were circulating merrily; and, on observing this, +he accepted the situation philosophically enough, and took his turn +and turn about with the others. + +Everybody was now in excellent fettle. The only malcontents were +Beale, whose heart plainly bled at the waste of good Scotch whisky, +and the frock-coated young man, who was still pallid. + +I was just congratulating myself, as I eyed the revellers, on having +achieved a masterstroke of strategy, when that demon Charlie, his +defeat, I suppose, still rankling, made a suggestion. From his point +of view a timely and ingenious suggestion. + +"We can't see the colour of our money," he said pithily, "but we can +have our own back." + +That settled it. The battle was over. The most skilful general must +sometime recognise defeat. I recognised it then, and threw up my hand. +I could do nothing further with them. I had done my best for the farm. +I could do no more. + +I lit my pipe, and strolled into the paddock. + +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. + +It was growing dusk. From inside the house came faint sounds of +bibulous mirth, as the 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. + +Presently out came the invaders with their loot, one with a picture, +another with a vase, another bearing the gramophone upside down. They +were singing in many keys and times. + +Then I heard somebody--Charlie again, it seemed to me--propose a raid +on the fowl-run. + +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 the 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. Their pursuers, roaring with laughter, staggered +after them. They tumbled over one another. The summer evening was made +hideous with the noise of them. + +"Disgraceful, sir. Is it not disgraceful!" said a voice in my ear. + +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 mould. + +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. + +There was only one man of my acquaintance with a voice like that. + +I walked without hurry towards him. + +"Good evening, Ukridge," I said. + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +AFTER THE STORM + +A yell of welcome drowned the tumult of the looters. + +"Is that you, Garny, old horse? What's up? What's the matter? Has +everyone gone mad? Who are those infernal scoundrels in the fowl-run? +What are they doing? What's been happening?" + +"I have been entertaining a little meeting of your creditors," I said. +"And now they are entertaining themselves." + +"But what did you let them do it for?" + +"What is one amongst so many?" + +"Well, 'pon my Sam," moaned Ukridge, as, her sardonic calm laid aside, +that sinister hen which we called Aunt Elizabeth flashed past us +pursued by the whiskered criminal, "it's a little hard! I can't go +away for a day--" + +"You certainly can't! You're right there. You can't go away without a +word--" + +"Without a word? What do you mean? Garny, old boy, pull yourself +together. You're over-excited. Do you mean to tell me you didn't get +my note?" + +"What note?" + +"The one I left on the dining-room table." + +"There was no note there." + +"What!" + +I was reminded of the scene that had taken place on the first day of +our visit. + +"Feel in your pockets," I said. + +"Why, damme, here it is!" he said in amazement. + +"Of course. Where did you expect it would be? Was it important?" + +"Why, it explained the whole thing." + +"Then," I said, "I wish you would let me read it. A note like that +ought to be worth reading." + +"It was telling you to sit tight and not worry about us going away--" + +"That's good about worrying. You're a thoughtful chap, Ukridge." + +"--because we should be back immediately." + +"And what sent you up to town?" + +"Why, we went to touch Millie's Aunt Elizabeth." + +"Oh!" I said, a light shining on the darkness of my understanding. + +"You remember Aunt Elizabeth? The old girl who wrote that letter." + +"I know. She called you a gaby." + +"And a guffin." + +"Yes. I remember thinking her a shrewd and discriminating old lady, +with a great gift for character delineation. So you went to touch +her?" + +"That's it. We had to have more money. So I naturally thought of her. +Aunt Elizabeth isn't what you might call an admirer of mine--" + +"Bless her for that." + +"--but she's very fond of Millie, and would do anything 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 case, and +collected the stuff. Millie and I shared the work. She did the asking, +while I inquired after the rheumatism. She mentioned the figure that +would clear us; I patted the dog. Little beast! Got after me when I +wasn't looking and chewed my ankle!" + +"Thank Heaven!" + +"In the end Millie got the money, and I got the home-truths." + +"Did she call you a gaby?" + +"Twice. And a guffin three times." + +"Your Aunt Elizabeth is beginning to fascinate me. She seems just the +sort of woman I would like. Well, you got the money?" + +"Rather! And I'll tell you another thing, old horse. I scored heavily +at the end of the visit. She'd got to the quoting-proverbs stage by +that time. 'Ah, my dear,' she said to Millie. 'Marry in haste, repent +at leisure.' Millie stood up to her like a little brick. 'I'm afraid +that proverb doesn't apply to me, Aunt Elizabeth,' she said, 'because +I haven't repented!' What do you think of that, Laddie?" + +"Of course, she /hasn't/ had much leisure lately," I agreed. + +Ukridge's jaw dropped slightly. But he rallied swiftly. + +"Idiot! That wasn't what she meant. Millie's an angel!" + +"Of course she is," I said cordially. "She's a precious sight too good +for you, you old rotter. You bear that fact steadily in mind, and +we'll make something of you yet." + +At this point Mrs. Ukridge joined us. She had been exploring the +house, and noting the damage done. Her eyes were open to their fullest +extent. + +"Oh, Mr. Garnet, /couldn't/ you have stopped them?" + +I felt a worm. Had I done as much as I might have done to stem the +tide? + +"I'm awfully sorry, Mrs. Ukridge," I said humbly. "I really don't +think I could have done much more. We tried every method. Beale had +seven fights, and I made a speech on the lawn, but it was all no good. +Directly they had finished the whisky--" + +Ukridge's cry was like that of a lost spirit. + +"They didn't get hold of the whisky!" + +"They did! It seemed to me that it would smooth things down