[Illustration: "Never mind the ink, old horse. It'll soak in. "]

 LOVE AMONG THE CHICKENS

 A STORY OF THE HAPS AND MISHAPS ON AN ENGLISH CHICKEN FARM

 BY P. G. WODEHOUSE

 ILLUSTRATED BY

 ARMAND BOTH

 NEW YORK

 THE CIRCLE PUBLISHING COMPANY

 1909

 _Copyright, 1908, by_ A. E. BAERMAN

 * * * * *

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I. --A LETTER WITH A POSTSCRIPT

II. --UKRIDGE'S SCHEME

III. --WATERLOO, SOME FELLOW-TRAVELERS, AND A GIRL WITH BROWN HAIR

IV. --THE ARRIVAL

V. --BUCKLING TO

VI. --MR. GARNET'S NARRATIVE. HAS TO DO WITH A REUNION

VII. --THE ENTENTE CORDIALE IS SEALED

VIII. --A LITTLE DINNER AT UKRIDGE'S

IX. --DIES IRĆ

X. --I ENLIST THE SERVICES OF A MINION

XI. --THE BRAVE PRESERVER

XII. --SOME EMOTIONS AND YELLOW LUBIN

XIII. --TEA AND TENNIS

XIV. --A COUNCIL OF WAR

XV. --THE ARRIVAL OF NEMESIS

XVI. --A CHANCE MEETING

XVII. --OF A SENTIMENTAL NATURE

XVIII. --UKRIDGE GIVES ME ADVICE

XIX. --I ASK PAPA

XX. --SCIENTIFIC GOLF

XXI. --THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM

XXII. --THE STORM BREAKS

XXIII. --AFTER THE STORM

EPILOGUE

 * * * * *

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

"Never mind the ink, old horse. It'll soak in" _Frontispiece_

They had a momentary vision of an excited dog, framed in the doorway

"I've only bin and drove 'im further up, " said Mrs. Beale

Things were not going very well on our model chicken farm

"Mr. Garnet, " he said, "we parted recently in anger. I hope thatbygones will be bygones"

"I did think Mr. Garnet would have fainted when the best man said, 'Ican't find it, old horse'"

 * * * * *

_A LETTER with aPOSTSCRIPT_

I

Mr. Jeremy Garnet stood with his back to the empty grate--for the timewas summer--watching with a jaundiced eye the removal of his breakfastthings. 

"Mrs. Medley, " he said. 

"Sir?"

"Would it bore you if I became auto-biographical?"

"Sir?"

"Never mind. I merely wish to sketch for your benefit a portion of mylife's history. At eleven o'clock last night I went to bed, and atonce sank into a dreamless sleep. About four hours later there was aclattering on the stairs which shook the house like a jelly. It wasthe gentleman in the top room--I forget his name--returning to roost. He was humming a patriotic song. A little while later there were acouple of loud crashes. He had removed his boots. All this whilesnatches of the patriotic song came to me through the ceiling of mybedroom. At about four-thirty there was a lull, and I managed to getto sleep again. I wish when you see that gentleman, Mrs. Medley, youwould give him my compliments, and ask him if he could shorten hisprogram another night. He might cut out the song, for a start. "

"He's a very young gentleman, sir, " said Mrs. Medley, in vague defenseof her top room. 

"And it's highly improbable, " said Garnet, "that he will ever growold, if he repeats his last night's performance. I have no wish toshed blood wantonly, but there are moments when one must lay asideone's personal prejudices, and act for the good of the race. A man whohums patriotic songs at four o'clock in the morning doesn't seem to meto fit into the scheme of universal happiness. So you will mention itto him, won't you?"

"Very well, sir, " said Mrs. Medley, placidly. 

On the strength of the fact that he wrote for the newspapers and hadpublished two novels, Mrs. Medley regarded Mr. Garnet as an eccentricindividual who had to be humored. Whatever he did or said filled herwith a mild amusement. She received his daily harangues in the samespirit as that in which a nurse listens to the outpourings of thefamily baby. She was surprised when he said anything sensible enoughfor her to understand. 

His table being clear of breakfast and his room free from disturbinginfluences, the exhilaration caused by his chat with his landladyleft Mr. Garnet. Life seemed very gray to him. He was a conscientiousyoung man, and he knew that he ought to sit down and do some work. Onthe other hand, his brain felt like a cauliflower, and he could notthink what to write about. This is one of the things which sour theyoung author even more than do those long envelopes which sotastefully decorate his table of a morning. 

He felt particularly unfitted for writing at that moment. The morningis not the time for inventive work. An article may be polished then, or a half-finished story completed, but 11 A. M. Is not the hour atwhich to invent. 

Jerry Garnet wandered restlessly about his sitting room. Rarely had itseemed so dull and depressing to him as it did then. The photographson the mantelpiece irritated him. There was no change in them. Theystruck him as the concrete expression of monotony. His eye was caughtby a picture hanging out of the straight. He jerked it to one side, and the effect became worse. He jerked it back again, and the thinglooked as if it had been hung in a dim light by an astigmaticdrunkard. Five minutes' pulling and hauling brought it back to aposition only a shade less crooked than that in which he had found it, and by that time his restlessness had grown like a mushroom. 

He looked out of the window. The sunlight was playing on the houseopposite. He looked at his boots. At this point conscience prodded himsharply. 

"I won't, " he muttered fiercely, "I will work. I'll turn outsomething, even if it's the worst rot ever written. "

With which admirable sentiment he tracked his blotting pad to itshiding place (Mrs. Medley found a fresh one every day), collected inkand pens, and sat down. 

There was a distant thud from above, and shortly afterwards a thintenor voice made itself heard above a vigorous splashing. The younggentleman on the top floor was starting another day. 

"Oi'll--er--sing thee saw-ongs"--brief pause, then in a triumphantburst, as if the singer had just remembered the name--"ovarraby. "

Mr. Garnet breathed a prayer and glared at the ceiling. 

The voice continued:

"Ahnd--er--ta-ales of fa-arr Cahsh-meerer. "

Sudden and grewsome pause. The splashing ceased. The singer couldhardly have been drowned in a hip bath, but Mr. Garnet hoped for thebest. 

His hopes were shattered. 

"Come, " resumed the young gentleman persuasively, "into the garden, Maud, for ther black batter nah-eet hath--er--florn. "

Jerry Garnet sprang from his seat and paced the room. 

"This is getting perfectly impossible, " he said to himself. "I mustget out of this. A fellow can't work in London. I'll go down to somefarmhouse in the country. I can't think here. You might just as welltry to work at a musical 'At Home. '"

Here followed certain remarks about the young man upstairs, who wasnow, in lighter vein, putting in a spell at a popular melody from theGaiety Theater. 

He resumed his seat and set himself resolutely to hammer out somethingwhich, though it might not be literature, would at least be capable ofbeing printed. A search through his commonplace book brought no balm. A commonplace book is the author's rag bag. In it he places all theinsane ideas that come to him, in the groundless hope that some day hewill be able to convert them with magic touch into marketable plots. 

This was the luminous item which first met Mr. Garnet's eye:

_Mem. _ Dead body found in railway carriage under seat. Only one livingoccupant of carriage. He is suspected of being the murderer, butproves that he only entered carriage at twelve o'clock in the morning, while the body has been dead since the previous night. 

To this bright scheme were appended the words:

This will want some working up. 

J. G. 

"It will, " thought Jerry Garnet grimly, "but it will have to go onwanting as far as I'm concerned. "

The next entry he found was a perfectly inscrutable lyric outburst. 

 There are moments of annoyance, Void of every kind of joyance, In the complicated course of Man's affairs; But the very worst of any He experiences when he Meets a young, but active, lion on the stairs. 

Sentiment unexceptionable. But as to the reason for the existence ofthe fragment, his mind was a blank. He shut the book impatiently. Itwas plain that no assistance was to be derived from it. 

His thoughts wandered back to the idea of leaving London. London mighthave suited Dr. Johnson, but he had come to the conclusion that whathe wanted to enable him to give the public of his best (as thereviewer of the _Academy_, dealing with his last work, had expressed apolite hope that he would continue to do) was country air. A farmhouseby the sea somewhere . .. Cows . .. Spreading boughs . .. Rooks . .. Brooks . .. Cream. In London the day stretches before a man, if he hasno regular and appointed work to do, like a long, white, dusty road. It seems impossible to get to the end of it without vast effort. Butin the country every hour has its amusements. Up with the lark. Morning dip. Cheery greetings. Local color. Huge breakfast. Longwalks. Flannels. The ungirt loin. Good, steady spell of work fromdinner till bedtime. The prospect fascinated him. His third novel wasalready in a nebulous state in his brain. A quiet week or two in thecountry would enable him to get it into shape. 

He took from the pocket of his blazer a letter which had arrived somedays before from an artist friend of his who was on a sketching tourin Devonshire and Somerset. There was a penciled memorandum on theenvelope in his own handwriting:

_Mem. _ Might work K. L. 's story about M. And the W--s's into comicyarn for one of the weeklies. 

He gazed at this for a while, with a last hope that in it might becontained the germ of something which would enable him to turn out amorning's work; but having completely forgotten who K. L. Was, andespecially what was his (or her) story about M. , whoever he (or she)might be, he abandoned this hope and turned to the letter in theenvelope. 

The earlier portions of the letter dealt tantalizingly with thescenery. "Bits, " come upon by accident at the end of disused lanes andtransferred with speed to canvas, were described concisely but withsufficient breadth to make Garnet long to see them for himself. Therewere brief _résumés_ of dialogues between Lickford (the writer) andweird rustics. The whole letter breathed of the country and the openair. The atmosphere of Garnet's sitting room seemed to him to becomestuffier with every sentence he read. 

The postscript interested him. 

". .. By the way, at Yeovil I came across an old friend of yours. Stanley Featherstonhaugh Ukridge, of all people. As large aslife--quite six foot two, and tremendously filled out. I thought hewas abroad. The last I heard of him was that he had started for BuenosAyres in a cattle-ship. It seems he has been in England sometime. Imet him in the refreshment room at Yeovil station. I was waiting for adown train; he had changed on his way to town. As I opened the door Iheard a huge voice in a more or less violent altercation, and therewas S. F. U. , in a villainous old suit of gray flannels (I'll swear itwas the same one that he had on last time I saw him), and amackintosh, though it was a blazing hot day. His pince-nez were tackedonto his ears with wire as usual. He greeted me with effusive shouts, and drew me aside. Then after a few commonplaces of greeting, hefumbled in his pockets, looked pained and surprised. 

"'Look here, Licky, ' he said. 'You know I never borrow. It's againstmy principles. But I _must_ have a shilling, or I'm a ruined man. Iseem to have had my pocket picked by some scoundrelly blackguard. Canyou, my dear fellow, oblige me with a shilling until next Tuesdayafternoon at three-thirty? I never borrow, so I'll tell you what I'lldo. I'll let you have this (producing a beastly little three-penny-bitwith a hole in it) until I can pay you back. This is of more value tome than I can well express, Licky, my boy. A very, very dear friendgave it to me when we parted, years ago. It's a wrench to part withit. But grim necessity . .. I can hardly do it. .. . Still, no, no, . .. You must take it, you must take it. Licky, old man, shake hands!Shake hands, my boy!'

"He then asked after you, and said you were the noblest man--exceptme--on earth. I gave him your address, not being able to get out ofit, but if I were you I should fly while there is yet time. "

"That, " said Jerry Garnet, "is the soundest bit of advice I've heard. I will. "

"Mrs. Medley, " he said, when that lady made her appearance. 

"Sir?"

"I'm going away for a few weeks. You can let the rooms if you like. I'll drop you a line when I think of coming back. "

"Yes, sir. And your letters. Where shall I send them, sir?"

"Till further notice, " said Jerry Garnet, pulling out a giantportmanteau from a corner of the room and flinging it open, "care ofthe Dalai Lama, No. 3 Younghusband Terrace, Tibet. "

"Yes, sir, " said Mrs. Medley placidly. 

"I'll write you my address to-night. I don't know where I'm going yet. Is that an A. B. C. Over there? Good. Give my love to that brightyoung spirit on the top floor, and tell him that I hope my not beinghere to listen won't interfere in any way with his morning popularconcerts. "

"Yes, sir. "

"And, Mrs. Medley, if a man named ----"

Mrs. Medley had drifted silently away. During his last speech athunderous knocking had begun on the front door. 

Jerry Garnet stood and listened, transfixed. Something seemed to tellhim who was at the business end of that knocker. 

He heard Mrs. Medley's footsteps pass along the hall and pause at thedoor. Then there was the click of the latch. Then a volume of soundrushed up to him where he stood over his empty portmanteau. 

"Is Mr. Garnet in?"

Mrs. Medley's reply was inaudible, but apparently in the affirmative. 

"Where is he?" boomed the voice. "Show me the old horse. First floor. Thank you. Where is the man of wrath?"

There followed a crashing on the stairs such as even the younggentleman of the top floor had been unable to produce in his nocturnalrovings. The house shook. 

And with the tramping came the thunderous voice, as the visitor oncemore gave tongue. 

"Garnet! GARNET!! GARNET!!!"

UKRIDGE'S SCHEME

II

Mr. Stanley Featherstonhaugh Ukridge dashed into the room, uttering aroar of welcome as he caught sight of Garnet, still standing petrifiedathwart his portmanteau. 

"My dear old man, " he shouted, springing at him and seizing his handin a clutch that effectually woke Garnet from his stupor. "How _are_you, old chap? This is good. By Jove, this is good! This is fine, what?"

He dashed back to the door and looked out. 

"Come on, Millie, " he shouted. 

Garnet was wondering who in the name of fortune Millie could possiblybe, when there appeared on the further side of Mr. Ukridge the figureof a young woman. She paused in the doorway, and smiled pleasantly. 

"Garnet, old horse, " said Ukridge with some pride, "let me introduceyou to my wife. Millie, this is old Garnet. You've heard me talk abouthim. "

"Oh, yes, " said Mrs. Ukridge. 

Garnet bowed awkwardly. The idea of Ukridge married was something toooverpowering to be assimilated on the instant. If ever there was a mandesigned by nature to be a bachelor, Stanley Ukridge was that man. Garnet could feel that he himself was not looking his best. He knew ina vague, impersonal way that his eyebrows were still somewhere in themiddle of his forehead, whither they had sprung in the first moment ofsurprise, and that his jaw, which had dropped, had not yet resumedits normal posture. Before committing himself to speech he made adetermined effort to revise his facial expression. 

"Buck up, old horse, " said Ukridge. He had a painful habit ofaddressing all and sundry by that title. In his school-master days hehad made use of it while interviewing the parents of new pupils, andthe latter had gone away, as a rule, with a feeling that this must beeither the easy manner of genius or spirits, and hoping for the best. Later, he had used it to perfect strangers in the streets. On oneoccasion he had been heard to address a bishop by that title. 

"Surprised to find me married, what? Garny, old boy"--sinking hisvoice to what was intended to be a whisper--"take my tip. You go anddo the same. You feel another man. Give up this bachelor business. It's a mug's game. Go and get married, my boy, go and get married. Bygad, I've forgotten to pay the cabby. Half a moment. "

He was out of the door and on his way downstairs before the echoes ofhis last remark had ceased to shake the window of the sitting room. Garnet was left to entertain Mrs. Ukridge. 

So far her share in the conversation had been small. Nobody talkedvery much when Ukridge was on the scene. She sat on the edge ofGarnet's big basket chair, looking very small and quiet. She smiledpleasantly, as she had done during the whole of the precedingdialogue. It was apparently her chief form of expression. 

Jerry Garnet felt very friendly toward her. He could not help pityingher. Ukridge, he thought, was a very good person to know casually, buta little of him, as his former headmaster had once said in a moody, reflective voice, went a very long way. To be bound to him for lifewas not the ideal state for a girl. If he had been a girl, he felt, he would as soon have married a volcano. 

"And she's so young, " he thought, as he looked across at the basketchair. "Quite a kid. "

"You and Stanley have known each other a long time, haven't you?" saidthe object of his pity, breaking the silence. 

"Yes. Oh, yes, " said Garnet. "Several years. We were masters at thesame school together. "

Mrs. Ukridge leaned forward with round, shining eyes. 

"Isn't he a _wonderful_ man, Mr. Garnet!" she said ecstatically. 

Not yet, to judge from her expression and the tone of her voice, hadshe had experience of the disadvantages attached to the position ofMrs. Stanley Ukridge. 

Garnet could agree with her there. 

"Yes, he is certainly wonderful, " he said. 

"I believe he could do anything. "

"Yes, " said Garnet. He believed that Ukridge was at least capable ofanything. 

"He has done so many things. Have you ever kept fowls?" she broke offwith apparent irrelevance. 

"No, " said Garnet. "You see, I spend so much of my time in town. Ishould find it difficult. "

Mrs. Ukridge 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 such a goodthing, don't you?"

"It is, " said Garnet, mystified. "But--"

"I have bought a shilling book called 'Fowls and All About Them, ' butit is very hard to understand. You see, we--but here is Stanley. Hewill explain it all. "

"Well, Garnet, old horse, " said Ukridge, reëntering the room afteranother energetic passage of the stairs, "settle down and let's talkbusiness. Found cabby gibbering on doorstep. Wouldn't believe I didn'twant to bilk him. Had to give him an extra shilling. But now, aboutbusiness. Lucky to find you in, because I've got a scheme for you, Garny, old boy. Yes, sir, the idea of a thousand years. Now listen tome for a moment. "

He sat down on the table and dragged a chair up as a leg rest. Then hetook off his pince-nez, wiped them, readjusted the wire behind hisears, and, having hit a brown patch on the knee of his gray flanneltrousers several times in the apparent hope of removing it, began tospeak. 

"About fowls, " he said. 

"What about them?" asked Garnet. The subject was beginning to interesthim. It showed a curious tendency to creep into the conversation. 

"I want you to give me your undivided attention for a moment, " saidUkridge. "I was saying to my wife only the other day: 'Garnet's theman. Clever man, Garnet. Full of ideas. ' Didn't I, Millie?"

"Yes, dear, " said Mrs. Ukridge, smiling. 

"Well?" said Garnet. 

"The fact is, " said Ukridge, with a Micawber-like burst of candor, "weare going to keep fowls. "

He stopped and looked at Garnet in order to see the effect of theinformation. Garnet bore it with fortitude. 

"Yes?" he said. 

Ukridge shifted himself farther on to the table and upset the inkpot. 

"Never mind, " he said, "it'll soak in. Don't you worry about that, youkeep listening to me. When I said we meant to keep fowls, I didn'tmean in a small sort of way--two cocks and a couple of hens and aping-pong ball for a nest egg. We are going to do it on a large scale. We are going to keep, " he concluded impressively, "a chicken farm!"

"A chicken farm, " echoed Mrs. Ukridge with an affectionate andadmiring glance at her husband. 

"Ah, " said Garnet, who felt his responsibilities as chorus. 

"I've thought it all out, " continued Ukridge, "and it's as clear asmud. No expenses, large profits, quick returns. Chickens, eggs, and nowork. By Jove, old man, it's the idea of a lifetime. Just listen to mefor a moment. You buy your hen--"

"One hen?" inquired Garnet. 

"Call it one for the sake of argument. It makes my calculationsclearer. Very well, then. You buy your hen. It lays an egg every dayof the week. You sell the eggs--say--six for fivepence. Keep of hencosts nothing. Profit at least fourpence, three farthings on everyhalf-dozen eggs. What do you think of that, Bartholomew?"

Garnet admitted that it sounded like an attractive scheme, butexpressed a wish to overhaul the figures in case of error. 

"Error!" shouted Ukridge, pounding the table with such energy that itgroaned beneath him. "Error? Not a bit of it. Can't you follow asimple calculation like that? The thing is, you see, you get youroriginal hen for next to nothing. That's to say, on tick. Anybody willlet you have a hen on tick. Now listen to me for a moment. You letyour hen set, and hatch chickens. Suppose you have a dozen hens. Verywell, then. When each of the dozen has a dozen chickens, you send theold hens back with thanks for the kind loan, and there you are, starting business with a hundred and forty-four free chickens to yourname. And after a bit, when the chickens grow up and begin to lay, allyou have to do is to sit back in your chair and gather in the bigchecks. Isn't that so, Millie?"

"Yes, dear, " said Mrs. Ukridge with shining eyes. 

"We've fixed it all up. Do you know Lyme Regis, in Dorsetshire? On theborders of Devon. Quiet little fishing village. Bathing. Sea air. Splendid scenery. Just the place for a chicken farm. I've been lookingafter that. A friend of my wife's has lent us a jolly old house withlarge grounds. All we've got to do is to get in the fowls. That's allright. I've ordered the first lot. We shall find them waiting for uswhen we arrive. "

"Well, " said Garnet, "I'm sure I wish you luck. Mind you let me knowhow you get on. "

"Let you know!" roared Ukridge. "Why, old horse, you've got to come, too. We shall take no refusal. Shall we, Millie?"

"No, dear, " murmured Mrs. Ukridge. 

"Of course not, " said Ukridge. "No refusal of any sort. Pack upto-night, and meet us at Waterloo to-morrow. "

"It's awfully good of you--" began Garnet a little blankly. 

"Not a bit of it, not a bit of it. This is pure business. I was sayingto my wife when we came in that you were the very man for us. 'If oldGarnet's in town, ' I said, 'we'll have him. A man with his flow ofideas will be invaluable on a chicken farm. ' Didn't I, Millie?"

Mrs. Ukridge murmured the response. 

"You see, I'm one of these practical men. I go straight ahead, following my nose. What you want in a business of this sort is a touchof the dreamer to help out the practical mind. We look to you forsuggestions, Montmorency. Timely suggestions with respect to thecomfort and upbringing of the fowls. And you can work. I've seen you. Of course you take your share of the profits. That's understood. Yes, yes, I must insist. Strict business between friends. We must arrangeit all when we get down there. My wife is the secretary of the firm. She has been writing letters to people, asking for fowls. So you seeit's a thoroughly organized concern. There's money in it, old horse. Don't you forget that. "

"We should be so disappointed if you did not come, " said Mrs. Ukridge, lifting her childlike eyes to Garnet's face. 

Garnet stood against the mantelpiece and pondered. In after years herecognized that that moment marked an epoch in his life. If he hadrefused the invitation, he would not have--but, to quote the oldnovelists, we anticipate. At any rate, he would have missed aremarkable experience. It is not given to everyone to see Mr. StanleyUkridge manage a chicken farm. 

"The fact is, " he said at last, "I was thinking of going somewherewhere I could get some golf. "

Ukridge leaped on the table triumphantly. 

"Lyme Regis is just the place for you, then. Perfect hotbed of golf. Fine links at the top of the hill, not half a mile from the farm. Bring your clubs. You'll be able to have a round or two in theafternoons. Get through serious work by lunch time. "

"You know, " said Garnet, "I am absolutely inexperienced as regardsfowls. "

"Excellent!" said Ukridge. "Then you're just the man. You will bringto the work a mind entirely unclouded by theories. You will act solelyby the light of your intelligence. "

"Er--yes, " said Garnet. 

"I wouldn't have a professional chicken farmer about the place if hepaid to come. Natural intelligence is what we want. Then we can relyon you?"

"Very well, " said Garnet slowly. "It's very kind of you to ask me. "

"It's business, Cuthbert, business. Very well, then. We shall catchthe eleven-twenty at Waterloo. Don't miss it. You book to Axminster. Look out for me on the platform. If I see you first, I'll shout. "

Garnet felt that that promise rang true. 

"Then good-by for the present. Millie, we must be off. Till to-morrow, Garnet. "

"Good-by, Mr. Garnet, " said Mrs. Ukridge. 

Looking back at the affair after the lapse of years, Garnet wasaccustomed to come to the conclusion that she was the one patheticfigure in the farce. Under what circumstances she had married Ukridgehe did not learn till later. He was also uncertain whether at anymoment in her career she regretted it. But it was certainly patheticto witness her growing bewilderment during the weeks that followed, asthe working of Ukridge's giant mind was unfolded to her little bylittle. Life, as Ukridge understood the word, must have struck her asa shade too full of incident to be really comfortable. Garnet was wontto console himself by the hope that her very genuine love for herhusband, and his equally genuine love for her, was sufficient tosmooth out the rough places of life. 

As he returned to his room, after showing his visitors to the door, the young man upstairs, who had apparently just finished breakfast, burst once more into song:

 "We'll never come back no more, boys, We'll never come back no more. "

Garnet could hear him wedding appropriate dance to the music. 

"Not for a few weeks, at any rate, " he said to himself, as he startedhis packing at the point where he had left off. 

A GIRL WITH BROWN HAIR

III

Waterloo station is one of the things which no fellow can understand. Thousands come to it, thousands go from it. Porters grow gray-headedbeneath its roof. Buns, once fresh and tender, become hard andmisanthropic in its refreshment rooms, and look as if they had seenthe littleness of existence and were disillusioned. But there thestation stands, year after year, wrapped in a discreet gloom, alwaysthe same, always baffling and inscrutable. Not even the portersunderstand it. "I couldn't say, sir, " is the civil but unsatisfyingreply with which research is met. Now and then one, more gifted thanhis colleagues, will inform the traveler that his train starts from"No. 3 or No. 7, " but a moment's reflection and he hedges with No. 12. 

Waterloo is the home of imperfect knowledge. The booking clerks cannotstate in a few words where tickets may be bought for any station. Theyare only certain that they themselves cannot sell them. 

 * * * * *

The gloom of the station was lightened on the following morning at tenminutes to eleven when Mr. Garnet arrived to catch the train toAxminster, by several gleams of sunshine and a great deal of bustleand movement on the various platforms. A cheery activity pervaded theplace. Porters on every hand were giving their celebrated imitationsof the car of Juggernaut, throwing as a sop to the wounded a crisp "byyour leave. " Agitated ladies were pouring forth questions with therapidity of machine guns. Long queues surged at the mouths of thebooking offices, inside which soured clerks, sending lost sheep emptyaway, were learning once more their lesson of the innate folly ofmankind. Other crowds collected at the bookstalls, and the bookstallkeeper was eying with dislike men who were under the impression thatthey were in a free library. 

An optimistic porter had relieved Garnet of his portmanteau and golfclubs as he stepped out of his cab, and had arranged to meet him onNo. 6 platform, from which, he asserted, with the quiet confidencewhich has made Englishmen what they are, the eleven-twenty would starton its journey to Axminster. Unless, he added, it went from No. 4. 

Garnet, having bought a ticket, after drawing blank at two bookingoffices, made his way to the bookstall. Here he inquired, in a loud, penetrating voice, if they had got "Mr. Jeremy Garnet's last novel, 'The Maneuvers of Arthur. '" Being informed that they had not, heclicked his tongue cynically, advised the man in charge to order thatwork, as the demand for it might be expected shortly to be large, andspent a shilling on a magazine and some weekly papers. Then, with tenminutes to spare, he went off in search of Ukridge. 

He found him on platform No. 6. The porter's first choice was, itseemed, correct. The eleven-twenty was already alongside the platform, and presently Garnet observed his porter cleaving a path toward himwith the portmanteau and golf clubs. 

"Here you are!" shouted Ukridge. "Good for you. Thought you were goingto miss it. "

Garnet shook hands with the smiling Mrs. Ukridge. 

"I've got a carriage, " said Ukridge, "and collared two corner seats. My wife goes down in another. She dislikes the smell of smoke whenshe's traveling. Let's pray that we get the carriage to ourselves. Butall London seems to be here this morning. Get in, old horse. I'll justsee her ladyship into her carriage and come back to you. "

Garnet entered the compartment, and stood at the door, looking out inorder, after the friendly manner of the traveling Briton, to thwart aninvasion of fellow-travelers. Then he withdrew his head suddenly andsat down. An elderly gentleman, accompanied by a girl, was comingtoward him. It was not this type of fellow-traveler whom he hoped tokeep out. He had noticed the girl at the booking office. She hadwaited by the side of the line, while the elderly gentleman struggledgamely for the tickets, and he had plenty of opportunity of observingher appearance. For five minutes he had debated with himself as towhether her hair should rightly be described as brown or golden. Hehad decided finally on brown. It then became imperative that he shouldascertain the color of her eyes. Once only had he met them, and thenonly for a second. They might be blue. They might be gray. He couldnot be certain. The elderly gentleman came to the door of thecompartment and looked in. 

"This seems tolerably empty, my dear Phyllis, " he said. 

Garnet, his glance fixed on his magazine, made a note of the name. Itharmonized admirably with the hair and the eyes of elusive color. 

"You are sure you do not object to a smoking carriage, my dear?"

"Oh, no, father. Not at all. "

Garnet told himself that the voice was just the right sort of voice togo with the hair, the eyes, and the name. 

"Then I think--" said the elderly gentleman, getting in. Theinflection of his voice suggested the Irishman. It was not a brogue. There were no strange words. But the general effect was Irish. Garnetcongratulated himself. Irishmen are generally good company. AnIrishman with a pretty daughter should be unusually good company. 

The bustle on the platform had increased momently, until now, when, from the snorting of the engine, it seemed likely that the train mightstart at any minute, the crowd's excitement was extreme. Shrill criesechoed down the platform. Lost sheep, singly and in companies, rushedto and fro, peering eagerly into carriages in the search for seats. Piercing cries ordered unknown "Tommies" and "Ernies" to "keep byaunty, now. " Just as Ukridge returned, the dreaded "Get in anywhere"began to be heard, and the next moment an avalanche of warm humanitypoured into the carriage. A silent but bitter curse framed itself onGarnet's lips. His chance of pleasant conversation with the lady ofthe brown hair and the eyes that were either gray or blue was at anend. 

The newcomers consisted of a middle-aged lady, addressed as aunty; ayouth called Albert, subsequently described by Garnet as the rudestboy on earth--a proud title, honestly won; lastly, a niece of sometwenty years, stolid and seemingly without interest in life. 

Ukridge slipped into his corner, adroitly foiling Albert, who had madea dive in that direction. Albert regarded him fixedly for a space, then sank into the seat beside Garnet and began to chew somethinggrewsome that smelled of aniseed. 

Aunty, meanwhile, was distributing her weight evenly between the toesof the Irish gentleman and those of his daughter, as she leaned out ofthe window to converse with a lady friend in a straw hat and haircurlers. Phyllis, he noticed, was bearing it with angelic calm. Herprofile, when he caught sight of it round aunty, struck him as alittle cold, even haughty. That, however, might be due to what she wassuffering. It is unfair to judge a lady's character from her face, ata moment when she is in a position of physical discomfort. The trainmoved off with a jerk in the middle of a request on the part of thestraw-hatted lady that her friend would "remember that, you know, about _him_, " and aunty, staggering back, sat down on a bag of foodwhich Albert had placed on the seat beside him. 

"Clumsy!" observed Albert tersely. 

"Al_bert_, you mustn't speak to aunty so. "

"Wodyer want sit on my bag for, then?" inquired Albert. 

They argued the point. 

Garnet, who should have been busy studying character for a novel ofthe lower classes, took up his magazine and began to read. The odor ofaniseed became more and more painful. Ukridge had lighted a cigar, andGarnet understood why Mrs. Ukridge preferred to travel in anothercompartment. For "in his hand he bore the brand which none but hemight smoke. "

Garnet looked stealthily across the carriage to see how his lady ofthe hair and eyes was enduring this combination of evils, and noticedthat she, too, had begun to read. And as she put down the book to lookout of the window at the last view of London, he saw with a thrillthat it was "The Maneuvers of Arthur. " Never before had he come upon astranger reading his work. And if "The Maneuvers of Arthur" could makethe reader oblivious to surroundings such as these, then, felt Garnet, it was no common book--a fact which he had long since suspected. 

The train raced on toward the sea. It was a warm day, and a torpidpeace began to settle down on the carriage. 

Soon only Garnet, the Irishman, and the lady were awake. 

"What's your book, me dear?" asked the Irishman. 

"'The Maneuvers of Arthur, ' father, " said Phyllis. "By Jeremy Garnet. "

Garnet would not have believed without the evidence of his ears thathis name could possibly have sounded so well. 

"Dolly Strange gave it to me when I left the abbey, " continuedPhyllis. "She keeps a shelf of books for her guests when they aregoing away. Books that she considers rubbish and doesn't want, youknow. "

Garnet hated Dolly Strange without further evidence. 

"And what do you think of it, me dear?"

"I like it, " said Phyllis decidedly. The carriage swam beforeGarnet's eyes. "I think it is very clever. I shall keep it. "

"Bless you, " thought Garnet, "and I will write my precious autographon every page, if you want it. "

"I wonder who Jeremy Garnet is?" said Phyllis. "I imagine him ratheran old young man, probably with an eyeglass and conceited. He must beconceited. I can tell that from the style. And I should think hedidn't know many girls. At least, if he thinks Pamela Grant anordinary sort of girl. "

"Is she not?" asked her father. 

"She's a cr-r-reature, " said Phyllis emphatically. 

This was a blow to Garnet, and demolished the self-satisfaction whichher earlier criticisms had caused to grow within him. He had alwayslooked on Pamela as something very much out of the ordinary run offeminine character studies. That scene between her and the curate inthe conservatory. .. . And when she finds Arthur at the meet of theBlankshire. .. . He was sorry she did not like Pamela. Somehow itlowered Pamela in his estimation. 

"But I like Arthur, " said Phyllis, and she smiled--the first timeGarnet had seen her do so. 

Garnet also smiled to himself. Arthur was the hero. He was a youngwriter. Ergo, Arthur was himself. 

The train was beginning to slow down. Signs of returning animationbegan to be noticeable among the sleepers. A whistle from the engine, and the train drew up in a station. Looking out of the window, Garnetsaw that it was Yeovil. There was a general exodus. Aunty becameinstantly a thing of dash and electricity, collected parcels, shookAlbert, replied to his thrusts with repartee, and finally headed astampede out of the door. 

To Garnet's chagrin the Irish gentleman and his daughter also rose. Apparently this was to be the end of their brief acquaintanceship. They alighted and walked down the platform. 

"Where are we?" said Ukridge sleepily, opening his eyes. "Yeovil? Notfar now, old horse. "

With which remark he closed his eyes again and returned to hisslumbers. 

Garnet's eye, roving disconsolately over the carriage, was caught bysomething lying in the far corner. It was the criticized "Maneuvers ofArthur. " The girl had left it behind. 

What follows shows the vanity that obsesses our young and risingauthors. It did not enter into his mind that the book might have beenleft behind of set purpose, as being of no further use to the owner. It only occurred to him that if he did not act swiftly the lady of thehair and eyes would suffer a loss beside which the loss of a purse ora hand bag were trivial. 

He acted swiftly. 

Five seconds later he was at the end of the platform, flushed butcourteous. 

"Excuse me, " he said, "I think--"

"Thank you, " said the girl. 

Garnet made his way back to his carriage. 

"They are blue, " he said. 

THE ARRIVAL

IV

From Axminster to Lyme Regis the line runs through country as prettyas any that can be found in the island, and the train, as if inappreciation of this fact, does not hurry over the journey. It waslate afternoon by the time the chicken farmers reached theirdestination. 

The arrangements for the carrying of luggage at Lyme Regis border onthe primitive. Boxes are left on the platform, and later, when hethinks of it, a carrier looks in and conveys them down into the valleyand up the hill on the opposite side to the address written on thelabels. The owner walks. Lyme Regis is not a place for the halt andmaimed. 

Ukridge led his band in the direction of the farm, which lay acrossthe valley, looking through woods to the sea. The place was visiblefrom the station, from which, indeed, standing as it did on the top ofa hill, the view was extensive. 

Halfway up the slope on the other side of the valley the party leftthe road and made their way across a spongy field, Ukridge explainingthat this was a short cut. They climbed through a hedge, crossed astream and another field, and after negotiating a difficult banktopped with barbed wire, found themselves in a kitchen garden. 

Ukridge mopped his forehead and restored his pince-nez to theiroriginal position, from which the passage of the barbed wire haddislodged them. 

"This is the place, " he said. "We have come in by the back way. Itsaves time. Tired, Millie?"

"No, dear, thank you. "

"Without being tired, " said Garnet, "I am distinctly ready for tea. What are the prospects?"

"That'll be all right, " said Ukridge, "don't you worry. A mostcompetent man, of the name of Beale, and his wife are in charge atpresent. I wrote to them telling them that we were coming to-day. Theywill be ready for us. "

They were at the front door by this time. Ukridge rang the bell. Thenoise reëchoed through the house, but there were no answeringfootsteps. He rang again. There is no mistaking the note of a bell inan empty house. It was plain that the most competent man and his wifewere out. 

"Now what are you going to do?" said Garnet. 

Mrs. Ukridge looked at her husband with quiet confidence. 

Ukridge fell back on reminiscence. 

"This, " he said, leaning against the door and endeavoring to buttonhis collar at the back, "reminds me of an afternoon in the Argentine. Two other men and myself tried for three quarters of an hour to getinto an empty house, where there looked as if there might be somethingto eat, and we'd just got the door open when the owner turned up frombehind a tree with a shotgun. It was a little difficult to explain. There was a dog, too. We were glad to say good-by. "

At this moment history partially repeated itself. From the other sideof the door came a dissatisfied whine, followed by a short bark. 

"Halloo, " said Ukridge, "Beale has a dog. "

"And the dog, " said Garnet, "will have us if we're not careful. Whatare you going to do?"

"Let's try the back, " said Ukridge. "We must get in. What right, " headded with pathos, "has a beastly mongrel belonging to a man I employto keep me out of my own house? It's a little hard. Here am I, slavingto support Beale, and when I try to get into my house, his infernaldog barks at me. But we will try kindness first. Let me get to thekeyhole. I will parley with the animal. "

He put his mouth to the keyhole and roared the soothing words "Goo'dog!" through it. Instantly the door shook as some heavy object hurleditself against it. The barking rang through the house. 

"Kindness seems to be a drug in the market, " said Garnet. "Do you seeyour way to trying a little force?"

"I'll tell you what we'll do, " said Ukridge, rising. "We'll go roundand get in at the kitchen window. "

"And how long are we to stay there? Till the dog dies?"

"I never saw such a man as you, " protested Ukridge. "You have aperfect mania for looking on the dark side. The dog won't guard thekitchen door. We shall manage to shut him up somewhere. "

"Oh, " said Garnet. 

"And now let's get in and have something to eat, for goodness' sake. "

The kitchen window proved to be insecurely latched. Ukridge flung itopen and they climbed in. 

The dog, hearing the sound of voices, raced back along the passage andflung himself at the door. He then proceeded to scratch at the panelsin the persevering way of one who feels that he is engaged upon abusiness at which he is a specialist. 

Inside the kitchen, Ukridge took command. 

"Never mind the dog, " he said, "let it scratch. "

"I thought, " said Garnet, "we were going to shut it up somewhere?"

"Go out and shut it into the dining room, then. Personally, I mean tohave some tea. Millie, you know how to light a fire. Garnet and I willbe collecting cups and things. When that scoundrel Beale arrives, Ishall tear him limb from limb. Deserting us like this! The man must bea thorough fraud. He told me he was an old soldier. If this was thesort of discipline they used to keep in his regiment, I don't wonderthat the service is going to the dogs. There goes a plate! How is thefire getting on, Millie? I'll chop Beale into little bits. What's thatyou've got there, Garny, old horse? Tea? Good! Where's the bread?There! Another plate. Look here, I'll give that dog three minutes, andif it doesn't stop scratching that door by then, I'll take the breadknife and go out and have a soul-to-soul talk with it. It's a littlehard. My own house, and the first thing I find in it when I arrive issomebody else's beastly dog scratching holes in the doors. Stop it, you beast!"

The dog's reply was to continue his operations _piu mosso_. 

Ukridge's eyes gleamed behind their glasses. 

"Give me a good large jug, " he said with ominous calm. 

He took the largest of the jugs from the dresser and strode with itinto the scullery, whence came the sound of running water. He returnedcarrying the jug in both hands. His mien was that of a general whosees his way to a master stroke of strategy. 

"Garny, old horse, " he said, "tack on to the handle, and when I givethe word fling wide the gates. Then watch that beast beyond the doorget the surprise of its lifetime. "

Garnet attached himself to the handle as directed. Ukridge gave theword. They had a momentary vision of an excited dog of the mongrelclass framed in the open doorway, all eyes and teeth; then the passagewas occupied by a spreading pool, and indignant barks from thedistance told that the mongrel was thinking the thing over in somesafe retreat. 

"Settled _his_ hash, " said Ukridge complacently. "Nothing likeresource, Garnet, my boy. Some men would have gone on letting a gooddoor be ruined. "

"And spoiled the dog for a ha-porth of water, " said Garnet. "I supposewe shall have to clean up that mess some time. "

"There you go, " said Ukridge, "looking on the dark side. Be anoptimist, my boy, be an optimist. Beale and Mrs. Beale shall cleanthat passage as a penance. How is the fire, Millie?"

"The kettle is just boiling, dear. "

Over a cup of tea Ukridge became the man of business. 

[Illustration: They had a momentary vision of an excited dog, framedin the doorway. ]

"I wonder when those fowls are going to arrive. They should have beenhere to-day. If they don't come to-morrow, I shall lodge a complaint. There must be no slackness. They must bustle about. After tea I'llshow you the garden, and we will choose a place for a fowl run. To-morrow we must buckle to. Serious work will begin immediately afterbreakfast. "

"Suppose, " said Garnet, "the fowls arrive before we are ready forthem?"

"Why, then, they must wait. "

"But you can't keep fowls cooped up indefinitely in a crate. I supposethey will come in a crate. I don't know much about these things. "

"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 ofdoing things if you look for it. "

"I hope you are going to let the hens hatch some of the eggs, Stanley, dear, " said Mrs. Ukridge. "I should so love to have some dearlittle chickens. "

"Of course, " said Ukridge. "My idea was this: These people will sendus fifty fowls of sorts. That means--call it forty eggs a day. Let 'emhatch out thirty a day, and we will use the other ten for the table. We shall want at least ten. Well, I'm hanged, that dog again! Where'sthat jug?"

But this time an unforeseen interruption prevented the maneuver frombeing the success it had been before. Garnet had turned the handle, and was just about to pull the door open, while Ukridge, looking likesome modern and dilapidated version of Discobolus, stood beside himwith his jug poised, when a hoarse voice spoke from the window. 

"Stand still!" said the voice, "or I'll corpse you. "

Garnet dropped the handle, Ukridge dropped the jug, Mrs. Ukridgescreamed. 

At the window, with a double-barreled gun in his hands, stood a short, square, red-headed man. The muzzle of his gun, which rested on thesill, was pointing in a straight line at the third button of Garnet'swaistcoat. With a distant recollection of the Deadwood Dick literatureof his childhood, Garnet flung both hands above his head. 

Ukridge emitted a roar like that of a hungry lion. 

"Beale!" he shouted. "You scoundrelly, unprincipled blackguard! Whatare you doing with that gun? Why were you out? What have you beendoing? Why did you shout like that? Look what you've made me do. "

He pointed to the floor. Broken crockery, spreading water, his ownshoes--exceedingly old tennis shoes--well soaked, attested the factthat damage had been done. 

"Lor'! Mr. Ukridge, sir, is that you?" said the red-headed man calmly. "I thought you was burglars. "

A sharp bark from the other side of the kitchen door, followed by arenewal of the scratching, drew Mr. Beale's attention to his faithfulhound. 

"That's Bob, " he said. 

"I don't know what you call the brute, " said Ukridge. "Come in and tiehim up. "

"'Ow am I to get in, Mr. Ukridge, sir?"

"Come in through the window, and mind what you're doing with that gun. After you've finished with the dog, I should like a brief chat withyou, if you can spare the time and have no other engagements. "

Mr. Beale, having carefully deposited his gun against the wall of thekitchen, and dropped a pair of very limp rabbits with a thud to thefloor, proceeded to climb through the window. This operationperformed, he stood on one side while the besieged garrison passed outby the same road. 

"You will find me in the garden, Beale, " said Ukridge. "I have one ortwo little things to say to you. "

Mr. Beale grinned affably. 

The cool air of the garden was grateful after the warmth of thekitchen. It was a pretty garden, or would have been, if it had notbeen so neglected. Garnet seemed to see himself sitting in a deckchair on the lawn, looking through the leaves of the trees at theharbor below. It was a spot, he felt, in which it would be an easy andpleasant task to shape the plot of his novel. He was glad he had come. About now, outside his lodgings in town, a particularly lethal barrelorgan would be striking up the latest revolting air with which thehalls had inflicted London. 

"Here you are, Beale, " said Ukridge, as the red-headed man approached. "Now, then, what have you to say?"

The hired man looked thoughtful for a while, then observed that it wasa fine evening. Garnet felt that he was begging the question. He was astrong, healthy man, and should have scorned to beg. 

"Fine evening?" shouted Ukridge. "What--on--earth has that got to dowith it? I want to know why you and Mrs. Beale were both out when wearrived?"

"The missus went to Axminster, Mr. Ukridge, sir. "

"She had no right to go to Axminster. I don't pay her large sums to goto Axminster. You knew I was coming this evening. "

"No, Mr. Ukridge, sir. "

"You didn't!"

"No, Mr. Ukridge, sir. "

"Beale, " said Ukridge with studied calm, "one of us two is a fool. "

"I noticed that, sir. "

"Let us sift this matter to the bottom. You got my letter?"

"No, Mr. Ukridge, sir. "

"My letter saying that I should arrive to-night. You did not get it?"

"No, sir. "

"Now look here, Beale, " said Ukridge, "I am certain that that letterwas posted. I remember placing it in my pocket for that purpose. It isnot there now. See. These are all the contents of my--well, I'mhanged!"

He stood looking at the envelope he had produced from his breastpocket. Mr. Beale 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. "

"Anyhow, " said Ukridge, in inspired tones, "I'll go and slay thatinfernal dog. Where's your gun, Beale?"

But better counsels prevailed, and the proceedings closed with a coldbut pleasant little dinner, at which the spared mongrel came outunexpectedly strong with brainy and diverting tricks. 

BUCKLING TO

V

Sunshine, streaming into his bedroom through the open window, wokeGarnet next day as distant clocks were striking eight. It was a lovelymorning, cool and fresh. The grass of the lawn, wet with dew, sparkledin the sun. A thrush, who knew all about early birds and theirperquisites, was filling in the time before the arrival of the wormwith a song or two as he sat in the bushes. In the ivy a colony ofsparrows were opening the day well with a little brisk fighting. Onthe gravel in front of the house lay the mongrel Bob, blinking lazily. 

The gleam of the sea through the trees turned Garnet's thoughts tobathing. He dressed quickly and went out. Bob rose to meet him, waving an absurdly long tail. The hatchet was definitely buried now. That little matter of the jug of water was forgotten. 