a little +if I served it out. The mob had begun to get a trifle out of hand." + +"I thought those horrid men were making a lot of noise," said Mrs. +Ukridge. + +Ukridge preserved a gloomy silence. Of all the disasters of that +stricken field, I think the one that came home most poignantly to him +was the loss of the whisky. It seemed to strike him like a blow. + +"Isn't it about time to collect these men and explain things?" I +suggested. "I don't believe any of them know you've come back." + +"They will!" said Ukridge grimly, coming out of his trance. "They soon +will! Where's Beale! Beale!" + +The Hired Retainer came running out at the sound of the well- +remembered voice. + +"Lumme, Mr. Ukridge, sir!" he gasped. + +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 astonishing an event as a re-appearance from the tomb. He was not +accustomed to find those who had shot the moon revisiting their +ancient haunts. + +"Beale, go round the place and tell those scoundrels that I've come +back, and would like a word with them on the lawn. And, if you find +any of them stealing the fowls, knock them down!" + +"I 'ave knocked down one or two," said Beale, with approval. "That +Charlie--" + +"Beale," said Ukridge, much moved, "you're an excellent fellow! One of +the very best. I will pay you your back wages before I go to bed." + +"These fellars, sir," said Beale, having expressed his gratification, +"they've bin and scattered most of them birds already, sir. They've +bin chasin' of them this half-hour back." + +Ukridge groaned. + +"Scoundrels! Demons!" + +Beale went off. + +"Millie, old girl," said Ukridge, adjusting the ginger-beer wire +behind his ears and hoisting up his grey flannel-trousers, which +showed an inclination to sag, "you'd better go indoors. I propose to +speak pretty chattily to these blighters, and in the heat of the +moment one or two expressions might occur to me which you would not +like. It would hamper me, your being here." + +Mrs. Ukridge went into the house, and the vanguard of the audience +began to come on to the lawn. Several of them looked flushed and +dishevelled. I have a suspicion that Beale had shaken sobriety into +them. Charlie, I noticed, had a black eye. + +They assembled on the lawn in the moonlight, and Ukridge, with his cap +well over his eyes and his mackintosh hanging round him like a Roman +toga, surveyed them sternly, and began his speech. + +"You--you--you--you scoundrels! You blighters! You worms! You weeds!" + +I always like to think of Stanley Featherstonehaugh Ukridge as I saw +him at that moment. There have been times during a friendship of many +years 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. Long +before he had finished I was feeling relieved that he had thought of +sending Mrs. Ukridge indoors when he did, and Beale was hanging on his +words with a look in his eyes which I had never seen there before,--a +look of reverence, almost of awe, the look of a disciple who listens +to a master. + +He poured scorn upon his hearers, and they quailed. He flung invective +at them, and they wilted. Strange oaths, learned among strange men on +cattle-ships or gleaned on the waterfronts of Buenos Ayres and San +Francisco, slid into the stream of his speech. It was hard, he said in +part, it was, upon his Sam, a little hard that a gentleman--a +gentleman, moreover, who had done so much to stimulate local trade +with large orders and what not--could not run up to London for five +minutes on business without having his private grounds turned upside +down by a gang of cattle-ship adjectived San Francisco substantives +who behaved as if the whole of the Buenos Ayres phrased place belonged +to them. He had intended to do well by them. He had meant to continue +putting business in their way, expanding their trade. But would he +after what had occurred? Not by a jugful! 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 cut off. Afterwards it was +probable that he would institute legal proceedings against them in the +matter of trespass and wholesale damage to property, and if they +didn't all end their infernal days in some dashed prison they might +consider themselves uncommonly lucky, and if they didn't make +themselves scarce in considerably under two ticks, he proposed to see +what could be done with Beale's shot-gun. (Beale here withdrew with a +pleased expression to fetch the weapon.) He was sick of them. They +were blighters. Creatures that it would be fulsome flattery to +describe as human beings. He would call them skunks, only he did not +see what the skunks had done to be compared with them. And now they +might go--/quick/! + + * * * * * + +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. + +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 silently out +over the waters. Beside the figure was a dog. + +The dark moments of optimistic minds are sacred, and I would no more +have ventured to break in on Ukridge's thoughts at that moment than, +if I had been a general in the Grand Army, I would have opened +conversation with Napoleon during the retreat from Moscow. I was +withdrawing as softly as I could, when my foot grated on the shingle. +Ukridge turned. + +"Hullo, Garny." + +"Hullo, old man." I murmured in a death-bedside voice. + +He came towards me, Bob trotting at his heels: and, as he came, I saw +with astonishment that his mien was calm, even cheerful. I should have +known my Ukridge better than to be astonished. You cannot keep a good +man down, and already Stanley Featherstonehaugh Ukridge was himself +again. His eyes sparkled buoyantly behind their pince-nez. + +"Garny, old horse, I've been thinking, laddie! I've got an idea! The +idea of a lifetime. The best ever, 'pon my Sam! I'm going to start a +duck farm!" + +"A duck farm?" + +"A duck farm, laddie! And run it without water. My theory is, you see, +that ducks get thin by taking exercise and swimming about all over the +place, so that, if you kept them always on land, they'd get jolly fat +in about half the time--and no trouble and expense. See? What? Not a +flaw in it, old horse! I've thought the whole thing out." He took my +arm affectionately. "Now, listen. We'll say that the profits of the +first year at a conservative estimate . . ." + + + +THE END + + + + +End The Project Gutenberg Etext of Love Among the Chickens, by P. G. Wodehouse + |