"Well, Bob, " said Garnet, "coming down to watch me bathe?"

Bob uttered a bark of approval and ran before him to the gate. 

A walk of five minutes brought Garnet to the sleepy little town. Hepassed through the narrow street, and turned on to the beach, walkingin the direction of the cob, that combination of pier and breakwaterwhich the misadventures of one of Jane Austen's young misses have madeknown to the outside public. 

The tide was high, and Garnet, leaving his clothes to the care of Bob, dived into twelve feet of clear, cold water. As he swam he compared itwith the morning tub of town, and felt that he had done well to comewith Ukridge to this pleasant spot. But he could not rely on unbrokencalm during the whole of his visit. He did not know a great deal aboutchicken farming, but he was certain that Ukridge knew less. Therewould be some strenuous moments before that farm became a profitablecommercial speculation. At the thought of Ukridge toiling on a hotafternoon to manage an undisciplined mob of fowls, and becoming moreand more heated and voluble in the struggle, he laughed and promptlyswallowed a generous mouthful of salt water. There are few thingswhich depress the swimmer more than an involuntary draught of water. Garnet turned and swam back to Bob and the clothes. 

As he strolled back along the beach he came upon a small, elderlygentleman toweling his head in a vigorous manner. Hearing Garnet'sfootsteps, he suspended this operation for a moment and peered out athim from beneath a turban of towel. 

It was the elderly Irishman of the journey, the father of theblue-eyed Phyllis. Then they had come on to Lyme Regis after all. Garnet stopped, with some idea of going back and speaking to him; butrealizing that they were perfect strangers, he postponed this actionand followed Bob up the hill. In a small place like Lyme Regis itwould surely not be difficult to find somebody who would introducethem. He cursed the custom which made such a thing necessary. In aproperly constituted country everybody would know everybody elsewithout fuss or trouble. 

He found Ukridge, in his shirt sleeves and minus a collar, assailing alarge ham. Mrs. Ukridge, looking younger and more childlike than everin brown holland, smiled at him over the teapot. 

"Here he is!" shouted Ukridge, catching sight of him. "Where have youbeen, old horse? I went to your room, but you weren't there. Bathing?Hope it's made you feel fit for work, because we've got to buckle tothis morning. "

"The fowls have arrived, Mr. Garnet, " said Mrs. Ukridge, opening hereyes till she looked like an astonished kitten. "_Such_ a lot of them!They're making such a noise!"

And to support her statement there floated through the window acackling, which, for volume and variety of key, beat anything thatGarnet had ever heard. Judging from the noise, it seemed as if Englandhad been drained of fowls and the entire tribe of them dumped into theyard of the Ukridge's farm. 

"There seems to have been no stint, " he said, sitting down. "Did youorder a million or only nine hundred thousand?"

"Good many, aren't there?" said Ukridge complacently. "But that'swhat we want. No good starting on a small scale. The more you have, the bigger the profits. "

"What sort have you got mostly?"

"Oh, all sorts. Bless you, people don't mind what breed a fowl is, solong as it _is_ a fowl. These dealer chaps were so infernallyparticular. 'Any Dorkings?' they said. 'All right, ' I said, 'bring onyour Dorkings. ' 'Or perhaps you want a few Minorcas?' 'Very well, ' Isaid, 'show Minorcas. ' They were going on--they'd have gone on forhours, but I stopped 'em. 'Look here, Maximilian, ' I said to themanager Johnny--decent old chap, with the manners of a marquis--'lookhere, ' I said, 'life is short, and we're neither of us as young as weused to be. Don't let us waste the golden hours playing guessinggames. I want fowls. You sell fowls. So give me some of all sorts. 'And he has, by Jove! 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 mudfor them to scratch about in, and they can go into the field when theywant to, and pick up worms, or whatever they feed on. We must rig themup some sort of a shanty, I suppose, this morning. We'll go and tell'em to send up some wire netting and stuff from the town. "

"Then we shall want hencoops. We shall have to make those. "

"Of course. So we shall. Millie, didn't I tell you that old Garnet wasthe man to think of things! I forgot the coops. We can't buy some, Isuppose? On tick?"

"Cheaper to make them. Suppose we get a lot of boxes. Soap boxes areas good as any. It won't take long to knock up a few coops. "

Ukridge thumped the table with enthusiasm. 

"Garny, old horse, you're a marvel. You think of everything. We'llbuckle to right away. What a noise those fowls are making. I supposethey don't feel at home in the yard. Wait till they see the A1residential mansions we're going to put up for them. Finishedbreakfast? Then let's go out. Come along, Millie. "

The red-headed Beale, discovered leaning in an attitude of thought onthe yard gate, and observing the feathered mob below, was roused fromhis reflections and dispatched to the town for the wire and soapboxes. Ukridge, taking his place at the gate, gazed at the fowls withthe affectionate eye of a proprietor. 

"Well, they have certainly taken you at your word, " said Garnet, "asfar as variety is concerned. "

The man with the manners of a marquis seemed to have been at greatpains to send a really representative supply of fowls. There were blueones, black ones, white, gray, yellow, brown, big, little, Dorkings, Minorcas, Cochin Chinas, Bantams, Orpingtons, Wyandottes, and a hostmore. It was an imposing spectacle. 

The hired man returned toward the end of the morning, preceded by acart containing the necessary wire and boxes, and Ukridge, whoseenthusiasm brooked no delay, started immediately the task offashioning the coops, while Garnet, assisted by Beale, draped the wirenetting about the chosen spot next to the paddock. There were littleunpleasantnesses--once a roar of anguish told that Ukridge's hammerhad found the wrong billet, and on another occasion Garnet's flanneltrousers suffered on the wire--but the work proceeded steadily. By themiddle of the afternoon things were in a sufficiently advanced stateto suggest to Ukridge the advisability of a halt for refreshments. 

"That's the way to do it, " said he. "At this rate we shall have theplace in A1 condition before bedtime. What do you think of those forcoops, Beale?"

The hired man examined them gravely. 

"I've seen worse, sir. "

He continued his examination. 

"But not many, " he added. Beale's passion for truth had made himunpopular in three regiments. 

"They aren't so bad, " said Garnet, "but I'm glad I'm not a fowl. "

"So you ought to be, " said Ukridge, "considering the way you've put upthat wire. You'll have them strangling themselves. "

In spite of earnest labor, the housing arrangements of the fowls werestill in an incomplete state at the end of the day. The details of theevening's work are preserved in a letter which Garnet wrote thatnight to his friend Lickford. 

 * * * * *

". .. Have you ever played a game called 'Pigs in Clover'? We have justfinished a bout of it (with hens instead of marbles) which has lastedfor 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 tothe beach. Wants some exercise, I suppose. Personally, I feel as if Ishould never move again. I have run faster and farther than I havedone since I was at school. You have no conception of the difficultyof rounding up fowls and getting them safely to bed. Having no properplace to put them, we were obliged to stow some of them inside soapboxes and the rest in the basement. It has only just occurred to methat they ought to have had perches to roost on. It didn't strike mebefore. I shall not mention it to Ukridge, or that indomitable manwill start making some, and drag me into it, too. After all, a hen canrough it for one night, and if I did a stroke more work I shouldcollapse. 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 wouldhave taken some time, but there would have been no confusion. But youcan imagine that that sort of thing would not appeal to Ukridge. Thereis a touch of the Napoleon about him. He likes his maneuvers to bedaring and on a large scale. He said: 'Open the yard gate and let thefowls come out into the open, then sail in and drive them in a massthrough the back door into the basement. ' It was a great idea, butthere was one fatal flaw in it. It didn't allow for the hensscattering. We opened the gate, and out they all came like an audiencecoming out of a theater. Then we closed in on them to bring off thebig drive. For about three seconds it looked as if we might do it. Then Bob, the hired man's dog, an animal who likes to be in whatever'sgoing on, rushed out of the house into the middle of them, barking. There was a perfect stampede, and Heaven only knows where some ofthose fowls are now. There was one in particular, a large yellow bird, which, I should imagine, is nearing London by this time. The last Isaw of it, it was navigating at the rate of knots, so to speak, inthat direction, with Bob after it barking his hardest. Presently Bobcame back, panting, having evidently given up the job. We, in themeantime, were chasing the rest of the birds all over the garden. Thething had now resolved itself into the course of action I hadsuggested originally, except that instead of collecting them quietlyand 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(fancy him married; did you know?) stood at the door. We chased thehens and brought them in. Then as we put each through into thebasement, she shut the door on it. We also arranged Ukridge's soap-boxcoops in a row, and when we caught a fowl we put it into the coop andstuck a board in front of it. By these strenuous means we gathered inabout two thirds of the lot. The rest are all over England. A few maybe 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 ongood, sound, Ukridge principles. This is only the beginning. I lookwith confidence for further exciting events. I believe, if Ukridgekept white mice, he would manage to knock some feverish excitement outof it. He is at present lying on the sofa, smoking one of his infernalbrand of cigars. From the basement I can hear faintly the murmur ofinnumerable fowls. We are a happy family; we are, we _are_, we ARE!

"P. S. Have you ever caught a fowl and carried it to roost? You takeit under the wings, and the feel of it sets one's teeth on edge. It isa grisly experience. All the time you are carrying it, it makes faintprotesting noises and struggles feebly to escape. 

"P. P. S. You know the opinion of Pythagoras respecting fowls. That'the soul of our granddam might haply inhabit a bird. ' I hope thatyellow hen which Bob chased into the purple night is not thegrandmamma of any friend of mine. "

A REUNION

VI

The day was Thursday, the date July the twenty-second. We had beenchicken farmers for a whole week, and things were beginning to settledown to a certain extent. The coops were finished. They were notmasterpieces, and I have seen chickens pause before them in deepthought, as who should say: "Now what in the world have we struckhere?" But they were coops, within the meaning of the act, and weinduced the hens to become tenants. The hardest work had been thefixing of the wire netting. This was the department of the hired manand myself. Beale and I worked ourselves into a fever in the sun, while the senior partner of the firm sat in the house, writing outplans and ideas and scribbling down his accounts (which must have beencomplicated) on gilt-edged correspondence cards. From time to time heabused his creditors, who were numerous. 

Ukridge's financial methods were always puzzling to the ordinary mind. We had hardly been at the farm a day before he began to order in avast supply of necessary and unnecessary articles--all on credit. Somehe got from the village, others from neighboring towns. He has a waywith him, like Father O'Flynn, and the tradesmen behaved beautifully. The things began to pour in from all sides--suits, groceries (of thevery best), a piano, a gramophone, and pictures of all kinds. He wasnot one of those men who want but little here below. He wanted a greatdeal, and of a superior quality. If a tradesman suggested that a smallcheck on account would not be taken amiss, as one or two sordidfellows of the village did, he became pathetic. 

"Confound it, sir, " he would say with tears in his voice, laying ahand on the man's shoulder in an elder brotherly way, "it's a triflehard when a gentleman comes to settle here, that you should dun himfor things before he has settled the preliminary expenses about hishouse. "

This sounded well, and suggested the disbursement of huge sums forrent. The fact that the house had been lent him rent free was keptwith some care in the background. Having weakened the man with pathos, he would strike a sterner note. "A little more of this, " he would goon, "and I'll close my account. As it is, I think I will remove mypatronage to a firm which will treat me civilly. Why, sir, I've neverheard anything like it in all my experience. " Upon which the manwould knuckle under and go away forgiven, with a large order for moregoods. 

Once, when Ukridge and I were alone, I ventured to expostulate. Highfinance was always beyond my mental grasp. "Pay?" he exclaimed, "ofcourse we shall pay. You don't seem to realize the possibilities ofthis business. Garny, my boy, we are on to a big thing. The moneyisn't coming in yet. We must give it time. But soon we shall beturning over hundreds every week. I am in touch with Whiteley's andHarrod's and all the big places. Perfectly simple business matter. Here I am, I said, with a large chicken farm with all the modernimprovements. You want eggs, I said. I supply them. I will let youhave so many hundred eggs a week, I said; what will you give for them?Well, their terms did not come up to my scheduled prices, I admit, butwe mustn't sneer at small prices at first. "

The upshot of it was that the firms mentioned supplied us with aquantity of goods, agreeing to receive phantom eggs in exchange. Thissatisfied Ukridge. He had a faith in the laying powers of his henswhich would have flattered those birds if they could have known of it. It might also have stimulated their efforts in that direction, whichup to date were feeble. This, however, I attributed to the fact thatthe majority of our fowls--perhaps through some sinister practicaljoke on the part of the manager who had the manners of a marquis--werecocks. It vexed Ukridge. "Here we are, " he said complainingly, "livingwell and drinking well, in a newly furnished house, having to keep aservant and maintain our position in life, with expenses mounting andnot a penny coming in. It's absurd. We've got hundreds of hens (mostof them cocks, it's true, but I forgot they didn't lay), and gettingnot even enough eggs for our own table. We must make some morearrangements. Come on in and let us think the thing out. "

But this speech was the outcome of a rare moment of pessimism. In hisbrighter moods he continued to express unbounded faith in the hens, and was willing to leave the thing to time. 

Meanwhile, we were creating quite a small sensation in theneighborhood. The interest of the natives was aroused at first by thefact that nearly all of them received informal visits from our fowls, which had strayed. Small boys would arrive in platoons, each bearinghis quota of stragglers. "Be these your 'ens, zur?" was the formula. "If they be, we've got twenty-fower mower in our yard. Could 'ee coomover and fetch 'em?"

However, after the hired retainer and I had completed our work withthe wire netting, desertions became less frequent. People poured infrom villages for miles around to look at the up-to-date chicken farm. It was a pleasing and instructive spectacle to see Ukridge, in a pinkshirt without a collar, and very dirty flannel trousers, lecturing tothe intelligent natives on the breeding of fowls. They used to go awaywith the dazed air of men who have heard strange matters, and Ukridge, unexhausted, would turn to interview the next batch. I fancy we gaveLyme Regis something to think about. Ukridge must have been in thenature of a staggerer to the rustic mind. 

It was now, as I have said, Thursday, the twenty-second of July, amemorable date to me. A glorious, sunny morning, of the kind whichNature provides occasionally, in an ebullition of benevolence. It isat times such as this that we dream our dreams and compose ourmasterpieces. 

And a masterpiece I was, indeed, making. The new novel was growingnobly. Striking scenes and freshets of scintillating dialogue rushedthrough my mind. I had neglected my writing for the past week in favorof the tending of fowls, but I was making up for lost time now. Another uninterrupted quarter of an hour, and I firmly believe Ishould have completed the framework of a novel that would have placedme with the great, in that select band whose members have no Christiannames. Another quarter of an hour and posterity would have known me as"Garnet. "

But it was not to be. I had just framed the most poignant, searchingconversation between my heroine and my hero, and was about to proceed, flushed with great thoughts, to further triumphs, when a distant shoutbrought me to earth. 

"Stop her! Catch her! Garnet!"

I was in the paddock at the time. Coming toward me at her best pacewas a small hen. Behind the hen was Bob, doing, as usual, the thingthat he ought not to have done. Behind Bob--some way behind--wasUkridge. It was his shout that I had heard. 

"After her, Garny, old horse!" he repeated. "A valuable bird. Must notbe lost. "

When not in a catalepsy of literary composition, I am essentially theman of action. I laid aside my novel for future reference, and, aftera fruitless lunge at the hen as it passed, joined Bob in the chase. 

We passed out of the paddock in the following order: First, the hen, as fresh as paint, and good for a five-mile spin; next, Bob, pantingbut fit for anything; lastly, myself, determined, but mistrustful ofmy powers of pedestrianism. In the distance Ukridge gesticulated andshouted advice. 

After the first field Bob gave up the chase, and sauntered off toscratch at a rabbit hole. He seemed to think that he had done all thatcould be expected of him in setting the thing going. His air suggestedthat he knew the affair was in competent hands, and relied on me to dothe right thing. 

The exertions of the past few days had left me in very fair condition, but I could not help feeling that in competition with the hen I wasovermatched. Neither in speed nor in staying power was I its equal. But I pounded along doggedly. Whenever I find myself fairly started onany business I am reluctant to give it up. I began to set anextravagant value on the capture of the small hen. All the abstractdesire for fame which had filled my mind five minutes before wasconcentrated now on that one feat. In a calmer moment I might haverealized that one bird more or less would not make a great deal ofdifference to the fortunes of the chicken farm, but now my power oflogical reasoning had left me. All our fortunes seemed to me to centerin the hen, now half a field in front of me. 

We had been traveling downhill all this time, but at this point wecrossed the road and the ground began to rise. I was in that painfulcondition which occurs when one has lost one's first wind and has notyet got one's second. I was hotter than I had ever been in my life. 

Whether the hen, too, was beginning to feel the effects of its run Ido not know, but it slowed down to a walk, and even began to peck in atentative manner at the grass. This assumption on its part that thechase was at an end irritated me. I felt that I should not be worthyof the name of Englishman if I allowed myself to be treated as acipher by a mere bird. It should realize yet that it was no lightmatter to be pursued by J. Garnet, author of "The Maneuvers ofArthur, " etc. 

A judicious increase of pace brought me within a yard or two of myquarry. But it darted from me with a startled exclamation and movedoff rapidly up the hill. I followed, distressed. The pace was provingtoo much for me. The sun blazed down. It seemed to concentrate itsrays on my back, to the exclusion of the surrounding scenery, in muchthe same way as the moon behaves to the heroine of a melodrama. Astudent of the drama has put it on record that he has seen the moonfollow the heroine round the stage, and go off with her (left). Thesun was just as attentive to me. 

We were on level ground now. The hen had again slowed to a walk, and Iwas capable of no better pace. Very gradually I closed in on it. Therewas a high boxwood hedge in front of us. Just as I came close enoughto stake my all on a single grab, the hen dived into this andstruggled through in the mysterious way in which birds do get throughhedges. 

I was in the middle of the obstacle, very hot, tired, and dirty, whenfrom the other side I heard a sudden shout of "Mark over! Bird to theright!" and the next moment I found myself emerging, with a black faceand tottering knees, on to the gravel path of a private garden. 

Beyond the path was a croquet lawn, on which I perceived, as through aglass darkly, three figures. The mist cleared from my eyes and Irecognized two of the trio. 

One was my Irish fellow-traveler, the other was his daughter. 

The third member of the party was a man, a stranger to me. By somemiracle of adroitness he had captured the hen, and was holding it, protesting, in a workman-like manner behind the wings. 

THE ENTENTE CORDIALE

VII

It has been well observed that there are moments and moments. Thepresent, as far as I was concerned, belonged to the more painfulvariety. 

Even to my exhausted mind it was plain that there was need here forexplanations. An Irishman's croquet lawn is his castle, and strangerscannot plunge on to it unannounced through hedges without beingprepared to give reasons. 

Unfortunately, speech was beyond me. I could have done many things atthat moment. I could have emptied a water butt, lain down and gone tosleep, or melted ice with a touch of the finger. But I could notspeak. The conversation was opened by the other man, in whosesoothing hand the hen now lay, apparently resigned to its fate. 

"Come right in, " he said pleasantly. "Don't knock. Your bird, Ithink?"

I stood there panting. I must have presented a quaint appearance. Myhair was full of twigs and other foreign substances. My face was moistand grimy. My mouth hung open. I wanted to sit down. My legs felt asif they had ceased to belong to me. 

"I must apologize--" I began, and ended the sentence with gasps. 

Conversation languished. The elderly gentleman looked at me with whatseemed to me indignant surprise. His daughter looked through me. Theman regarded me with a friendly smile, as if I were some old cronydropped in unexpectedly. 

"I'm afraid--" I said, and stopped again. 

"Hard work, big-game hunting in this weather, " said the man. "Take along breath. "

I took several and felt better. 

"I must apologize for this intrusion, " I said successfully. "Unwarrantable" would have rounded off the sentence nicely, butinstinct told me not to risk it. It would have been mere bravado tohave attempted unnecessary words of five syllables at that juncture. 

I paused. 

"Say on, " said the man with the hen encouragingly, "I'm a human beingjust like yourself. "

"The fact is, " I said, "I didn't--didn't know there was a privategarden beyond the hedge. If you will give me my hen--"

"It's hard to say good-by, " said the man, stroking the bird's headwith the first finger of his disengaged hand. "She and I are justbeginning to know and appreciate each other. However, if it must be--"

He extended the hand which held the bird, and at this point a hitchoccurred. He did his part of the business--the letting go. It was inmy department--the taking hold--that the thing was bungled. The henslipped from my grasp like an eel, stood for a moment overcome by thesurprise of being at liberty once more, then fled and intrencheditself in some bushes at the farther end of the lawn. 

There are times when the most resolute man feels that he can battle nolonger with fate; when everything seems against him and the onlycourse left is a dignified retreat. But there is one thing essentialto a dignified retreat. One must know the way out. It was that factwhich kept me standing there, looking more foolish than anyone hasever looked since the world began. I could hardly ask to be conductedoff the premises like the honored guest. Nor would it do to retire bythe way I had come. If I could have leaped the hedge with a singlebound, that would have made a sufficiently dashing and debonair exit. But the hedge was high, and I was incapable at the moment of achievinga debonair leap over a footstool. 

The man saved the situation. He seemed to possess that magnetic powerover his fellows which marks the born leader. Under his command webecame an organized army. The common object, the pursuit of the hen, made us friends. In the first minute of the proceedings the Irishmanwas addressing me as "me dear boy, " and the other man, who hadintroduced himself rapidly as Tom Chase, lieutenant in his Majesty'snavy, was shouting directions to me by name. I have never assisted atany ceremony at which formality was so completely dispensed with. Theice was not merely broken, it was shivered into a million fragments. 

"Go in and drive her out, Garnet, " shouted Mr. Chase. "In mydirection, if you can. Look out on the left, Phyllis. "

Even in that disturbing moment I could not help noticing his use ofthe Christian name. It seemed to me sinister. I did not like the ideaof dashing young lieutenants in the royal navy calling a girl Phylliswhose eyes had haunted me for just over a week--since, in fact, I hadfirst seen them. Nevertheless, I crawled into the bushes and dislodgedthe hen. She emerged at the spot where Mr. Chase was waiting with hiscoat off, and was promptly enveloped in that garment and captured. 

"The essence of strategy, " observed Mr. Chase approvingly, "issurprise. A devilish neat piece of work. "

I thanked him. He deprecated the thanks. He had, he said, only donehis duty, as a man is bound to do. He then introduced me to theelderly Irishman, who was, it seemed, a professor--of what I do notknow--at Dublin University. By name, Derrick. He informed me that healways spent the summer at Lyme Regis. 

"I was surprised to see you at Lyme Regis, " I said. "When you got outat Yeovil, I thought I had seen the last of you. "

I think I am gifted beyond other men as regards the unfortunateturning of sentences. 

"I meant, " I added speedily, "I was afraid I had. "

"Ah, of course, " he said, "you were in our carriage coming down. I wasconfident I had seen you before. I never forget a face. "

"It would be a kindness, " said Mr. Chase, "if you would forgetGarnet's as now exhibited. You'll excuse the personality, but youseem to have collected a good deal of the professor's property comingthrough that hedge. "

"I was wondering, " I said with gratitude. "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 some lunch. You'll stayto lunch, Mr. Garnet?"

I thanked him for his kindness and went off with my friend, thelieutenant, to the house. We imprisoned the hen in the stables, to itsprofound indignation, gave directions for lunch to be served to it, and made our way to Mr. Chase's room. 

"So you've met the professor before?" he said, hospitably laying out achange of raiment for me--we were fortunately much of a height andbuild. 

"I have never spoken to him, " I said. "We traveled down together in avery full carriage, and I saw him next day on the beach. "

"He's a dear old boy, if you rub him the right way. "

"Yes?" I said. 

"But--I'm telling you this for your good and guidance--he can cut uprough. And when he does, he goes off like a four point seven. I think, if I were you--you don't mind my saying this?--I think, if I were you, I should _not_ mention Mr. Tim Healy at lunch. "

I promised that I would try to resist the temptation. 

"And if you _could_ manage not to discuss home rule--"

"I will make an effort. "

"On any other topic he will be delighted to hear your views. Chattyremarks on bimetallism would meet with his earnest attention. Alecture on what to do with the cold mutton would be welcomed. But notIreland, if you don't mind. Shall we go down?"

We got to know one another very well at lunch. 

"Do you hunt hens, " asked Mr. Chase, who was mixing the salad--he wasone of those men who seem to do everything a shade better than anyoneelse, "for amusement or by your doctor's orders?"

"Neither, " I said, "and particularly not for amusement. The fact is Ihave been lured down here by a friend of mine who has started achicken farm--"

I was interrupted. All three of them burst into laughter. Mr. Chase inhis emotion allowed the vinegar to trickle on to the cloth, missingthe salad bowl by a clear two inches. 

"You don't mean to tell us, " he said, "that you really come from theone and only chicken farm?"

I could not deny it. 

"Why, you're the man we've all been praying to meet for days past. Haven't we, professor?"

"You're right, Tom, " chuckled Mr. Derrick. 

"We want to know all about it, Mr. Garnet, " said Phyllis Derrick. 

"Do you know, " continued Mr. Chase, "that you are the talk of thetown? Everybody is discussing you. Your methods are quite new andoriginal, aren't they?"

"Probably, " I replied. "Ukridge knows nothing about fowls. I knowless. He considers it an advantage. He said our minds ought to beunbiased by any previous experience. "

"Ukridge!" said the professor. "That was the name old Dawlish, thegrocer, said. I never forget a name. He is the gentleman who lectureson the breeding of poultry, is he not? You do not?"

I hastened to disclaim any such feat. 

"His lectures are very popular, " said Phyllis with a little splutterof mirth. 

"He enjoys them, " I said. 

"Look here, Garnet, " said Mr. Chase, "I hope you won't consider allthese questions impertinent, but you've no notion of the thrillinginterest we all take--at a distance--in your farm. We have beentalking of nothing else for a week. I have dreamed of it three nightsrunning. Is Mr. Ukridge doing this as a commercial speculation, or ishe an eccentric millionaire?"

"He's not a millionaire. I believe he intends to be, though, beforelong, with the assistance of the fowls. But I hope you won't look onme as in any way responsible for the arrangements at the farm. I ammerely a laborer. The brain work of the business lies in Ukridge'sdepartment. "

"Tell me, Mr. Garnet, " said Phyllis, "do you use an incubator?"

"Oh, yes, we have an incubator. "

"I suppose you find it very useful?"

"I'm afraid we use it chiefly for drying our boots when they get wet, "I said. 

Only that morning Ukridge's spare pair of tennis shoes had permanentlyspoiled the future of half-a-dozen eggs which were being hatched onthe spot where the shoes happened to be placed. Ukridge had been quiteannoyed. 

"I came down here principally, " I said, "in search of golf. I was toldthere were links, but up to the present my professional duties havemonopolized me. "

"Golf, " said Professor Derrick. "Why, yes. We must have a round or twotogether. I am very fond of golf. I generally spend the summer downhere improving my game. "

I said I should be delighted. 

 * * * * *

There was croquet after lunch--a game at which I am a poor performer. Miss Derrick and I played the professor and Chase. Chase was a littlebetter than myself; the professor, by dint of extreme earnestness andcare, managed to play a fair game; and Phyllis was an expert. 

"I was reading a book, " said she, as we stood together watching theprofessor shaping at his ball at the other end of the lawn, "by anauthor of the same surname as you, Mr. Garnet. Is he a relation ofyours?"

"I am afraid I am the person, Miss Derrick, " I said. 

"You wrote the book?"

"A man must live, " I said apologetically. 

"Then you must have--oh, nothing. "

"I could not help it, I'm afraid. But your criticism was very kind. "

"Did you know what I was going to say?"

"I guessed. "

"It was lucky I liked it, " she said with a smile. 

"Lucky for me, " I said. 

"Why?"

"It will encourage me to write another book. So you see what you haveto answer for. I hope it will not trouble your conscience. "

At the other end of the lawn the professor was still patting the ballsabout, Chase the while advising him to allow for windage and elevationand other mysterious things. 

"I should not have thought, " she said, "that an author cared a bit forthe opinion of an amateur. "

"It all depends. "

"On the author?"

"On the amateur. "

It was my turn to play at this point. I missed--as usual. 

"I didn't like your heroine, Mr. Garnet. "

"That was the one crumpled rose leaf. I have been wondering why eversince. I tried to make her nice. Three of the critics liked her. "

"Really?"

"And the modern reviewer is an intelligent young man. What is a'creature, ' Miss Derrick?"

"Pamela in your book is a creature, " she replied unsatisfactorily, with the slightest tilt of the chin. 

"My next heroine shall be a triumph, " I said. 

She should be a portrait, I resolved, from life. 

Shortly after, the game came somehow to an end. I do not understandthe intricacies of croquet. But Phyllis did something brilliant andremarkable with the balls, and we adjourned for tea, which had beenmade ready at the edge of the lawn while we played. 

The sun was setting as I left to return to the farm, with the henstored neatly in a basket in my hand. The air was deliciously cool andfull of that strange quiet which follows soothingly on the skirts of abroiling midsummer afternoon. Far away--the sound seemed almost tocome from another world--the tinkle of a sheep bell made itself heard, deepening the silence. Alone in a sky of the palest blue theretwinkled a small bright star. 

I addressed this star. 

"She was certainly very nice to me, " I said. "Very nice, indeed. "

The star said nothing. 

"On the other hand, " I went on, "I don't like that naval man. He is agood chap, but he overdoes it. "

The star winked sympathetically. 

"He calls her Phyllis, " I said. 

"Charawk, " said the hen satirically from her basket. 

A LITTLE DINNER

VIII

"Edwin comes to-day, " said Mrs. Ukridge. 

"And the Derricks, " said Ukridge, sawing at the bread in his energeticway. "Don't forget the Derricks, Millie. "

"No, dear. Mrs. Beale is going to give us a very nice dinner. Wetalked it over yesterday. "

"Who is Edwin?" I asked. 

We were finishing breakfast on the second morning after my visit tothe Derricks. I had related my adventures to the staff of the farm onmy return, laying stress on the merits of our neighbors and theirinterest in our doings, and the hired retainer had been sent off nextmorning with a note from Mrs. Ukridge, inviting them to look over thefarm and stay to dinner. 

"Edwin?" said Ukridge. "Beast of a cat. "

"O Stanley!" said Mrs. Ukridge plaintively. "He's not. He's such adear, Mr. Garnet. A beautiful, pure-bred Persian. He has takenprizes. "

"He's always taking something--generally food. That's why he didn'tcome down with us. "

"A great, horrid _beast_ of a dog bit him, Mr. Garnet. " Mrs. Ukridge'seyes became round and shining. "And poor Edwin had to go to a cats'hospital. "

"And I hope, " said Ukridge, "the experience will do him good. Sneakeda dog's bone, 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 verytimid, and Bob's so exceedingly boisterous. Isn't he, Mr. Garnet?"

I owned that Bob's manner was not that of a Vere de Vere. 

"That's all right, " said Ukridge; "Bob won't hurt him, unless he triesto steal his bone. In that case we will have Edwin made into a rug. "

"Stanley doesn't like Edwin, " said Mrs. Ukridge plaintively. 

 * * * * *

Edwin arrived early in the afternoon, and was shut into the kitchen. He struck me as a handsome cat, but nervous. He had an excited eye. 

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 havebeen delighted to come. It was a disappointment to the boy, for hewanted 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 atBristol?"

"Never, sir, " said the professor. 

"Because I knew just such another fat little buffer there a few yearsago. Gay old bird, he was. He--"

"This is the fowl run, professor, " I broke in, with a moist, tinglingfeeling across my forehead and up my spine. I saw the professorstiffen as he walked, while his face deepened in color. Ukridge'sbreezy way of expressing himself is apt to electrify the stranger. 

"You will notice the able way--ha, ha!--in which the wire netting isarranged, " I continued feverishly. "Took some doing, that. By Jove!yes. It was hot work. Nice lot of fowls, aren't they? Rather a mixedlot, of course. Ha, ha! That's the dealer's fault, though. We aregetting 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 fromthe professor's face and his back gradually relax its pokerlikeattitude. The situation was saved for the moment, but there was noknowing what further excesses Ukridge might indulge in. I managed todraw him aside as we went through the fowl run, and expostulated. 

"For goodness' sake, be careful, " I whispered. "You've no notion howtouchy the professor is. "

"But _I_ said nothing, " he replied, amazed. 

"Hang it, you know, nobody likes to be called a fat little buffer tohis face. "

"What else could I call him? Nobody minds a little thing like that. Wecan't be stilted and formal. It's ever so much more friendly to relaxand be chummy. "

Here we rejoined the others, and I was left with a leaden forebodingof grewsome things in store. I knew what manner of man Ukridge waswhen he relaxed and became chummy. Friendships of years' standing hadfailed to survive the test. 

For the time being, however, all went well. In his rôle of lecturer heoffended no one, and Phyllis and her father behaved admirably. Theyreceived the strangest theories without a twitch of the mouth. 

"Ah, " the professor would say, "now, is that really so? Veryinteresting, indeed. "

Only once, when Ukridge was describing some more than usually originaldevice for the furthering of the interests of his fowls, did a slightspasm 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 Ican turn my hand to anything, you know. Things seem to come naturallyto me, somehow. "

"I see, " said Phyllis. 

It was while matters were progressing with such beautiful smoothnessthat 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 asominous. 

"Beg pardon, Mr. Ukridge, sir. "

Ukridge was in the middle of a very eloquent excursus on the feedingof fowls. The interruption annoyed him. 

"Well, Beale, " he said, "what is it?"

"That there cat, sir, what came to-day. "

"O Beale, " cried Mrs. Ukridge in agitation, "_what_ has happened?"

"Having something to say to the missus--"

"What has happened? O Beale, don't say that Edwin has been hurt? Whereis he? Oh, _poor_ Edwin!"

"Having something to say to the missus--"

"If Bob has bitten him, I hope he had his nose _well_ scratched, " saidMrs. Ukridge vindictively. 

"Having something to say to the missus, " resumed the hired retainertranquilly, "I went into the kitchen ten minutes back. The cat wassitting on the mat. "

Beale's narrative style closely resembled that of a certain book I hadread in my infancy. I wish I could remember its title. It was awell-written book. 

"Yes, Beale, yes?" said Mrs. Ukridge. "Oh, do go on!"

"'Halloo, puss, ' I says to him, 'and 'ow are you, sir?' 'Be careful, 'says the missus. ''E's that timid, ' she says, 'you wouldn't believe, 'she says. ''E's only just settled down, as you may say, ' she says. 'Ho, don't you fret, ' I says to her, ''im and me we understands eachother. 'Im and me, ' I says, 'is old friends. 'E's me dear old pal, Corporal Banks, of the Skrimshankers. ' She grinned at that, ma'am, Corporal Banks being a man we'd 'ad many a 'earty laugh at in the olddays. '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, which had followed me unknown, trotted in. When the cat ketched sight of 'im sniffing about, therewas such a spitting and swearing as you never 'eard, and blowed, " saidMr. Beale amusedly, as if the recollection tickled him, "blowed if theold cat didn't give one jump and move in quick time up the chimley, where 'e now remains, paying no 'eed to the missus's attempts to gethim down again. "

Sensation, as they say in the reports. 

"But he'll be cooked, " cried Phyllis, open-eyed. 

Ukridge uttered a roar of dismay. 

"No, he won't. Nor will our dinner. Mrs. Beale always lets the kitchenfire out during the afternoon. 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 hadlunched 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 ofthe 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'mto cook dinner for five with him up the chimney I don't see, sir. "

"Prod at him with a broom handle, Mrs. Beale, " urged Ukridge. 

"I 'ave tried that, sir, but I can't reach him, and I've only bin anddrove '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 atleast seemed out of place, "is to have a regular, jolly, picnicdinner, what? Whack up whatever we have in the larder, and eat that. "

"A regular, jolly, picnic dinner, " repeated the professor gloomily. Icould read what was passing in his mind. 

"That will be delightful, " said Phyllis. 

[Illustration: "I've only bin and drove 'im further up, " said Mrs. Beale. ]

"Er--I think, my dear sir, " said her father, "it would be hardly fairof us to give any further trouble to Mrs. Ukridge and yourself. If youwill allow me, therefore, I will--"

Ukridge became gushingly hospitable. He refused to think of allowinghis 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. Heappealed to me to indorse his view that there was a tin of sardinesand part of a cold fowl and plenty of bread and cheese. 

"And after all, " he said, speaking for the whole company in thegenerous, comprehensive way enthusiasts have, "what more do we want inweather like this? A nice, light, cold dinner is ever so much betterfor us than a lot of hot things. "

The professor said nothing. He looked wan and unhappy. 

We strolled out again into the garden, but somehow things seemed todrag. Conversation was fitful, except on the part of Ukridge, whocontinued to talk easily on all subjects, unconscious of the fact thatthe party was depressed, and at least one of his guests rapidlybecoming irritable. I watched the professor furtively as Ukridgetalked on, and that ominous phrase of Mr. Chase's concerningfour-point-seven guns kept coming into my mind. If Ukridge were totread on any of his pet corns, as he might at any minute, there wouldbe an explosion. The snatching of the dinner from his very mouth, asit were, and the substitution of a bread-and-cheese and sardines menuhad brought him to the frame of mind when men turn and rend theirnearest 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 veryhungry. The uncompromising coldness and solidity of the viands wasenough to appall a man conscious that his digestion needed humoring. Ahuge cheese faced us in almost a swash-buckling way, and I noticedthat the professor shivered slightly as he saw it. Sardines, lookingmore oily and uninviting than anything I had ever seen, appeared intheir native tin beyond the loaf of bread. There was a ham, in itsthird quarter, and a chicken which had suffered heavily during aprevious visit to the table. 

We got through the meal somehow, and did our best to delude ourselvesinto the idea that it was all great fun, but it was a shallowpretense. The professor was very silent by the time we had finished. Ukridge had been terrible. When the professor began a story--hisstories would have been the better for a little more briskness andcondensation--Ukridge interrupted him before he had got halfwaythrough, without a word of apology, and began some anecdote of hisown. He disagreed with nearly every opinion he expressed. It is truethat he did it all in such a perfectly friendly way, and was obviouslyso innocent of any intention of giving offense, that another man mighthave overlooked the matter. But the professor, robbed of his gooddinner, was at the stage when he had to attack somebody. Every momentI had been expecting the storm to burst. 

It burst after dinner. 

We were strolling in the garden when some demon urged Ukridge, aproposof the professor's mention of Dublin, to start upon the Irishquestion. My heart stood still. 

Ukridge had boomed forth some very positive opinions of his own on thesubject of Ireland before I could get near enough to him to stop him. When I did, I suppose I must have whispered louder than I hadintended, for the professor heard my words, and they acted as thematch to the powder. 

"He's touchy on the Irish question, is he?" he thundered. "Drop it, isit? And why? Why, sir? I'm one of the best-tempered men that ever camefrom Ireland, let me tell you, and I will not stay here to be insultedby the insinuation that I cannot discuss Irish affairs as calmly asanyone. "

"But, professor--"

"Take your hand off my arm, Mr. Garnet. I will not be treated like achild. I am as competent to discuss the affairs of Ireland withoutheat as any man, let me tell you. "

"Father--"

"And let me tell you, Mr. Ukridge, that I consider your opinionspoisonous. Poisonous, sir. And you know nothing whatever about thesubject, sir. I don't wish to see you or to speak to you again. Understand that, sir. Our acquaintance began to-day, and it willcease to-day. Good night to you. Come, Phyllis, me dear. Mrs. Ukridge, good night. "

Mr. Chase, when he spoke of four-point-seven guns, had known what hewas talking about. 

DIES IRĆ

IX

Why is it, I wonder, that stories of Retribution calling at the wrongaddress strike us as funny instead of pathetic? I myself had beenamused by them many a time. In a book which I had just read, a shopwoman, being vexed with an omnibus conductor, had thrown asuperannuated orange at him. It had found its billet not on him, buton a perfectly inoffensive spectator. The missile, we are told, "'it ayoung copper full in the hyeball. " I had enjoyed this when I read it, but now that fate had arranged a precisely similar situation, withmyself in the rôle of the young copper, the fun of the thing appealedto me not at all. 

It was Ukridge who was to blame for the professor's regrettableexplosion and departure, and he ought by all laws of justice to havesuffered 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 theother. If the professor were friendly, he was willing to talk to himby the hour on any subject, pleasant or unpleasant. If, on the otherhand, he wished to have nothing more to do with us, it did not worryhim. He was content to let him go. Ukridge was a self-sufficingperson. 

But to me it was a serious matter. More than serious. If I have donemy work as historian with any adequate degree of skill, the readershould have gathered by this time the state of my feelings. 

My love had grown with the days. Mr. J. Holt Schooling, or somebodyelse with a taste for juggling with figures, might write a veryreadable page or so of statistics in connection with the growth oflove in the heart of a man. In some cases it is, I believe, slow. Inmy own I can only say that Jack's beanstalk was a backward plant incomparison. It is true that we had not seen a great deal of oneanother, and that, when we had met, our interviews had been brief andour conversation conventional; but it is the intervals between themeetings that do the real damage. Absence, as the poet neatly remarks, makes the heart grow fonder. And now, thanks to Ukridge's amazingidiocy, a barrier had been thrust between us. As if the business offishing for a girl's heart were not sufficiently difficult anddelicate without the addition of needless obstacles! It was terribleto have to reëstablish myself in the good graces of the professorbefore 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 butplainly my opinion of his tactlessness, "what does it matter? Thereare other people in the world besides the old buffer. And we haven'ttime to waste making friends, as a matter of fact. The farm ought tokeep us busy. I've noticed, Garny, old boy, that you haven't seemedsuch a whale for work lately as you might be. You must buckle to, oldhorse. We are at a critical stage. On our work now depends the successof the speculation. Look at those cocks. They're always fighting. Fling a stone at them. What's the matter with you? Can't get the noveloff your chest, what? You take my tip, and give your mind a rest. Nothing like manual labor for clearing the brain. All the doctors sayso. Those coops ought to be painted to-day or to-morrow. Mind you, Ithink old Derrick would be all right if one persevered--"

"And didn't call him a fat old buffer, and contradict everything hesaid and spoil all his stories by breaking in with chestnuts of yourown in the middle, " I interrupted with bitterness. 

"Oh, rot, old boy! He didn't mind being called a fat old buffer. Youkeep harping on that. A man likes one to be chatty with him. What wasthe matter with old Derrick was a touch of liver. You should havestopped him taking that cheese. I say, old man, just fling anotherstone at those cocks, will you? They'll eat one another. "

I had hoped, fearing the while that there was not much chance of sucha thing happening, that the professor might get over his feeling ofinjury during the night, and be as friendly as ever next day. But hewas evidently a man who had no objection whatever to letting the sungo down upon his wrath, for, when I met him on the beach thefollowing morning, he cut me in the most uncompromising fashion. 

Phyllis was with him at the time, and also another girl who was, Isupposed from the strong likeness between them, her sister. She hadthe same soft mass of brown hair. But to me she appeared almostcommonplace in comparison. 

It is never pleasant to be cut dead. It produces the same sort offeeling as is experienced when one treads on nothing where oneimagined a stair to be. In the present instance the pang was mitigatedto a certain extent--not largely--by the fact that Phyllis looked atme. She did not move her head, and I could not have declaredpositively that she moved her eyes; but nevertheless she certainlylooked at me. It was something. She seemed to say that duty compelledher to follow her father's lead, and that the act must not be taken asevidence of any personal animus. 

That, at least, was how I read off the message. 

Two days later I met Mr. Chase in the village. 

"Halloo! so you're back, " I said. 

"You've discovered my secret, " said he. "Will you have a cigar or acocoanut?"

There was a pause. 

"Trouble, I hear, while I was away, " he said. 

I nodded. 

"The man I live with, Ukridge, did it. Touched on the Irish question. "

"Home rule?"

"He mentioned it among other things. "

"And the professor went off?"

"Like a bomb. "

"He would. It's a pity. "

I agreed. 

I am glad to say that I suppressed the desire to ask him to use hisinfluence, if any, with Professor Derrick to effect a reconciliation. I felt that I must play the game. 

"I ought not to be speaking to you, you know, " said Mr. Chase. "You'reunder 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 besimmering down. "

"I see. Thanks. Good-by. "

"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 earnestlyto golf in this time of stress. Golf, it has been said, is the game ofdisappointed lovers. On the other hand, it has further been pointedout that it does not follow that, because a man is a failure as alover, he will be any good at all on the links. My game was distinctlypoor at first. But a round or two put me back into my proper form, which is fair. The professor's demeanor at these accidental meetingson the links was a faithful reproduction of his attitude on the beach. Only by a studied imitation of the absolute stranger did he show thathe had observed my presence. 

Once or twice after dinner, when Ukridge was smoking one of hisspecial cigars while Mrs. Ukridge petted Edwin (now moving in societyonce more, and in his right mind), I walked out across the fieldsthrough the cool summer night till I came to the hedge that shut offthe Derricks' grounds. Not the hedge through which I had made my firstentrance, but another, lower, and nearer the house. Standing thereunder the shade of a tree I could see the lighted windows of thedrawing-room. 

Generally there was music inside, and, the windows being opened onaccount of the warmth of the night, I was able to make myself a littlemore miserable by hearing Phyllis sing. It deepened the feeling ofbanishment. 

I shall never forget those furtive visits. The intense stillness ofthe night, broken by an occasional rustling in the grass or the hedge;the smell of the flowers in the garden beyond; the distant drone ofthe sea. 

 "God makes sech nights, all white and still, Fur'z you can 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 clothesbathed with dew. 

Life seemed a poor institution during these days. 

I ENLIST A MINION'S SERVICES

X

It would be interesting to know to what extent the work of authors isinfluenced by their private affairs. If life is flowing smoothly forthem, are the novels they write in that period of content colored withoptimism? And if things are running crosswise, do they work off theresultant gloom on their faithful public? If, for instance, Mr. W. W. Jacobs had toothache, would he write like Mr. Hall Caine? If MaximGorky were invited to lunch by the Czar, would he sit down and dashoff a trifle in the vein of Mr. Dooley? Probably great authors havethe power of detaching their writing self from their living, workadayself. For my own part, the frame of mind in which I now found myselfcompletely altered the scheme of my novel. I had designed it as alight-comedy effort. Here and there a page or two to steady thereader, and show him what I could do in the way of pathos if I caredto try; but in the main a thing of sunshine and laughter. But nowgreat slabs of gloom began to work themselves into the scheme of it. Characters whom I had hitherto looked upon as altogether robustdeveloped fatal illnesses. A magnificent despondency became thekeynote of the book. Instead of marrying, my hero and heroine had abig scene in the last chapter, at the end of which she informed himthat she was already secretly wedded to another, a man with whom shehad not even a sporting chance of being happy. I could see myselfcorrecting proofs made pulpy by the tears of emotional printers. 

It would not do. I felt that I must make a determined effort to shakeoff my depression. More than ever the need for conciliating theprofessor was borne in upon me. Day and night I spurred my brain tothink of some suitable means of engineering a reconciliation. 

In the meantime I worked hard among the fowls, drove furiously on thelinks, and swam about the harbor when the affairs of the farm did notrequire my attention. 

Things were not going very well on our model chicken farm. Littleaccidents marred the harmony of life in the fowl run. On one occasiona hen fell into a pot of tar, and came out an unspeakable object. Chickens kept straying into the wrong coops, and, in accordance withfowl etiquette, were promptly pecked to death by the resident. Edwinmurdered a couple of Wyandottes, and was only saved from execution bythe tears of Mrs. Ukridge. 

In spite of these occurrences, however, his buoyant optimism neverdeserted Ukridge. They were incidents, annoying, but in no wayaffecting the prosperity of the farm. 

"After all, " he said, "what's one bird more or less? Yes, I know I wasangry when that beast of a cat lunched off those two, but that wasmore for the principle of the thing. I'm not going to pay large sumsfor chickens so that a beastly cat can lunch well. Still, we've plentyleft, and the eggs are coming in better now, though we've a deal ofleeway to make up yet in that line. I got a letter from Whiteley'sthis morning asking when my first consignment was to arrive. You know, these people make a mistake in hurrying a man. It annoys him. Itirritates him. When we really get going, Garny, my boy, I shall dropWhiteley's. I shall cut them out of my list, and send my eggs to theirtrade rivals. They shall have a sharp lesson. It's a little hard. Heream I, worked to death looking after things down here, and these menhave the impertinence to bother me about their wretched business!"

[Illustration: Things were not going very well on our model chickenfarm. ]

It was on the morning after this that I heard him calling me in avoice in which I detected agitation. I was strolling about thepaddock, as was my habit after breakfast, thinking about Phyllis andmy wretched novel. I had just framed a more than usually murky scenefor use in the earlier part of the book, when Ukridge shouted to mefrom the fowl run. 

"Garnet, come here, " he cried, "I want you to see the most astoundingthing. "

I joined him. 

"What's the matter?" I asked. 

"Blest if I know. Look at those chickens. They've been doing that forthe last half hour. "

I inspected the chickens. There was certainly something the matterwith them. They were yawning broadly, as if we bored them. They stoodabout singly and in groups, opening and shutting their beaks. It wasan uncanny spectacle. 

"What's the matter with them?"

"It looks to me, " I said, "as if they were tired of life. They seemhipped. "

"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 lyingdown. What _can_ be the matter with it?"

"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 ofbirds. "

"I'll tell you what we'll do, " said Ukridge. "We'll ask Beale. He oncelived 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, carryinga boot. We seemed to have interrupted him in the act of cleaning it. 

"Beale, you know about fowls. What's the matter with these chickens?"

The hired retainer examined the _blasé_ birds with a wooden expressionon his face. 

"Well?" said Ukridge. 

"The 'ole thing 'ere, " said the hired retainer, "is these 'ere fowlshave bin and got the roop. "

I had never heard of the disease before, but it sounded quitehorrifying. 

"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. 

The hired retainer perpended. 

"Well, my aunt, sir, when 'er fowls 'ad the roop, she give them snuff. Give them snuff, she did, " he repeated with relish, "every morning. "

"Snuff!" said Mrs. Ukridge. 

"Yes, ma'am. She give them snuff till their eyes bubbled. "

Mrs. Ukridge uttered a faint squeak at this vivid piece of wordpainting. 

"And did it cure them?" asked Ukridge. 

"No, sir, " responded the expert soothingly. "They died. "

"Oh, go away, Beale, and clean your beastly boots, " said Ukridge. "You're no use. Wait a minute. Who would know about this infernal roopthing? One of those farmer chaps would, I suppose. Beale, go off tofarmer Leigh at Up Lyme, and give him my compliments, and ask him whathe 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 to consult farmer Leigh. He had sold us some fowls shortlyafter our arrival, so might be expected to feel a kindly interest intheir ailing families. 

The path to Up Lyme lies across deep-grassed meadows. At intervals itpasses over a stream by means of foot bridges. The stream curlsthrough 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 hiddenfrom my view. I could hear somebody coming through the grass, but nottill I was on the bridge did I see who it was. We reached the bridgesimultaneously. She was alone. She carried a sketching block. Allnice girls sketch a little. 

There was room for one alone on the foot bridge, and I drew back tolet her pass. 

As it is the privilege of woman to make the first sign of recognition, I said nothing. I merely lifted my hat in a noncommitting fashion. 

"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. 

"Miss Derrick?"

"I couldn't tell you so before, but I am so sorry this has happened. "

"You are very kind, " I said, realizing as I said it the miserableinadequacy of the English language. At a crisis when I would havegiven a month's income to have said something neat, epigrammatic, suggestive, yet withal courteous and respectful, I could only find ahackneyed, unenthusiastic phrase which I should have used in acceptingan 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 amwith 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-by. "

"Good-by. "

I watched her out of sight, and went on to interview Mr. Leigh. 

We had a long and intensely uninteresting conversation about themaladies to which chickens are subject. He was verbose andreminiscent. He took me over his farm, pointing out as he wentDorkings and Cochin Chinas which he had cured of diseases generallyfatal, with, as far as I could gather, Christian Science principles. 

I left at last with instructions to paint the throats of the strickenbirds with turpentine--a task imagination boggled at, and one which Iproposed to leave exclusively to Ukridge and the hired retainer. As Ihad a slight headache, a visit to the Cob would, I thought, do megood. I had missed my bath that morning, and was in need of a breathof 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. Ihad seen him engaged in this pursuit once or twice before. His onlycompanion was a gigantic boatman, by name Harry Hawk. 

I sat on the seat at the end of the Cob, and watched the professor. Itwas an instructive sight, an object lesson to those who hold thatoptimism has died out of the race. I had never seen him catch a fish. He did not look to me as if he were at all likely to catch a fish. Yethe persevered. 

There are few things more restful than to watch some one else busyunder a warm sun. As I sat there, my mind ranged idly over largesubjects and small. I thought of love and chicken farming. I mused onthe immortality of the soul. In the end I always returned to theprofessor. Sitting, as I did, with my back to the beach, I could seenothing but his boat. It had the ocean to itself. 

I began to ponder over the professor. I wondered dreamily if he werevery 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 amovement on the part of that oarsman set the boat rocking, that Ibegan 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'mcoming!" A few rapid strokes. Saved! Sequel: A subdued professor, dripping salt water and tears of gratitude, urging me to become hisson-in-law. That sort of thing happened in fiction. It was a shamethat it should not happen in real life. In my hot youth I once hadseven stories in seven weekly penny papers in the same month alldealing with a situation of the kind. Only the details differed. In"Not Really a Coward, " Vincent Devereux had rescued the earl'sdaughter from a fire, whereas in "Hilda's Hero" it was the peppery oldfather whom Tom Slingsby saved. Singularly enough, from drowning. Inother words, I, a very mediocre scribbler, had effected seven times ina single month what the powers of the universe could not manage once, even on the smallest scale. 

I was a little annoyed with the powers of the universe. 

 * * * * *

It was at precisely three minutes to twelve--for I had just consultedmy watch--that the great idea surged into my brain. At four minutes totwelve I had been grumbling impotently at Providence. By two minutesto twelve I had determined upon a manly and independent course ofaction. 

Briefly, it was this. Since dramatic accident and rescue would nothappen of its own accord, I would arrange one for myself. Hawk lookedto me the sort of man who would do anything in a friendly way for afew shillings. 

 * * * * *

That afternoon I interviewed Mr. Hawk at the Net and Mackerel. 

"Hawk, " I said to him darkly, over a mystic and conspirator-like pot, "I want you, the next time you take Professor Derrick outfishing"--here I glanced round, to make sure that we were notoverheard--"to upset him. "

His astonished face rose slowly from the rim of the pot, like a fullmoon. 

"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 argued with the man. I was eloquent, but at the same time concise. My choice of words was superb. I crystallized my ideas into pithysentences which a child could have understood. 

At the end of half an hour he had grasped all the salient points ofthe scheme. Also he imagined that I wished the professor upset by wayof a practical joke. He gave me to understand that this was the typeof humor which was to be expected from a gentleman from London. I amafraid he must at one period of his career have lived at one of thosewatering places to which trippers congregate. He did not seem to thinkhighly of the Londoner. 

I let it rest at that. I could not give my true reason, and thisserved as well as any. 

At the last moment he recollected that he, too, would get wet when theaccident took place, and raised his price to a sovereign. 

A mercenary man. It is painful to see how rapidly the old simplespirit is dying out in rural districts. Twenty years ago a fishermanwould have been charmed to do a little job like that for a shilling. 

THE BRAVE PRESERVER

XI

I could have wished, during the next few days, that Mr. Harry Hawk'sattitude toward myself had not been so unctuously confidential andmysterious. It was unnecessary, in my opinion, for him to grinmeaningly whenever he met me in the street. His sly wink when wepassed each other on the Cob struck me as in indifferent taste. Thething had been definitely arranged (half down and half when it wasover), and there was no need for any cloak and dark-lantern effects. Iobjected strongly to being treated as the villain of a melodrama. Iwas merely an ordinary well-meaning man, forced by circumstances intodoing the work of Providence. Mr. Hawk's demeanor seemed to say:

"We are two reckless scoundrels, but bless you, _I_ won't give awayyour guilty secret. "

The climax came one morning as I was going along the street toward thebeach. I was passing a dark doorway, when out shimmered Mr. Hawk as ifhe had been a specter instead of the most substantial man within aradius of ten miles. 

"St!" he whispered. 

"Now look here, Hawk, " I said wrathfully, for the start he had givenme had made me bite my tongue, "this has got to stop. I refuse to behaunted 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 this. "

I went on to the Cob, where I sat down. I was excited. Deeds of greatimport must shortly be done. I felt a little nervous. It would neverdo to bungle the thing. Suppose by some accident I were to drown theprofessor, or suppose that, after all, he contented himself with amere formal expression of thanks and refused to let bygones bebygones. 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 harbor there put off Mr. Hawk'sboat, bearing its precious cargo. My mouth became dry with excitement. 

Very slowly Mr. Hawk pulled round the end of the Cob, coming to astandstill some dozen yards from where I was performing my beat. Itwas evidently here that the scene of the gallant rescue had beenfixed. 

My eyes were glued upon Mr. Hawk's broad back. The boat lay almostmotionless on the water. I had never seen the sea smoother. 

It seemed as if this perfect calm might continue for ever. Mr. Hawkmade no movement. Then suddenly the whole scene changed to one of vastactivity. I heard Mr. Hawk utter a hoarse cry, and saw him plungeviolently in his seat. The professor turned half round, and I caughtsight of his indignant face, pink with emotion. Then the scene changedagain with the rapidity of a dissolving view. I saw Mr. Hawk giveanother plunge, and the next moment the boat was upside down in thewater, and I was shooting head foremost to the bottom, oppressed withthe indescribably clammy sensation which comes when one's clothes arethoroughly wet. 

I rose to the surface close to the upturned boat. The first sight Isaw was the spluttering face of Mr. Hawk. I ignored him and swam towhere the professor's head bobbed on the waters. 

"Keep cool, " I said. A silly remark in the circumstances. 

He was swimming energetically but unskillfully. In his shore clothesit would have taken him at least a week to struggle to land. 

I knew all about saving people from drowning. We used to practice itwith a dummy in the swimming bath at school. I attacked him from therear and got a good grip of him by the shoulders. I then swam on myback in the direction of land, and beached him at the feet of anadmiring crowd. I had thought of putting him under once or twice justto show him he was being rescued, but decided against such a course asneedlessly realistic. As it was, I fancy he had swallowed two or threehearty draughts of sea water. 

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, in which the professorwrathfully joined, was against him. I could not help thinking that myfellow-conspirator did well to keep out of it all. He was now sittingin the boat, which he had restored to its normal position, balingpensively with an old tin can. To satire from the shore he paid noattention. 

The professor stood up and stretched out his hand to me. 

I grasped it. 

"Mr. Garnet, " he said, for all the world as if he had been the fatherof the heroine of "Hilda's Hero, " "we parted recently in anger. Let methank you for your gallant conduct, and hope that bygones will bebygones. "

[Illustration: "Mr. Garnet, " he said, "we parted recently in anger. Ihope that bygones will be bygones. "]

Like Mr. Samuel Weller, I liked his conversation much. It was "werrypretty. "

I came out strong. I continued to hold his hand. The crowd raised asympathetic cheer. 

I said:

"Professor, the fault was mine. Show that you have forgiven me bycoming up to the farm and putting on something dry. "

"An excellent idea, me boy. I _am_ a little wet. "

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, " Iexplained. 

"And Mr. Garnet heroically dived in, in all his clothes, and saved melife, " broke in the professor. "A hero, sir. _A-choo!_"

"You're catching cold, old horse, " said Ukridge, all friendliness andconcern, his little differences with the professor having vanishedlike thawed snow. "This'll never do. Come upstairs and get intosomething 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_! Wewant 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, outwith the duds. What do you think of this, now, professor? A sweetlypretty thing in gray flannel. Here's a shirt. Get out of that wettoggery, and Mrs. Beale shall dry it. Don't attempt to tell me aboutit till you've changed. Socks? Socks forward. Show socks. Here youare. Coat? Try this blazer. That's right. That's right. "

He bustled about till the professor was clothed, then marched himdownstairs and gave him a cigar. 

"Now, what's all this? What happened?"

The professor explained. He was severe in his narration upon theunlucky Mr. Hawk. 

"I was fishing, Mr. Ukridge, with me back turned, when I felt the boatrock violently from one side to the other to such an extent that Inearly 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 Isay. "

"Garnet must have seen. What happened, Marmaduke?"

I tried to smooth things over for Mr. Hawk. 

"It was very sudden, " I said. "It seemed to me as if the man had gotan attack of cramp. That would account for it. He has the reputationof being a most sober and trustworthy fellow. "

"Never trust that sort of man, " said Ukridge. "They are always theworst. It's plain to me that this man was beastly drunk, and upset theboat while trying to do a dance. "

The professor was in the best of tempers, and I worked strenuously tokeep him so. My scheme had been so successful that its iniquity didnot worry me. I have noticed that this is usually the case in mattersof 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 Schenectadyputter. It is wonderful what a difference it makes. "

Golf is a great bond of union. We wandered about the groundsdiscussing the game, the _entente cordiale_ growing more firmlyestablished every moment. 

"We must certainly arrange a meeting, " concluded the professor. "Ishall be interested to see how we stand with regard to one another. Ihave improved my game considerably since I have been downhere--considerably. "

"My only feat worthy of mention since I started the game, " I said, "has been to halve a round with Angus McLurkin at St. Andrew's. "

"_The_ McLurkin?" asked the professor, impressed. 

"Yes. But it was one of his very off days, I fancy. He must have hadgout, 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 becamevery friendly. 

Ukridge's ready agreement with his strictures on the erring Hawk had agreat deal to do with this. When a man has a grievance he feels drawnto those who will hear him patiently and sympathize. Ukridge was allsympathy. 

"The man is an unprincipled scoundrel, " he said, "and should be tornlimb from limb. Take my advice, Cholmondeley, and don't go out withhim again. Show him that you are not a man to be trifled with. Thespilled child dreads the water, what? Human life isn't safe with suchmen as Hawk roaming about. "

"You are perfectly right, sir. The man can have no defense. I shallnot employ him again. "

I felt more than a little guilty while listening to this duet on thesubject of the man whom I had lured from the straight and narrowpath. But my attempts at excusing him were ill received. Indeed, theprofessor showed such distinct signs of becoming heated that Iabandoned my fellow-conspirator to his fate with extreme promptness. After all, an addition to the stipulated reward--one of thesedays--would compensate him for any loss which he might sustain fromthe withdrawal of the professor's custom. Mr. Harry Hawk was in goodenough case. I would see that he did not suffer. 

Filled with these philanthropic feelings, I turned once more to talkwith the professor of niblicks and approach shots and holes done inthree without a brassy. We were a merry party at lunch--a lunch, fortunately, in Mrs. Beale's best vein, consisting of a roast chickenand sweets. Chicken had figured somewhat frequently of late on ourdaily bill of fare. 

We saw the professor off the premises in his dried clothes, and Iturned back to put the fowls to bed in a happier frame of mind than Ihad known for a long time. I whistled rag-time airs as I worked. 

"Rum old buffer, " said Ukridge meditatively. "My goodness, I shouldhave liked to see him in the water. Why do I miss these good things?"

SOME EMOTIONS

XII

The fame which came to me through that gallant rescue was a littleembarrassing. I was a marked man. Did I walk through the village, heads emerged from windows, and eyes followed me out of sight. Did Isit on the beach, groups formed behind me and watched in silentadmiration. I was the man of the moment. 

"If we'd wanted an advertisement for the farm, " said Ukridge on one ofthese occasions, "we couldn't have had a better one than you, Garny, my boy. You have brought us three distinct orders for eggs during thelast week. And I'll tell you what it is, we need all the orders wecan get that'll bring us in ready money. The farm is in a criticalcondition, Marmaduke. The coffers are low, decidedly low. And I'lltell you another thing. I'm getting precious tired of living onnothing 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 proudreserve. I never want to see a chicken again except alive. "

For the last week monotony had been the keynote of our commissariat. We had cold chicken and eggs for breakfast, boiled chicken and eggsfor lunch, and roast chicken and eggs for dinner. Meals became anuisance, and Mrs. Beale complained bitterly that we did not give hera 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 thisremote corner of the world ringing the changes on boiled chicken androast chicken and boiled eggs and poached eggs. Mr. Whistler, set topaint signboards for public houses, might have felt the same restlessdiscontent. As for her husband, the hired retainer, he took life astranquilly as ever, and seemed to regard the whole thing as the mostexhilarating farce he had ever been in. I think he looked on Ukridgeas an amiable lunatic, and was content to rough it a little in orderto enjoy the privilege of observing his movements. He made nocomplaints of the food. When a man has supported life for a number ofyears on incessant army beef, the monotony of daily chicken and eggsscarcely strikes him. 

"The fact is, " said Ukridge, "these tradesmen round here seem to be asordid, suspicious lot. They clamor for money. "

He mentioned a few examples. Vickers, the butcher, had been the firstto strike, with the remark that he would like to see the color of Mr. Ukridge's money before supplying further joints. Dawlish, the grocer, had expressed almost exactly similar sentiments two days later, andthe ranks of these passive resisters had been receiving fresh recruitsever since. To a man the tradesmen of Lyme Regis seemed as deficientin simple faith as they were in Norman blood. 

"Can't you pay some of them a little on account?" I suggested. "Itwould set them going again. "

"My dear old man, " said Ukridge impressively, "we need every penny ofready 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 thethroats of the chickens with the best turpentine--at least, Ukridgeand Beale had--but in spite of their efforts dozens had died, and wehad been obliged to sink much more money than was pleasant inrestocking the run. 

"No, " said Ukridge, summing up, "these men must wait. We can't helptheir troubles. Why, good gracious, it isn't as if they'd been waitingfor the money long. We've not been down here much over a month. Inever heard such a scandalous thing. 'Pon my word, I've a good mind togo round and have a straight talk with one or two of them. I come andsettle down here, and stimulate trade, and give them large orders, andthey worry me with bills when they know I'm up to my eyes in work, looking after the fowls. One can't attend to everything. This businessis just now at its most crucial point. It would be fatal to pay anyattention to anything else with things as they are. These scoundrelswill get paid all in good time. "

It is a peculiarity of situations of this kind that the ideas ofdebtor and creditor as to what constitutes good time never coincide. 

I am afraid that, despite the urgent need for strict attention tobusiness, I was inclined to neglect my duties about this time. I hadgot into the habit of wandering off, either to the links, where Igenerally found the professor and sometimes Phyllis, or on long walksby myself. There was one particular walk, along the Ware cliff, through some of the most beautiful scenery I have ever set eyes on, which more than any other suited my mood. I would work my way throughthe woods till I came to a small clearing on the very edge of thecliff. There I would sit by the hour. Somehow I found that my ideasflowed more readily in that spot than in any other. My novel wastaking shape. It was to be called, by the way, if it ever won throughto the goal of a title, "The Brown-haired Girl. "

I had not been inside the professor's grounds since the occasion whenI had gone in through the boxwood hedge. But on the afternoonfollowing my financial conversation with Ukridge I made my way thitherafter a toilet which, from its length, should have produced betterresults 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 courageto ask after her. I had an absurd idea that my voice or my mannerwould betray me in some way. 

The professor was not at home. Nor was Mr. Chase. Nor was Miss NorahDerrick, the lady I had met on the beach with the professor. MissPhyllis, said the maid, was in the garden. 

I went into the garden. She was sitting under the cedar by the tennislawn, reading. She looked up as I approached. 

To walk any distance under observation is one of the most tryingthings I know. I advanced in bad order, hoping that my hands did notreally look as big as they felt. The same remark applied to my feet. In emergencies of this kind a diffident man could very well dispensewith extremities. I should have liked to be wheeled up in a bathchair. 

I said it was a lovely afternoon; after which there was a lull in theconversation. I was filled with a horrid fear that I was boring her. Ihad probably arrived at the very moment when she was most interestedin her book. She must, I thought, even now be regarding me as anuisance, and was probably rehearsing bitter things to say to theservant 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 thatshe 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 shouldhave found it difficult to think of anything to say to him which wouldhave accounted for my anxiety to see him. 

We paused again. 

"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 speakfluently. I sketched for her the progress we had made since her visit. I was humorous concerning roop, epigrammatic on the subject of thehired retainer and Edwin. 

"Then the cat did come down from the chimney?" said Phyllis. 

We both laughed, and--I can answer for myself--felt the better for it. 

"He came down next day, " I said, "and made an excellent lunch off oneof our best fowls. He also killed another, and only just escaped deathhimself 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. Heis the only subject on which they disagree. Edwin is certainly in theway on a chicken farm. He has got over his fear of Bob, and is nowperfectly lawless. We have to keep a constant eye on him. "

"And have you had any success with the incubator? I love incubators. Ihave always wanted to have one of my own, but we have never keptfowls. "

"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 rightmethods. I don't know if I have got the figures absolutely correct, but Ukridge reasons on these lines. He says you are supposed to keepthe temperature up to a hundred and five degrees. I think he said ahundred and five. Then the eggs are supposed to hatch out in a week orso. He argues that you may just as well keep the temperature atseventy-two, and wait a fortnight for your chickens. I am certainthere's a fallacy in the system somewhere, because we never seem toget as far as the chickens. But Ukridge says his theory ismathematically sound and he sticks to it. "

"Are you quite sure that the way you are doing it is the best way tomanage a chicken farm?"

"I should very much doubt it. I am a child in these matters. I hadonly seen a chicken in its wild state once or twice before we camedown here. I had never dreamed of being an active assistant on a realfarm. The whole thing began like Mr. George Ade's fable of the author. An author--myself--was sitting at his desk trying to turn outsomething that could be converted into breakfast food, when a friendcame in and sat down on the table and told him to go right on and notmind him. "

"Did Mr. Ukridge do that?"

"Very nearly that. He called at my rooms one beautiful morning when Iwas feeling desperately tired of London and overworked and dying for aholiday, and suggested that I should come to Lyme Regis with him andhelp 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 downward on thegrass beside her. It was that same much-enduring copy of "TheManeuvers of Arthur. " I was thrilled. This patient perseverance mustsurely 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 mypride, was for some reason unpopular with the only critic about whoseopinion I cared, and had fallen accordingly from her pedestal. 

As we wandered down the gravel paths she gave me her opinion of thebook. In the main it was appreciative. I shall always associate thescent of yellow lubin with the higher criticism. 

"Of course I don't know anything about writing books, " she said. 

"Yes?" My tone implied, or I hoped it did, that she was an expert onbooks, and that if she was not it didn't matter. 

"But I don't think you do your heroines well. I have got 'TheOutsider'--"

(My other novel. Bastable & Kirby, six shillings. Satirical. All aboutsociety, of which I know less than I know about chicken farming. Slated by _Times_ and _Spectator_. Well received by the _Pelican_. )

"--and, " continued Phyllis, "Lady Maud is exactly the same as Pamelain 'The Maneuvers of Arthur. ' I thought you must have drawn bothcharacters from some one you knew. "

"No, " I said; "no. "

"I am so glad, " said Phyllis. 

And then neither of us seemed to have anything to say. 

My knees began to tremble. I realized that the moment had arrived whenmy fate must be put to the touch, and I feared that the moment waspremature. We cannot arrange these things to suit ourselves. I knewthat the time was not yet ripe, but the magic scent of the yellowlubin was too much for me. 

"Miss Derrick--" I said hoarsely. 

Phyllis was looking with more intentness than the attractions of theflower justified at a rose she held in her hand. The bees hummed inthe lubin. 

"Miss Derrick--" I said, and stopped again. 

"I say, you people, " said a cheerful voice, "tea is ready. Halloo, 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. Igrinned a sickly grin. 

"Well, Tom, " said Phyllis. 

And there was, I thought, just the faintest trace of annoyance in hervoice. 

"I've been bathing, " said Mr. Chase. 

"Oh, " I replied. "And I wish, " I added, "that you'd drowned yourself. "

But I added it silently to myself. 

TEA AND TENNIS

XIII

"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 shallnever 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 tryingto drown his sorrow as well. "

"I knew he drank, " said Phyllis severely, "the very first time I sawhim. "

"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. "

"How absurd!"

"Rather rough on the man, aren't you?" I said. 

"Merely a suggestion, " continued Mr. Chase airily. "I've been readingsensational novels lately, and it seems to me that Hawk's cut out tobe 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 aroundabout way of telling me that he knew?

"The professor may be a member of an anarchist league, or something, and this is his punishment for refusing to assassinate the Kaiser. "

"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. Isaw the whole thing from the Ware cliff. The spill looked to me justlike 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 thenavy that guards your coasts than you did before. When men are allowedon shore at Malta, the owner has a fancy to see them snugly on boardagain at a certain reasonable hour. After that hour any Maltesepoliceman who brings them aboard gets one sovereign, cash. But he hasto do all the bringing part of it on his own. Consequence is, you seeboats rowing out to the ship, carrying men who have overstayed theirleave; and, when they get near enough, the able-bodied gentleman incustody jumps to his feet, upsets the boat, and swims to the gangway. The policemen, if they aren't drowned--they sometimes are--race him, and whichever gets there first wins. If it's the policeman, he getshis sovereign. If it's the sailor, he is considered to have arrivednot in a state of custody, and gets off easier. What a judiciousremark that was of the Governor of North Carolina to the Governor ofSouth Carolina! Just one more cup, please, Phyllis. "

"But how does all that apply?" I asked, dry-mouthed. 

"Why, Hawk upset the professor just as those Maltese were upset. There's a patent way of doing it. Furthermore, by judiciousquestioning, I found that Hawk was once in the navy, and stationed atMalta. _Now_, who's going to drag in Sherlock Holmes?"

"You don't really think--" I said, feeling like a criminal in thedock when the case is going against him. 

"I think friend Hawk has been reënacting the joys of his vanishedyouth, 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, " I asked, as calmly as possible, "should he play atrick 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 afterdoing such a thing. "

"I--I think you're making a mistake, " I said. 

"I never make mistakes, " Mr. Chase replied. "I am called Archibald theAll Right, for I am infallible. I propose to keep a reflective eyeupon 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. "

I shot out a polite negative. Mr. Chase explained with his mouth fullthat he had by no means finished. Chocolate cake, it appeared, was thedream of his life. When at sea he was accustomed to lie awake o'nights thinking of it. 

"You don't seem to realize, " he said, "that I have just come from acruise on a torpedo boat. There was such a sea on, as a rule, thatcooking operations were entirely suspended, and we lived on ham andsardines--without bread. "

"How horrible!"

"On the other hand, " added Mr. Chase philosophically, "it didn'tmatter 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 aswell when his turn comes. My aim, my dear Phyllis, is to show you in aseries of impressionist pictures the sort of thing I have to gothrough when I'm not here. Then perhaps you won't rend me so savagelyover a matter of five minutes' lateness for breakfast. "

"Five minutes! It was three quarters of an hour, and everything wassimply 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 ithot. On occasion I prefer mine cold. Mine is the truer wisdom. I havescoffed the better part, as the good Kipling has it. You can give thecook my compliments, Phyllis, and tell her--gently, for I don't wishthe glad news to overwhelm her--that I enjoyed that cake. Say that Ishall 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 afour. "

"But she is at present wasting her sweetness on the desert air ofYeovil. You had better sit out and watch us, Phyllis. Tennis in thissort of weather is no job for the delicately nurtured feminine. I willexplain the finer points of my play as we go on. Look out particularlyfor the Doherty Back-handed Slosh. A winning stroke every time. "

We proceeded to the tennis court. I played with the sun in my eyes. Imight, if I chose, emphasize that fact, and attribute my subsequentrout to it, adding, by way of solidifying the excuse, that I wasplaying in a strange court with a borrowed racket, and that my mindwas preoccupied--firstly, with _l'affaire_ Hawk; secondly, andchiefly, with the gloomy thought that Phyllis and my opponent seemedto be on fiendishly good terms with each other. Their manner at teahad been almost that of an engaged couple. There was a thoroughunderstanding between them. I will not, however, take refuge behindexcuses. I admit, without qualifying the statement, that Mr. Chase wastoo good for me. I had always been under the impression thatlieutenants in the royal navy were not brilliant at tennis. I had metthem at various houses, but they had never shone conspicuously. Theyhad played an earnest, unobtrusive game, and generally seemed gladwhen it was over. Mr. Chase was not of this sort. His service wasbottled lightning. His returns behaved like jumping crackers. He wonthe first game in precisely four strokes. He served. I know now howsoldiers feel under fire. The balls whistled at me like live things. Only once did I take the service with the full face of the racket, andthen I seemed to be stopping a bullet. I returned it into the net. 

"Game, " said Mr. Chase. 

I felt a worm, and no man. Phyllis, I thought, would probably judge myentire character from this exhibition. A man, she would reflect, whocould be so feeble and miserable a failure at tennis, could not begood for much in any department of life. She would compare meinstructively with my opponent, and contrast his dash and brilliancewith my own inefficiency. Somehow, the massacre was beginning to havea bad effect on my character. My self-respect was ebbing. A littlemore of this, and I should become crushed--a mere human jelly. It wasmy turn to serve. Service is my strong point at tennis. I aminaccurate but vigorous, and occasionally send in a quite unplayableshot. One or two of these, even at the expense of a fault or so, and Imight be permitted to retain at least a portion of my self-respect. 

I opened with two faults. The sight of Phyllis, sitting calm and coolin her chair under the cedar, unnerved me. I served another fault. Andyet another. 

"Here, I say, Garnet, " observed Mr. Chase plaintively, "do put me outof this hideous suspense. I'm becoming a mere bundle of quiveringganglions. "

I loath facetiousness in moments of stress. I frowned austerely, madeno reply, and served another fault, my fifth. 

Matters had reached a crisis. Even if I had to lob it under hand, Imust send the ball over the net with this next stroke. 

I restrained myself this time, eschewing the careless vigor which hadmarked my previous efforts. The ball flew in a slow semicircle, andpitched inside the correct court. At least, I told myself, I had notserved a fault. 

What happened then I cannot exactly say. I saw my opponent springforward like a panther and whirl his racket. The next moment the backnet was shaking violently and the ball was rolling swiftly along theground on a return journey to the other court. 

"Love--forty, " said Mr. Chase. "Phyllis!"

"Yes?"

"That was the Doherty Slosh. "

"I thought it must be, " said Phyllis. 

The game ended with another brace of faults. 

In the third game I managed to score fifteen. By the merest chance Ireturned one of his red-hot serves, and--probably throughsurprise--he failed to send it back again. 

In the fourth and fifth games I omitted to score. 

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 aproportion of my serves went over the net instead of trying to getthrough. The score went from fifteen all to forty-fifteen. Hope beganto surge through my veins. If I could keep this up, I might win yet. 

The Doherty Slosh diminished my lead by fifteen. The Renshaw Slambrought the score to Deuce. Then I got in a really fine serve, whichbeat him. 'Vantage in. Another Slosh. Deuce. Another Slam. 'Vantageout. It was an awesome moment. There is a tide in the affairs of menwhich taken at the flood--I served. Fault. I served again--a beauty. He returned it like a flash into the corner of the court. With asupreme effort I got to it. We rallied. I was playing like aprofessor. Then whizz!

The Doherty Slosh had beaten me on the post. 

"Game _and_--" said Mr. Chase, twirling his racket into the air andcatching it by the handle. "Good game that last one. "

I turned to see what Phyllis thought of it. At the eleventh hour I hadshown her of what stuff I was made. 

She had disappeared. 

"Looking for Miss Derrick?" said Chase, jumping the net, and joiningme 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 begetting 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 hisdaily bread. Great Scott, that watch can't be right! What do you makeit? Yes, so do I. I really think I must run. You won't mind? Goodnight, then. See you to-morrow, I hope. "

I walked slowly out across the fields. That same star, in which I hadconfided on a former occasion, was at its post. It looked placid andcheerful. _It_ never got beaten by six games to love under the eyes ofits particular lady star. _It_ was never cut out ignominiously byinfernally capable lieutenants in his Majesty's navy. No wonder it wascheerful. 

It must be pleasant to be a star. 

A COUNCIL OF WAR

XIV

"The fact is, " said Ukridge, "if things go on as they are now, oldhorse, we shall be in the cart. This business wants bucking up. Wedon't seem to be making headway. What we want is time. If only thesescoundrels of tradesmen would leave us alone for a spell, we might getthings going properly. But we're hampered and worried and rattled allthe time. Aren't we, Millie?"

"Yes, dear. "

"You don't let me see the financial side of the thing, " I said, "except at intervals. I didn't know we were in such a bad way. Thefowls 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 othertwo. "

"Yes, " said Ukridge. "I saw to that. "

"As far as I can see, " I continued, "we're going strong. Chicken forbreakfast, lunch, and dinner is a shade monotonous, but look at thebusiness we're doing. We sold a whole heap of eggs last week. "

"It's not enough, Garny, my boy. We sell a dozen eggs where we oughtto be selling a hundred, carting them off in trucks for the Londonmarket. Harrod's and Whiteley's and the rest of them are beginning toget on their hind legs, and talk. That's what they're doing. You see, Marmaduke, there's no denying it--we _did_ touch them for a lot ofthings on account, and they agreed to take it out in eggs. They seemto be getting tired of waiting. "

"Their last letter was quite pathetic, " said Mrs. Ukridge. 

I had a vision of an eggless London. I seemed to see homes rendereddesolate and lives embittered by the slump, and millionaires biddingagainst one another for the few specimens Ukridge had actually managedto dispatch to Brompton and Bayswater. 

"I told them in my last letter but three, " continued Ukridgecomplainingly, "that I proposed to let them have the eggs on the_Times_ installment system, and they said I was frivolous. They saidthat to send thirteen eggs as payment for goods supplied to the valueof twenty-five pounds one shilling and sixpence was mere trifling. Trifling! when those thirteen eggs were absolutely all we had overthat week after Mrs. Beale had taken what she wanted for the kitchen. I tell you what it is, old boy, that woman literally eats eggs. "

"The habit is not confined to her, " I said. 

"What I mean to say is, she seems to bathe in them. "

An impressive picture to one who knew Mrs. Beale. 

"She says she needs so many for puddings, dear, " said Mrs. Ukridge. "Ispoke to her about it yesterday. And, of course, we often haveomelets. "

"She can't make omelets without breakings eggs, " I urged. 

"She can't make them without breaking us, " said Ukridge. "One or twomore omelets and we're done for. Another thing, " he continued, "thatincubator thing won't work. _I_ don't know what's wrong with it. "

"Perhaps it's your dodge of letting down the temperature. "

I had touched upon a tender point. 

"My dear fellow, " he said earnestly, "there's nothing the matter withmy figures. It's a mathematical certainty. What's the good ofmathematics if not to help you work out that sort of thing? No, there's something wrong with the machine itself, and I shall probablymake a complaint to the people I got it from. Where did we get theincubator, Millie?"

"Harrod's, I think, dear. Yes, it was Harrod's. It came down with thefirst lot of things from there. "

"Then, " said Ukridge, banging the table with his fist, while hisglasses flashed triumph, "we've got 'em! Write and answer that letterof theirs to-night, Millie. Sit on them. "

"Yes, dear. "

"And tell 'em that we'd have sent 'em their confounded eggs weeks agoif only their rotten, twopenny-ha'penny incubator had worked with anyapproach to decency. "

"Or words to that effect, " I suggested. 

"Add in a postscript that I consider that the manufacturer of thething ought to rent a padded cell at Earlswood, and that they arescoundrels for palming off a groggy machine of that sort on me. I'llteach them!"

"Yes, dear. "

"The ceremony of opening the morning's letters at Harrod's ought to befull of interest and excitement to-morrow, " I said. 

This dashing counter stroke served to relieve Ukridge's pessimisticmood. 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 outingenious, if somewhat impracticable, improvements in the farm. Ourfowls were to multiply so rapidly and consistently that within a shortspace of time Dorsetshire would be paved with them. Our eggs were toincrease in size till they broke records, and got three-line noticesin the "Items of Interest" column of the _Daily Mail_. Briefly, eachhen was to become a happy combination of rabbit and ostrich. 

"There is certainly a good time coming, " I said. "May it be soon. Meanwhile, there remain the local tradesmen. What of them?"

Ukridge relapsed once more into pessimism. 

"They are the worst of the lot, " he said. "I don't mind about theLondon men so much. They only write. And a letter or two hurts nobody. But when it comes to butchers and bakers and grocers and fishmongersand fruiterers, and what not, coming up to one's house and dunning onein one's own garden--well, it's a little hard, what?"

It may be wondered why, before things came to such a crisis, I had notplaced my balance at the bank at the disposal of the senior partnerfor use on behalf of the firm. The fact was that my balance was atthe moment small. I have not yet in the course of this narrative goneinto my pecuniary position, but I may state here that it was aninconvenient one. It was big with possibilities, but of ready cashthere was but a meager supply. My parents had been poor, but I had awealthy uncle. Uncles are notoriously careless of the comfort of theirnephews. Mine was no exception. He had views. He was a great believerin matrimony, as, having married three wives--not, I should add, simultaneously--he had every right to be. He was also of opinion thatthe less money the young bachelor possessed, the better. Theconsequence was that he announced his intention of giving me ahandsome allowance from the day that I married, but not an instantbefore. Till that glad day I would have to shift for myself. And I ambound to admit that--for an uncle--it was a remarkably sensible idea. I am also of opinion that it is greatly to my credit, and a proof ofmy pure and unmercenary nature, that I did not instantly put myself upto be raffled for, or rush out into the streets and propose marriageto the first lady I met. I was making enough with my pen to supportmyself, and, be it ever so humble, there is something pleasant in abachelor existence, or so I had thought until very recently. 

I had thus no great stake in Ukridge's chicken farm. I had contributeda modest five pounds to the preliminary expenses, and another fivepounds after the roop incident. But further I could not go withsafety. When his income is dependent on the whims of editors andpublishers, the prudent man keeps something up his sleeve against asudden slump in his particular wares. I did not wish to have to make ahurried choice between matrimony and the workhouse. 

Having exhausted the subject of finance--or, rather, when I began tofeel that it was exhausting me--I took my clubs and strolled up thehill to the links to play off a match with a sportsman from thevillage. I had entered some days previously a competition for a trophy(I quote the printed notice) presented by a local supporter of thegame, in which up to the present I was getting on nicely. I hadsurvived two rounds, and expected to beat my present opponent, whichwould bring me into the semi-final. Unless I had bad luck, I felt thatI ought to get into the final, and win it. As far as I could gatherfrom watching the play of my rivals, the professor was the best ofthem, and I was convinced that I should have no difficulty with him. But he had the most extraordinary luck at golf, though he neveradmitted it. He also exercised quite an uncanny influence on hisopponent. I have seen men put completely off their stroke by his goodfortune. 

I disposed of my man without difficulty. We parted a little coldly. Hedecapitated his brassy on the occasion of his striking Dorsetshireinstead of his ball, and he was slow in recovering from the complexemotions which such an episode induces. 

In the clubhouse I met the professor, whose demeanor was a welcomecontrast to that of my late antagonist. The professor had just routedhis opponent, and so won through to the semi-final. He was warm butjubilant. 

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. Bunkersseemed to have a magnetic attraction for him. "

"So you and father are both in the semi-final? I hope you will playvery badly. "

"Thank you, Miss Derrick, " I said. 

"Yes, it does sound rude, doesn't it? But father has set his heart onwinning this year. Do you know that he has played in the final roundtwo 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 Ihave seen on these links. "

"It was nobody who is here now. It was a Colonel Jervis. He has notcome to Lyme Regis this year. That is 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; butmy average round is somewhere in the late eighties. "

"The best father has ever done is ninety, and that was only once. Soyou 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 mustremember, that I shall fail miserably if I ever do play your father inthe final. There are days when I play golf very badly. "

Phyllis smiled. "Do you really have your off days?"

"Nearly always. There are days when I slice with my driver as if itwere 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. "

Mr. Lewis Waller could not have said it better. 

"Really, how very unselfish of you, Mr. Garnet, " she replied with alaugh. "I had no idea that such chivalry existed. I thought a golferwould 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. 

XV

THE ARRIVAL OF NEMESIS

Some people do not believe in presentiments. They attribute thatcurious feeling that something unpleasant is going to happen to suchmundane causes as liver or a chill or the weather. For my own part, Ithink there is more in the matter than the casual observer mightimagine. 

I awoke three days after my meeting with the professor at theclubhouse filled with a dull foreboding. Somehow I seemed to know thatthat day was going to turn out badly for me. It may have been liver ora chill, but it was certainly not the weather. The morning wasperfect, the most glorious of a glorious summer. There was a haze overthe valley and out to sea which suggested a warm noon, when the sunshould have begun the serious duties of the day. The birds weresinging in the trees and breakfasting on the lawn, while Edwin, seatedon one of the flower beds, watched them with the eye of a connoisseur. Occasionally, when a sparrow hopped in his direction, he would make asudden spring, and the bird would fly away to the other side of thelawn. I had never seen Edwin catch a sparrow. I believe they looked onhim as a bit of a crank, and humored him by coming within springingdistance, just to keep him amused. Dashing young cock sparrows wouldshow off before their particular hen sparrows, and earn a cheapreputation for dare-deviltry by going within so many yards of Edwin'slair and then darting away. 

Bob was in his favorite place on the gravel. I took him with me downto the Cob to watch me bathe. 

"What's the matter with me to-day, Robert, old man?" I asked him as Idried myself. 

He blinked lazily, but contributed no suggestion. 

"It's no good looking bored, " I went on, "because I'm going to talkabout myself, however much it bores you. Here am I, as fit as a prizefighter; living in the open air for I don't know how long; eatinggood, plain food; bathing every morning--sea bathing, mind you; andyet 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 Iwas in love just as much a week ago, and I felt all right then. Butisn't she an angel, Bob? Eh? Isn't she? But how about Tom Chase? Don'tyou 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 thenhe sees her every day, while I have to trust to meeting her at oddtimes, and then I generally feel like such a fool I can't think ofanything to talk about except golf and the weather. He probably singsduets with her after dinner. And you know what comes of duets afterdinner. "

Here Bob, who had been trying for some time to find a decent excusefor getting away, pretended to see something of importance at theother end of the Cob, and trotted off to investigate it, leaving me tofinish dressing by myself. 

"Of course, " I said to myself, "it may be merely hunger. I may be allright after breakfast, but at present I seem to be working up for areally fine fit of the blues. "

I whistled for Bob and started for home. On the beach I saw theprofessor some little distance away and waved my towel in a friendlymanner. He made no reply. 

Of course it was possible that he had not seen me, but for some reasonhis attitude struck me as ominous. As far as I could see, he waslooking straight at me, and he was not a shortsighted man. I couldthink of no reason why he should cut me. We had met on the links onthe previous morning, and he had been friendliness itself. He hadcalled me "me dear boy, " supplied me with ginger beer at theclubhouse, and generally behaved as if he had been David and IJonathan. Yet in certain moods we are inclined to make mountains outof mole-hills, and I went on my way, puzzled and uneasy, with adistinct impression that I had received the cut direct. 

I felt hurt. What had I done that Providence should make things sounpleasant for me? It would be a little hard, as Ukridge would havesaid, if, after all my trouble, the professor had discovered somefresh crow to pluck with me. Perhaps Ukridge had been irritating himagain. I wished he would not identify me so completely with Ukridge. Icould not be expected to control the man. Then I reflected that theycould hardly have met in the few hours between my parting from theprofessor at the clubhouse and my meeting with him on the beach. Ukridge rarely left the farm. When he was not working among the fowls, he was lying on his back in the paddock, resting his massive mind. 

I came to the conclusion that, after all, the professor had not seenme. 

"I'm an idiot, Bob, " I said, as we turned in at the farm gate, "and Ilet 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 thesideboard, deviled chicken on the table, and a trio of boiled eggs, and a dish of scrambled eggs. I helped myself to the latter and satdown. 

Ukridge was sorting the letters. 

"Morning, Garny, " he said. "One for you, Millie. "

"It's from Aunt Elizabeth, " said Mrs. Ukridge, looking at theenvelope. 

"Wish she'd inclose a check. She could spare it. "

"I think she would, dear, if she knew how much it was needed. But Idon't like to ask her. She's so curious and says such horrid things. "

"She does, " said Ukridge gloomily. He probably spoke from experience. "Two for you, Sebastian. All the rest for me. Eighteen of them, andall bills. "

He spread them out on the table like a pack of cards, and drew one ata venture. 

"Whiteley's, " he said. "Getting jumpy. Are in receipt of my favor ofthe 7th inst, and are at a loss to understand--all sorts of things. Would like something on account. "

"Grasping of them, " I said. 

"They seem to think I'm doing it for fun. How can I let them havetheir money when there isn't any?"

"Sounds difficult. "

"Here's one from Dorchester--Smith, the man I got the gramophone from. Wants to know when I'm going to settle up for sixteen records. "

"Sordid man!"

I wanted to get on with my own correspondence, but Ukridge was one ofthose men who compel one's attention when they are talking. 

"The chicken men, the dealer people, you know, want me to pay up forthe first lot of hens. Considering that they all died of roop, andthat I was going to send them back, anyhow, after I'd got them tohatch out a few chickens, I call that cool. I can't afford to payheavy sums for birds which die off quicker than I can get them in. Itisn't business. "

It was not my business, at any rate, so I switched off my attentionfrom Ukridge's troubles and was opening the first of my two letterswhen an exclamation from Mrs. Ukridge made me look up. 

She had dropped the letter she had been reading and was staringindignantly in front of her. There were two little red spots on hercheeks. 

"I shall never speak to Aunt Elizabeth again, " she said. 

"What's the matter, old chap?" inquired Ukridge affectionately, glancing up from his pile of bills. "Aunt Elizabeth been getting onyour 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 letters and upsetting Millie Ishall lynch her, " he said. I had never seen him so genuinely angry. Heturned over the pages till he came to the passage which had caused thetrouble. "Listen to this, Garnet. 'I'm sorry, but not surprised, tohear that the chicken farm is not proving a great success. I think youknow my opinion of your husband. He is perfectly helpless in anymatter requiring the exercise of a little common sense and businesscapability. ' I like that! 'Pon my soul, I like that! You've known melonger than she has, Garny, and you know that it's just in mattersrequiring common sense that I come out strong. What?"

"Of course, old man, " I replied dutifully. "The woman must be a fool. "

"That's what she calls me two lines farther on. No wonder Millie wasupset. Why can't these cats leave people alone?"

"O woman, woman!" I threw in helpfully. 

"Always interfering--"

"Beastly!"

"--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 hand. "

"And in the very next sentence refers to me as a perfect guffin. What's a guffin, Garny, old boy?"

"It sounds indecent. "

"I believe it's actionable. "

"I shouldn't wonder. "

Ukridge rushed to the door. 

"Millie!" he shouted. 

No answer. 

He slammed the door, and I heard him dashing upstairs. 

I turned with a sense of relief to my letters. One was from Lickford. It bore a Cornish postmark. I glanced through it, and laid it asidefor a more exhaustive perusal later on. 

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 beginning!

Then it got off the mark, so to speak, like lightning. There was nosparring for an opening, no dignified parade of set phrases leading upto the main point. It was the letter of a man who was almost toofurious to write. It gave me the impression that, if he had notwritten it, he would have been obliged to have taken some very violentform of exercise by way of relief to his soul. 

"You will be good enough, " he wrote, "to look on our acquaintance asclosed. I have no wish to associate with persons of your stamp. If weshould happen to meet, you will be good enough to treat me as a totalstranger, as I shall treat you. And, if I may be allowed to give you aword of advice, I should recommend you in future, when you wish toexercise your humor, to do so in some less practical manner than bybribing boatmen to upset your" (_friends_ crossed out thickly, and_acquaintances_ substituted). "If you require further enlightenment inthis matter, the inclosed letter may be of service to you. "

With which he remained mine faithfully, Patrick Derrick. 

The inclosed letter was from one Jane Muspratt. It was bright andinteresting. 

 DEAR SIR: My Harry, Mr. Hawk, sas to me how it was him upseting the boat and you, not because he is not steddy in a boat which he is no man more so in Lyme Regis but because one of the gentmen what keeps chikkens up the hill, the little one, Mr. Garnick his name is, says to him Hawk, I'll give you a sovrin to upset Mr. Derrick in your boat, and my Harry being esily led was took in and did but he's sory now and wishes he hadn't, and he sas he'll niver do a prackticle joke again for anyone even for a bank note. 

Yours obedly

JANE MUSPRATT. 

O woman, woman!

At the bottom of everything! History is full of cruel tragedies causedby the lethal sex. 

Who lost Mark Antony the world? A woman. Who let Samson in soatrociously? 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 Ihope to win over the professor again? I cursed Jane Muspratt for thesecond 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. Theman who lays a hand upon a woman, save in the way of kindness, isjustly disliked by society; so the woman Muspratt, culpable as shewas, was safe from me. But what of the man Hawk? There no suchconsiderations swayed me. I would interview the man Hawk. I would givehim the most hectic ten minutes of his career. I would say things tohim the recollection of which would make him start up shrieking in hisbed in the small hours of the night. I would arise, and be a man andslay him--take him grossly, full of bread, with all his crimes, broad-blown, as flush as May; at gaming, swearing, or about some actthat had no relish of salvation in it. 

The demon!

My life--ruined. My future--gray and blank. My heart--shattered. Andwhy? Because of the scoundrel--Hawk. 

Phyllis would meet me in the village, on the Cob, on the links, andpass by as if I were the invisible man. And why? Because of thereptile--Hawk. The worm--Hawk. The varlet--Hawk. 

I crammed my hat on and hurried out of the house toward the village. 

A CHANCE MEETING

XVI

I roamed the place in search of the varlet for the space of half anhour, and, after having drawn all his familiar haunts, found him atlength leaning over the sea wall near the church, gazing thoughtfullyinto 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, heshowed signs of having looked on the bitter while it was brown. 

"Beauty?" he echoed. 

"What have you got to say for yourself?"

It was plain that he was engaged in pulling his faculties together bysome laborious process known only to himself. At present my wordsconveyed no meaning to him. He was trying to identify me. He had seenme before somewhere, he was certain, but he could not say where, orwho I was. 

"I want to know, " I said, "what induced you to be such an abject idiotas to let our arrangement get known?"

I spoke quietly. I was not going to waste the choicer flowers ofspeech on a man who was incapable of understanding them. Later on, when he had awakened to a sense of his position, I would begin reallyto talk to him. 

He continued to stare at me. Then a sudden flash of intelligence litup his features. 

"Mr. Garnick, " he said. 

"You've got it at last. "

He stretched out a huge hand. 

"I want to know, " I said distinctly, "what you've got to say foryourself after letting our affair with the professor become publicproperty?"

He paused a while in thought. 

"Dear sir, " he said at last, as if he were dictating a letter, "dearsir, I owe you--ex--exp--"

"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 tipthis ol' bufflehead into sea, ' you said, 'an' gormed if I don't give'ee a gould savrin. ' That's what you said me. Isn't that what you saidme?"

I did not deny it. 

"Ve' well. I said you, 'Right, ' I said. I tipped the ol' soul intosea, and I got the gould savrin. "

"Yes, you took care of that. All this is quite true, but it's besidethe point. We are not disputing about what happened. What I want toknow 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 hisplace I should have acted as he had done. Fate was culpable, and fatealone. 

It appeared that he had not come well out of the matter of theaccident. 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 theopposite result for him. He had upset his boat and would have drownedhis passenger, said public opinion, if the young hero fromLondon--myself--had not plunged in, and at the risk of his lifebrought the professor to shore. Consequently, he was despised by allas an inefficient boatman. He became a laughing stock. The local wagsmade laborious jests when he passed. They offered him fabulous sums totake their worst enemies out for a row with him. They wanted to knowwhen he was going to school to learn his business. In fact, theybehaved as wags do and always have done at all times all the worldover. 

Now, all this Mr. Hawk, it seemed, would have borne cheerfully andpatiently for my sake, or, at any rate, for the sake of the goodgolden sovereign I had given him. But a fresh factor appeared in theproblem, complicating it grievously. To wit, Miss Jane Muspratt. 

"She said me, " explained Mr. Hawk with pathos, "'Harry 'Awk, ' shesaid, 'yeou'm a girt fule, an' I don't marry noone as is ain't to betrusted in a boat by hisself, and what has jokes made about him bythat Tom Leigh. ' I punched Tom Leigh, " observed Mr. Hawkparenthetically. "'So, ' she said me, 'yeou can go away, an' I don'twant to see yeou again. '"

This heartless conduct on the part of Miss Muspratt had had thenatural result of making him confess all in self-defense, and she hadwritten 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 thatshapes our ends, rough-hew them how we will, and it's no goodgrumbling. "

"Yiss, " said Mr. Hawk, after chewing this sentiment for a while insilence, "so she said me, 'Hawk, ' she said--like that--'you're a girtfule--'"

"That's all right, " I replied. "I quite understand. As I say, it'ssimply fate. Good-by. "

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 fervor of self-pity. I was in one of thosemoods when life suddenly seems to become irksome, when the futurestretches blank and gray in front of one. In such a mood it isimperative that one should seek distraction. The shining example ofMr. 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 thefowls, separating them when they fought, gathering in the eggs whenthey laid, chasing them across country when they got away, and even, if necessity arose, painting their throats with turpentine when theywere stricken with roop. Then, after dinner, when the lamps were lit, and Mrs. Ukridge petted Edwin and sewed, and Ukridge smoked cigars andincited the gramophone to murder "Mumbling Mose, " I would steal awayto my bedroom and write--and write--and _write_--and go on writingtill 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 thebest. A man must go through the fire before he can write hismasterpiece. We learn in suffering what we teach in song. What we loseon the swings we make up on the roundabouts. Jerry Garnet, the man, might become a depressed, hopeless wreck, with the iron plantedirremovably in his soul; but Jeremy Garnet, the author, should turnout such a novel of gloom that strong critics would weep and thepublic jostle for copies till Mudie's doorways became a shambles. 

Thus might I some day feel that all this anguish was really ablessing--effectively disguised. 

But I doubted it. 

We were none of us very cheerful now at the farm. Even Ukridge'sspirit was a little daunted by the bills which poured in by everypost. It was as if the tradesmen of the neighborhood had formed aleague and were working in concert. Or it may have been due to thoughtwaves. Little accounts came not in single spies but in battalions. Thepopular demand for a sight of the color of his money grew daily. Everymorning at breakfast he would give us fresh bulletins of the state ofmind of each of our creditors, and thrill us with the announcementthat Whiteley's were getting cross and Harrod's jumpy, or that thebearings of Dawlish, the grocer, were becoming over-heated. We livedin a continual atmosphere of worry. Chicken and nothing but chickenat meals, and chicken and nothing but chicken between meals, hadfrayed our nerves. An air of defeat hung over the place. We were abeaten side, and we realized it. We had been playing an uphill gamefor nearly two months, and the strain was beginning to tell. Ukridgebecame 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 lackof chances vouchsafed her for the exercise of her art. And as for me, I have never since spent so profoundly miserable a week. I was noteven permitted the anodyne of work. There seemed to be nothing to doon the farm. The chickens were quite happy, and only asked to be letalone and allowed to have their meals at regular intervals. And everyday one or more of their number would vanish into the kitchen, andMrs. Beale would serve up the corpse in some cunning disguise, and wewould try to delude ourselves into the idea that it was somethingaltogether different. 

There was one solitary gleam of variety in our menu. An editor sent mea check for a guinea for a set of verses. We cashed that check andtrooped round the town in a body, laying out the money. We bought aleg of mutton and a tongue and sardines and pineapple chunks andpotted meat and many other noble things, and had a perfect banquet. 

After that we relapsed into routine again. 

Deprived of physical labor, with the exception of golf andbathing--trivial sports compared with work in the fowl runs at itshardest--I tried to make up for it by working at my novel. 

It refused to materialize. 

I felt, like the man in the fable, as if some one had played a meantrick on me, and substituted for my brain a side order ofcauliflower. By no manner of means could I get the plot to shapeitself. I could not detach my mind from my own painful case. Insteadof thinking of my characters, I sat in my chair and thought miserablyof Phyllis. 

The only progress I achieved was with my villain. 

I drew him from the professor and made him a blackmailer. He hadseveral other social defects, but that was his profession. That wasthe thing he did really well. 

It was on one of the many occasions on which I had sat in my room, penin hand, through the whole of a lovely afternoon, with no betterresult than a slight headache, that I bethought me of that littleparadise on the Ware Cliff, hung over the sea and backed by greenwoods. I had not been there for sometime, owing principally to anentirely erroneous idea that I could do more solid work sitting in astraight, hard chair at a table than lying on soft turf with the seawind in my eyes. 

But now the desire to visit that little clearing again drove me frommy room. In the drawing-room below, the gramophone was dealingbrassily with "Mister Blackman. " Outside, the sun was just thinking ofsetting. The Ware Cliff was the best medicine for me. What doesKipling 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 Icould omit that. The sun and wind were what I needed. 

I took the upper road. In certain moods I preferred it to the pathalong the cliff. I walked fast. The exercise was soothing. 

To reach my favorite clearing I had to take to the fields on the leftand strike down hill in the direction of the sea. I hurried down thenarrow path. 

I broke into the clearing at a jog trot, and stood panting. And at thesame moment, looking cool and beautiful in her white dress, Phyllisentered it from the other side. Phyllis--without the professor. 

OF A SENTIMENTAL NATURE

XVII

She was wearing a Panama, and she carried a sketching block and campstool. 

"Good evening, " I said. 

"Good evening, " said she. 

It is curious how different the same words can sound when spoken bydifferent people. My "good evening" might have been that of a man witha particularly guilty conscience caught in the act of doing somethingmore than usually ignoble. She spoke like a somewhat 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 faintsuggestion of surprise, gazed through me for a moment at some object acouple of thousand miles away, and lowered them again, leaving me witha vague feeling that there was something wrong with my personalappearance. 

Very calmly she moved to the edge of the cliff, arranged her campstool, and sat down. Neither of us spoke a word. I watched her whileshe filled a little mug with water from a little bottle, opened herpaint box, selected a brush, and placed her sketching block inposition. 

She began to paint. 

Now, by all the laws of good taste, I should before this have made adignified exit. When a lady shows a gentleman that his presence isunwelcome, it is up to him, as an American friend of mine pithilyobserved to me on one occasion, to get busy and chase himself, andsee if he can make the tall timber in two jumps. In other words, toretire. It was plain that I was not regarded as an essential ornamentof this portion of the Ware Cliff. By now, if I had been the perfectgentleman, 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's hairwas tinged with it. Little waves tumbled lazily on the beach below. Except for the song of a distant blackbird running through itsrepertory before retiring for the night, everything was silent. 

Especially Phyllis. 

She sat there, dipping and painting and dipping again, with never aword for me--standing patiently and humbly behind her. 

"Miss Derrick, " I said. 

She half turned her head. 

"Yes?"

One of the most valuable things which a lifetime devoted to sportteaches a man is "never play the goose game. " Bold attack is thesafest rule in nine cases out of ten, wherever you are and whateveryou may be doing. If you are batting, attack the ball. If you areboxing, get after your man. If you are talking, go to the point. 

"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 herprofile. Her chin was tilted. Her expression was determined. 

"Is it?" I said. 

"Need we discuss it?"

"Not if you do not wish. "

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 believewe 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. "

"Then you shall have it. "

"That is 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 thechange of position in a manner clipped my wings. It is difficult tospeak movingly while sitting on the ground. Instinctively, I avoidedeloquence. 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 dinedwith 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 thinkingof Edwin. But it was only for a moment, and then her face grew coldonce more, and the chin resumed its angle of determination. 

"Yes, " she said. 

"You remember the unfortunate ending of the festivities?"

"Well?"

"I naturally wished to mend matters. It occurred to me that anexcellent way would be by doing your father a service. It was seeinghim fishing that put the idea of a boat accident into my head. I hopedfor a genuine boat accident. But those things only happen when onedoes 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 forgivenessin hers. 

"You behaved abominably, " she said. 

"I played a risky game, and I lost. And I shall now take theconsequences. With luck I should have won. I did not have luck, and Iam not going to grumble about it. But I am grateful to you for lettingme explain. I should not have liked you to go on thinking that Iplayed practical jokes on my friends. That is all I have to say, Ithink. It was kind of you to listen. Good-by, 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 fair cheek turned toward me, and the chin wastilted higher. 

I sat down. 

To westward the sky had changed to the hue of a bruised cherry. Thesun had sunk below the horizon, and the sea looked cold and leaden. The blackbird had long since gone to bed. 

"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 myfather 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 stupidthing. "

"Consider the temptation. "

The sky was a dull gray now. It was growing dusk. The grass on which Isat was wet with dew. 

I stood up. 

"Isn't it getting a little dark for painting?" I said. "Are you sureyou 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 the grass. 

"You will let me carry your things?" I said. 

I think she hesitated, but only for a moment. I possessed myself ofthe camp stool, and we started on our homeward journey. We were bothsilent. The spell of the quiet summer evening was on us. 

"'And all the air a solemn stillness holds, '" she said softly. "I lovethis cliff, Mr. Garnet. It's the most soothing place in the world. "

"I have found it so this evening. "

She glanced at me quickly. 

"You're not looking well, " she said. "Are you sure you are notoverworking yourself?"

"No, it's not that. "

Somehow we had stopped, as if by agreement, and were facing eachother. 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 werealone together in a world of our own. 

"It is because I had displeased you, " I said. 

She laughed nervously. 

"I have loved you ever since I first saw you, " I said doggedly. 

UKRIDGE GIVES ME ADVICE

XVIII

Hours after--or so it seemed to me--we reached the spot at which ourways divided. We stopped, and I felt as if I had been suddenly castback into the workaday world from some distant and pleasanter planet. I think Phyllis must have had something of the same sensation, for weboth became on the instant intensely practical and businesslike. 

"But about your father, " I said briskly. I was not even holding herhand. 

"That's the difficulty. "

"He won't give 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 hadhappened, 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 shallever be as happy as they will?"

I laughed scornfully. 

"Happy! They will be miserable compared with us. Not that I know whothe 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 beenthrough because of that wretched man, and all for nothing, I don'tknow 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 youPhyllis, and generally behaved as if you and he were the heroine andhero of a musical comedy, so what else could I think? I heard yousinging duets after dinner once. I drew the worst conclusions. "

"When was that?"

"It was shortly after Ukridge had got on your father's nerves, andnipped our acquaintance in the bud. I used to come every night to thehedge 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 allflat, I used to scold. You'll probably find most of the bark worn offthe 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 thought you alwaysplayed like that. "

"I know. I knew you would. It nearly turned my hair white. I didn'tsee 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; andpaused 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 art not so unkind--"

"He'll never forgive you. "

"As man's ingratitude. I saved his life--at the risk of my own. Why, Ibelieve I've got a legal claim on him. Whoever heard of a man havinghis life saved, and not being delighted when his preserver wanted tomarry his daughter? Your father is striking at the very root of theshort-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'tsuppose you've the remotest notion how splendid it sounds when yousay it. There is something poetical, something almost holy, about it. "

"Jerry, please!"

"Say on. "

"Do be sensible. Don't you see how serious this is? We must think howwe can make father consent. "

"All right, " I said. "We'll tackle the point. I'm sorry to befrivolous, but I'm so happy I can't keep it all in. I've got you, andI can't think of anything else. "

"Try. "

"I'll pull myself together. .. . Now, say on once more. "

"We can't marry without father's consent. "

"Why not?" I said, not having a marked respect for the professor'swhims. "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 mecome near him again, and not write to me. And he would hate it all thetime he was doing it. He would be bored to death without me. "

"Anybody would, " I said. 

"Because, you see, Norah has never been quite the same. She has spentsuch a lot of her time on visits to people that she and father don'tunderstand each other so well as he and I do. She would try and benice to him, but she wouldn't know him as I do. And, besides, she willbe with him such a little, now she's going to be married. "

"But, look here, " I said, "this is absurd. You say your father wouldnever see you again, and so on, if you married me. Why? It'snonsense. It isn't as if I were a sort of social outcast. We were thebest of friends till that man Hawk gave me away like that. "

"I know. But he's very obstinate about some things. You see, he thinksthe whole thing has made him look ridiculous, and it will take him along time to forgive you for that. "

I realized the truth of this. One can pardon any injury to oneself, unless it hurts one's vanity. Moreover, even in a genuine case ofrescue, the rescued man must always feel a little aggrieved with hisrescuer when he thinks the matter over in cold blood. He must regardhim unconsciously as the super regards the actor manager, indebted tohim for the means of supporting existence, but grudging him the limelight and the center of the stage and the applause. Besides, everyoneinstinctively dislikes being under an obligation which he can neverwholly repay. And when a man discovers that he has experienced allthese mixed sensations for nothing, as the professor had done, hiswrath is likely to be no slight thing. 

Taking everything into consideration, I could not but feel that itwould require more than a little persuasion to make the professorbestow his blessing with that genial warmth which we like to see inour fathers-in-law elect. 

"You don't think, " I said, "that time, the great healer, and so on--hewon't feel kindlier disposed toward 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. Imight do something one of these days which would completely alter hisviews. We will hope for the best. "

"About telling father--"

"Need we tell him?" I asked. 

"Yes, we must. I couldn't bear to think that I was keeping it fromhim. 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 awfullyangry. I don't know how I shall begin telling him. "

"Good heavens!" I cried, "you surely don't think I'm going to let youdo that! Keep safely out of the way while you tell him? Not much. I'mcoming 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 betterwait 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 to bathe. "

"Good. To-morrow, do thy worst, for I have lived to-day. I'll bethere. "

 * * * * *

"Ukridge, " I said, when I got back, "can you give me audience for abrief space? I want your advice. "

This stirred him like a trumpet blast. When a man is in the habit ofgiving unsolicited counsel to everyone he meets, it is as invigoratingas an electric shock to him to be asked for it spontaneously. 

"What's up, old horse?" he asked eagerly. "I'll tell you what to do. Get on to it. Bang it out. Here, let's go into the garden. "

I approved of this. I can always talk more readily in the dark, and Idid not wish to be interrupted by the sudden entrance of the hiredretainer or Mrs. Beale. We walked down to the paddock. Ukridge lit acigar. 

"I'm in love, Ukridge, " I said. 

"What!"

"More--I'm engaged. "

A huge hand whistled through the darkness and smote me heavily betweenthe shoulder blades. 

"Thanks, " I said; "that felt congratulatory. "

"By Jove! old boy, I wish you luck. 'Pon my word, I do. Fancy youengaged! Best thing in the world for you. Never knew what happinesswas till I married. A man wants a helpmeet--"

"And this man, " I said, "seems likely to go on wanting. That's where Ineed your advice. I'm engaged to Miss Derrick. "

"Miss Derrick!" He spoke as if he hardly knew whom I meant. 

"You can't have forgotten her! Good heavens, what eyes some men have!Why, if I'd only seen her once, I should have remembered her all mylife. "

"I know now. She came to dinner here with her father, that fat littlebuffer. "

"As you were careful to call him at the time. Thereby starting all thetrouble. "

"You fished him out of the water afterwards. "

"Quite right. "

"Why, it's a perfect romance, old horse. It's like the stories youread. "

"And write. But they all end happily. 'There is none, my brave youngpreserver, to whom I would more willingly intrust my daughter'shappiness. ' Unfortunately, in my little drama, the heavy father seemslikely to forget his cue. "

"The old man won't give his consent?"

"Probably not. "

"But why? What's the matter with you? If you marry, you'll come intoyour uncle's money, and all that. "

"True. Affluence stares me in the face. "

"And you fished him out of the water. "

"After previously chucking him in. "

"What!"

"At any rate, by proxy. "

I explained. Ukridge, I regret to say, laughed. 

"You vagabond!" he said. "'Pon my word, old horse, to look at you, onewould never have thought you'd have had it in you. "

"I can't help looking respectable. "

"What are you going to do about it? The old man's got it up againstyou good and strong, there's no doubt of that. "

"That's where I wanted your advice. You're a man of resource. Whatwould you do if you were in my place?"

Ukridge tapped me impressively on the shoulder. 

"Marmaduke, " he said, "there's one thing that'll carry you through anymess. "

"And that is--"

"Cheek, my boy--cheek! Gall! Why, take my case. I never told you how Icame to marry, did I? I thought not. Well, it was this way. You'veheard us mention Millie's Aunt Elizabeth--what? Well, then, when Itell you that she was Millie's nearest relative, and it was herconsent I had to gather, you'll see that it wasn't a walk-over. "

"Well?" I said. 

"First time I saw Millie was in a first-class carriage on theunderground. I'd got a third-class ticket, by the way. We weren'talone. It was five a side. But she sat opposite me, and I fell in lovewith her there and then. We both got out at South Kensington. Ifollowed her. She went to a house in Thurloe Square. I waited outsideand thought it over. I had got to get into that house and make heracquaintance. So I rang the bell. 'Is Lady Lichenhall at home?' Iasked. You note the artfulness? My asking for Lady Lichenhall made 'emthink I was one of the upper ten--what?"

"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 abouttutoring his son. There was nothing the matter with my appearance. 'No, ' said the servant, 'nobody of that name lives here. This is LadyLakenheath's house. ' So, you see, I had luck at the start, because thetwo names were a bit alike. Well, I got the servant to show me insomehow, and, once in, you can wager I talked for all I was worth. Kept up a flow of conversation about being misdirected and coming tothe wrong house, and so on. Went away, and called a few days later. Called regularly. Met 'em at every theater they went to, and bowed, and finally got away with Millie before her aunt could tell what washappening, or who I was or what I was doing or anything. "

"And what's the moral?" I said. 

"Why, go in hard. Rush 'em. Bustle 'em. Don't give 'em a moment'srest. "

"Don't play the goose game, " I said with that curious thrill we feelwhen somebody's independent view of a matter coincides with one's own. 

"That's it. Don't play the goose game. Don't give 'em time to think. Why, if I'd given Millie's aunt time to think, where should we havebeen? Not at Lyme Regis together, I'll bet. "

"Ukridge, " I said, "you inspire me. You would inspire a caterpillar. Iwill go to the professor--I was going anyhow--but now I shall goaggressively, and bustle him. I will surprise a father's blessing outof him, if I have to do it with a crowbar!"

I ASK PAPA

XIX

Reviewing the matter later, I see that I made a poor choice of timeand place. But at the moment this did not strike me. It is a simplething, I reflected, for a man to pass another by haughtily and withoutrecognition, when they meet on dry land; but when the said man, beingan indifferent swimmer, is accosted in the water and out of his depth, the feat becomes a hard one. 

When, therefore, having undressed on the Cob on the following morning, I spied in the distance, as I was about to dive, the gray head of theprofessor bobbing on the face of the waters, I did not hesitate. Iplunged in and swam rapidly toward him. 

His face was turned in the opposite direction when I came up with him, and it was soon evident that he had not observed my approach. Forwhen, treading water easily in his immediate rear, I wished him goodmorning in my most conciliatory tones, he stood not upon the order ofhis sinking, but went under like so much pig iron. I waitedcourteously until he rose to the surface once more, when I repeated myremark. 

He expelled the last remnant of water from his mouth with a wrathfulsplutter, and cleared his eyes with the back of his hand. 

"The water is delightfully warm, " I said. 

"Oh, it's you!" said he, and I could not cheat myself into believingthat he spoke cordially. 

"You are swimming splendidly this morning, " I said, feeling that anounce of flattery is often 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 hismouth was open, walked in. "I wish, " he resumed warmly, "as I said inme letter, to have nothing to do with you. I consider ye've behaved ina manner that can only be described as abominable, and I will thank yeto leave me alone. "

"But, allow me--"

"I will not allow ye, sir. I will allow ye nothing. Is it not enoughto make me the laughingstock, the butt, sir, of this town, withoutpursuing me in this manner when I wish to enjoy a quiet swim?"

His remarks, which I have placed on paper as if they were continuousand uninterrupted, were punctuated in reality by a series of gasps andpuffings as he received and ejected the successors of the wave he hadswallowed at the beginning of our little chat. The art of conductingbright conversation while in the water is not given to every swimmer. This he seemed to realize, for, as if to close the interview, heproceeded to make his way as quickly as he could toward the shore. Using my best stroke, I shot beyond him and turned, treading water asbefore. 

"But, professor, " I said, "one moment. "

I was growing annoyed with the man. I could have ducked him but forthe reflection that my prospects of obtaining his consent to myengagement with Phyllis would hardly have been enhanced thereby. Nomore convincing proof of my devotion can be given than this, that Idid not seize that little man by the top of his head, thrust him underwater, and keep him there. 

I restrained myself. I was suave. Soothing, even. 

"But, professor, " I said, "one moment. "

"Not one, " he spluttered. "Go away, sir. I will have nothing to say toyou. "

"I shan't keep you a minute. "

He had been trying all this while to pass me and escape to the shore, but I kept always directly in front of him. He now gave up the attemptand came to standstill. 

"Well?" he said. 

Without preamble I gave out the text of the address I was about todeliver to him. 

"I love your daughter Phyllis, Mr. Derrick. She loves me. In fact, weare engaged, " I said. 

He went under as if he had been seized with cramp. It was a littletrying having to argue with a man, of whom one could not predict withcertainty that at any given moment he would not be under water. Ittended to spoil one's flow of eloquence. The best of arguments isuseless if the listener suddenly disappears in the middle of it. 

However, I persevered. 

"Mr. Derrick, " I said, as his head emerged, "you are naturallysurprised. "

"You--you--you--"

So far from cooling him, liberal doses of water seemed to make himmore heated. 

"You impudent scoundrel!"

He said that--not I. What I said was more gentlemanly, more courteous, on a higher plane altogether. 

I said winningly: "Mr. Derrick, cannot we let bygones be bygones?"

From his expression I gathered that we could not. 

I continued. I was under the unfortunate necessity of having tocondense my remarks. I was not able to let myself go as I could havewished, for time was an important consideration. Erelong, swallowingwater at his present rate, the professor must inevitably becomewaterlogged. It behooved me to be succinct. 

"I have loved your daughter, " I said rapidly, "ever since I first sawher. I learned last night that she loved me. But she will not marry mewithout your consent. Stretch your arms out straight from theshoulders and fill your lungs well, and you can't sink. So I have comethis morning to ask for your consent. I know we have not been on thebest of terms lately. "

"You--"

"For Heaven's sake, don't try to talk. Your one chance of remaining onthe surface is to keep your lungs well filled. The fault, " I saidgenerously, "was mine. But when you have heard my explanation, I amsure 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, you putme in a very awkward position. I was desperately in love with yourdaughter, and as long as you were in the frame of mind in which youleft, I could not hope to find an opportunity of telling her so. Yousee what a fix I was in, don't you? I thought for hours and hours, totry and find some means of bringing about a reconciliation. Youwouldn't believe how hard I thought. At last, seeing you fishing onemorning when I was on the Cob, it struck me all of a sudden that thevery best way would be to arrange a little boating accident. I wasconfident that I could rescue you all right. "

"You young blackguard!"

He managed to slip past me, and made for the shore again. 

"Strike out--but hear me, " I said, swimming by his side. "Look at thething from the standpoint of a philosopher. The fact that the rescuewas arranged oughtn't really to influence you in the least. You didn'tknow it at the time, therefore relatively it was not, and you weregenuinely saved from a watery grave. "

I felt that I was becoming a shade too metaphysical, but I could nothelp it. What I wanted to point out was that I had certainly pulledhim out of the water, and that the fact that I had caused him to bepushed in had nothing to do with the case. Either a man is a gallantrescuer or he is not a gallant rescuer. There is no middle course. Ihad saved his life, for he would have drowned if he had been left tohimself, and was consequently entitled to his gratitude. And that wasall that there was to be said about it. 

These things I endeavored to make plain to him as we swam along. Butwhether it was that the salt water he had swallowed dulled hisintelligence or that my power of stating a case neatly was to seek, the fact remains that he reached the beach an unconvinced man. 

We faced one another, dripping. 

"Then may I consider, " I said, "that your objections are removed? Wehave your consent?"

He stamped angrily, and his bare foot came down on a small butsingularly sharp pebble. With a brief exclamation he seized the footwith one hand and hopped. While hopping, he delivered his ultimatum. Probably this is the only instance on record of a father adopting thisattitude in dismissing a suitor. 

"You may not, " he said. "You may not consider any such thing. Myobjections were never more--absolute. You detain me in the water tillI am blue, sir, blue with cold, in order to listen to the mostpreposterous and impudent nonsense I ever heard. "

This was unjust. If he had heard me attentively from the first andavoided interruptions and not behaved like a submarine, we shouldhave got through our little business in half the time. We might bothhave been dry and clothed by now. 

I endeavored to point this out to him. 

"Don't talk to me, sir, " he roared, hobbling off across the beach tohis dressing tent. "I will not listen to you. I will have nothing todo with you. I consider you impudent, sir. "

"I am sure it was unintentional, Mr. Derrick. "

"Isch!" he said--being the first occasion and the last on which I everheard that remarkable word proceed from the mouth of man. 

And he vanished into his tent, while I, wading in once more, swam backto the Cob and put on my clothes. 

And so home, as Pepys would have said, to breakfast, feelingdepressed. 

SCIENTIFIC GOLF

XX

As I stood with Ukridge in the fowl run on the morning following mymaritime conversation with the professor, regarding a hen that hadposed before us, obviously with a view to inspection, there appeared aman carrying an envelope. 

Ukridge, who by this time saw, as Calverley almost said, "under everyhat a dun, " and imagined that no envelope could contain anything but asmall account, softly and silently vanished away, leaving me tointerview the enemy. 

"Mr. Garnet, sir?" said the foe. 

I recognized him. He was Professor Derrick's gardener. What did thisportend? Had the merits of my pleadings come home to the professorwhen he thought them over, and was there a father's blessing inclosedin the envelope which was being held out to me?

I opened the envelope. No, father's blessings were absent. The letterwas in the third person. Professor Derrick begged to inform Mr. Garnetthat, by defeating Mr. Saul Potter, he had qualified for the finalround of the Lyme Regis Golf Tournament, in which, he understood, Mr. Garnet was to be his opponent. If it would be convenient for Mr. Garnet to play off the match on the present afternoon, ProfessorDerrick would be obliged if he would be at the clubhouse at half-pasttwo. If this hour and day were unsuitable, would he kindly arrangeothers. The bearer would wait. 

The bearer did wait, and then trudged off with a note, beautifullywritten in the third person, in which Mr. Garnet, after numerouscompliments and thanks, begged to inform Professor Derrick that hewould be at the clubhouse at the hour mentioned. 

"And, " I added--to myself, not in the note--"I will give him such alicking that he'll brain himself with a cleek. "

For I was not pleased with the professor. I was conscious of amalicious joy at the prospect of snatching the prize from him. I knewhe had set his heart on winning the tournament this year. To berunner-up two years in succession stimulates the desire for the firstplace. 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 avery unlucky golfer--I could rely almost with certainty on crushingthe man. 

"And I'll do it, " I said to Bob, who had trotted up. 

I often make Bob the recipient of my confidences. He listensappreciatively and never interrupts. And he never has grievances ofhis own. If there is one person I dislike, it is the man who tries toair his grievances when I wish to air mine. 

"Bob, " I said, running his tail through my fingers, "listen to me. IfI am in form this afternoon, and I feel in my bones that I shall be, Ishall nurse the professor. I shall play with him. Do you understandthe principles of match play at golf, Robert? You score by holes, notstrokes. There are eighteen holes. I shall toy with the professor, Bob. I shall let him get ahead, and then catch him up. I shall goahead myself, and let him catch me up. I shall race him neck and necktill the very end. Then, when his hair has turned white with thestrain, and he's lost a couple of stone in weight, and his eyes arestarting out of his head, I shall go ahead and beat him by a hole. _I'll_ teach him, Robert. He shall taste of my despair, and learn byproof in some wild hour how much the wretched dare. And when it's allover, and he's torn all his hair out and smashed all his clubs, Ishall go and commit suicide off the Cob. Because, you see, if I can'tmarry 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 thechest till his breathing became stertorous. "You don't see the senseof it, I know. But then you've got none of the finer feelings. You'rea jolly good dog, Robert, but you're a rank materialist. Bones andcheese and potatoes with gravy over them make you happy. You don'tknow what it is to be in love. You'd better get right side up now, oryou'll have apoplexy. "

It has been my aim in the course of this narrative to extenuatenothing, nor set down aught in malice. Like the gentleman who playedeuchre with the heathen Chinee, I state but the facts. I do not, therefore, slur over my scheme for disturbing the professor's peace ofmind. I am not always good and noble. I am the hero of this story, butI have my off moments. 

I felt ruthless toward the professor. I cannot plead ignorance of thegolfer's point of view as an excuse for my plottings. I knew that toone whose soul is in the game, as the professor's was, the agony ofbeing just beaten in an important match exceeds in bitterness allother agonies. I knew that if I scraped through by the smallestpossible margin, his appetite would be destroyed, his sleep o' nightsbroken. He would wake from fitful slumber moaning that if he had onlyused his iron at the tenth hole all would have been well; that if hehad aimed more carefully on the seventh green, life would not be drearand blank; that a more judicious manipulation of his brassythroughout might have given him something to live for. All thesethings I knew. 

And they did not touch me. I was adamant. 

 * * * * *

The professor was waiting for me at the clubhouse, and greeted me witha 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 splendiddrive. I should not say so if there were anyone else to say so for me. Modesty would forbid. But, as there is no one, I must repeat thestatement. It was one of the best drives of my experience. The ballflashed through the air, took the bunker with a dozen feet to spare, and rolled onto the green. I had felt all along that I should be inform. Unless my opponent was equally above himself, he was a lost man. 

The excellence of my drive had not been without its effect on theprofessor. I could see that he was not confident. He addressed hisball more strangely and at greater length than anyone I had ever seen. He waggled his club over it as if he were going to perform a conjuringtrick. 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 seaward. 

When I looked round, he was getting to work with a brassy. 

This time he hit the bunker and rolled back. He repeated this maneuvertwice. 

"Hard luck!" I murmured sympathetically on the third occasion, therebygoing as near to being slain with an iron as it has ever been my lotto go. Your true golfer is easily roused in times of misfortune, andthere was a red gleam in the eye 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 won 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 wassuffering. Beads of perspiration stood out on his forehead. 

His play had become wilder and wilder at each hole in arithmeticalprogression. If he had been a plow, he could hardly have turned upmore soil. The imagination recoiled from the thought of what he wouldbe 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 hemissed the ball clean at the fifth tee, his eye met mine, and we stoodstaring at each other for a full half minute without moving. I believeif I had smiled then, he would have attacked me without hesitation. There is a type of golfer who really almost ceases to be human understress of the wild agony of a series of foozles. 

The sixth hole involves the player in a somewhat tricky piece ofcross-country work. There is a nasty ditch to be negotiated. Many anoptimist has been reduced to blank pessimism by that ditch. "All hopeabandon, ye who enter here, " might be written on a notice board overit. 

The professor "entered there. " The unhappy man sent his ball into itsvery jaws. And then madness seized him. The merciful laws of golf, framed by kindly men who do not wish to see the asylums of GreatBritain overcrowded, enact that in such a case the player may take hisball and throw it over his shoulder. The same to count as one stroke. But vaulting ambition is apt to try and drive out from the ditch, thinking thereby to win through without losing a stroke. This waymadness lies. 

It was a grisly sight to see the professor, head and shoulders abovethe ditch, hewing at his obstinate Haskell. 

"_Sixteen_!" said the professor at last between his teeth. Then, having made one or two further comments, he stooped and picked up hisball. 

"I give you this hole, " he said. 

We walked on. 

I won the seventh hole. 

I won the eighth hole. 

The ninth we halved, for in the black depth of my soul I had formed aplan of fiendish subtlety. I intended to allow him to win--withextreme labor--eight holes in succession. 

Then, when hope was once more strong in him, I would win the last, andhe would go mad. 

 * * * * *

I watched him carefully as we trudged on. Emotions chased one anotheracross his face. When he won the tenth hole he merely refrained fromoaths. When he won the eleventh a sort of sullen pleasure showed inhis face. It was at the thirteenth that I detected the first dawningof hope. From then onward it grew. When, with a sequence of shockingshots, he took the seventeenth hole in eight, he was in a parlouscondition. His run of success had engendered within him a desire forconversation. He wanted, as it were, to flap his wings and crow. Icould see dignity wrestling with talkativeness. 

I gave him a lead. 

"You have got back your form now, " I said. 

Talkativeness had it. Dignity retired hurt. Speech came from him witha rush. When he brought off an excellent drive from the eighteenthtee, 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 thefairway and on to the green. 

He was on the green in four. I reached it in three. His sixth stroketook 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. Helooked at me. 

"Go on, " he said hoarsely. 

Suddenly a wave of compassion flooded over me. What right had I totorture the man like this? He had not behaved well to me, but in themain it was my fault. In his place I should have acted in preciselythe same way. In a flash I made up my mind. 

"Professor, " I said. 

"Go on, " he repeated. 

"That looks a simple shot, " I said, eyeing him steadily, "but I mighteasily 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 lasttwo years. "

"Go on, " he said for the third time. But there was a note ofhesitation 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 consentto my marriage with Phyllis--"

He looked from me to the ball, from the ball to me, and back again tothe ball. It was very, very near the hole. 

"I love her, " I said, "and I have discovered she loves me. .. . I shallbe a rich man from the day I marry--"

His eyes were still fixed on the ball. 

"Why not?" I said. 

He looked up, and burst into a roar of laughter. 

"You young divil, " said he, smiting his thigh, "you young divil, you've beaten me. "

I swung my putter, and drove the ball far beyond the green. 

"On the contrary, " I said, "you have beaten me. "

 * * * * *

I left the professor at the clubhouse and raced back to the farm. Iwanted to pour my joys into a sympathetic ear. Ukridge, I knew, wouldoffer that same sympathetic ear. A good fellow, Ukridge. Alwaysinterested 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 searched through the garden, and looked into his bedroom. He was notin 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 thethree o'clock train. "

THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM

XXI

"Beale, " I said, "what do you mean? Where have they gone?"

"Don't know, sir. London, I expect. "

"When did they go? Oh, you told me that. Didn't they say why they weregoing?"

"No, sir. "

"Didn't you ask? When you saw them packing up and going to thestation, 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'dbeen and went, sir. Walking down by the 'Net and Mackerel, ' met oneof them coastguards. 'Oh, ' says he, 'so you're moving?' 'Who'sa-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, andI goes on. When I gets back, I asks the missus did she see thempacking their boxes, and she says, 'No, ' she says, they didn't pack noboxes 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 ofspeaking. "

"This is awful, " I said. 

"Yes, sir. "

His face betrayed no emotion, but he was one of those men whoseexpression 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'llthink it out. "

"Yes, sir. "

I was in an unpleasant position. Ukridge, by his defection, had leftme in charge of the farm. I could dissolve the concern, I supposed, ifI wished, and return to London; but I particularly desired to remainin Lyme Regis. To complete the victory I had won on the links, it wasnecessary for me to continue as I had begun. I was in the position ofa general who has conquered a hostile country, and is obliged tosoothe the feelings of the conquered people before his labors can beconsidered at an end. I had rushed the professor. It must now be myaim to keep him from regretting that he had been rushed. I must, therefore, stick to my post with the tenacity of a boy on a burningdeck. There would be trouble. Of that I was certain. As soon as thenews got about that Ukridge had gone, the deluge would begin. Hiscreditors would abandon their passive tactics and take active steps. The siege of Port Arthur would be nothing to it. There was a chancethat aggressive measures would be confined to the enemy at our gates, the tradesmen of Lyme Regis. But the probability was that the newswould spread and the injured merchants of Dorchester and Axminsterrush to the scene of hostilities. I foresaw unpleasantness. 

I summoned Beale after dinner and held a council of war. It was notime for airy persiflage. 

I said, "Beale, we're in the cart. "

"Sir?"

"Mr. Ukridge going away like this has left me in a most unpleasantposition. I would like to talk it over with you. I dare say you knowthat we--that Mr. Ukridge owes a considerable amount of moneyroundabout 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 said. "When they find that he has gone up totown, they are likely to come bothering us a good deal. "

"Yes, sir. "

"I fancy that we shall have them all round here by the day afterto-morrow at the latest. Probably earlier. News of this sort alwaysspreads 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 Iparticularly wish to go on living down here for at least anotherfortnight. 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 askedme down here to help him look after the fowls, so I shall go onlooking after them. I shall want a chicken a day, I suppose, orperhaps two, for my meals, and there the thing ends, as far I amconcerned. 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 dimlight. 

"It's a pretty place, Mr. Garnet, sir, " he said. 

"It is, " I said, "but about other considerations? There's the matterof 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 stoppingon. "

"I can't be paid any less than I have been, sir, " he agreed. 

"Exactly. And, as you say, it's a pretty place. You might just as wellstop 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 sha'n't forget you. There'sa check coming to me from a magazine in another week for a shortstory. When it arrives I'll look into that matter of back wages. TellMrs. Beale I'm much obliged to her, will you?"

"Yes, sir. "

Having concluded that delicate business, I strolled out into thegarden with Bob. It was abominable of Ukridge to desert me in thisway. Even if I had not been his friend, it would have been bad. Thefact that we had known each other for years made it doublydiscreditable. He might at least have warned me and given me theoption of leaving the sinking ship with him. 

But, I reflected, I ought not to be surprised. His whole career, aslong as I had known him, had been dotted with little eccentricities ofa type which an unfeeling world generally stigmatizes as shady. Theywere small things, it was true; but they ought to have warned me. Weare most of us wise after the event. When the wind has blown wegenerally discover a multitude of straws which should have shown uswhich way it was blowing. 

Once, I remembered, in our school-master days, when guineas, thoughregular, were few, he had had occasion to increase his wardrobe. If Irecollect rightly, he thought he had a chance of a good position inthe tutoring line, and only needed good clothes to make it his. Hetook four pounds of his salary in advance--he was in the habit ofdoing this; he never had any of his salary left by the end of term, ithaving vanished in advance loans beforehand. With this he was to buytwo suits, a hat, new boots, and collars. When it came to making thepurchases, he found, what he had overlooked previously in hisoptimistic way, that four pounds did not go very far. At the time, Iremember, I thought his method of grappling with the situationhumorous. He bought a hat for three and sixpence, and got the suitsand the boots on the installment system, paying a small sum inadvance, as earnest of more to come. He then pawned one suit to paythe first few installments, and finally departed, to be known no more. His address he had given, with a false name, at an empty house, andwhen the tailor arrived with the minions of the law, all he found wasan 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. Heblew into this one day and his roving eye fell on a tandem bicycle. Hedid not want a tandem bicycle, but that influenced him not at all. Heordered it, provisionally. He also ordered an enlarging camera, aKodak, and a magic lantern. The order was booked and the goods were tobe delivered when he had made up his mind concerning them. After aweek the shopman sent round to ask if there were any furtherparticulars which Mr. Ukridge would like to learn before definitelyordering them. Mr. Ukridge sent word back that he was considering thematter, and that in the meantime would he be so good as to let himhave that little clockwork man in his window, which walked when woundup? Having got this, and not paid for it, Ukridge thought that he haddone handsomely by the bicycle and photograph man, and that thingswere square between them. The latter met him a few days afterwards andexpostulated plaintively. Ukridge explained. "My good man, " he said, "you know, I really think we need say no more about the matter. Really, you've come out of it very well. Now, look here, which wouldyou rather be owed for? A clockwork man, which is broken, and you canhave it back, or a tandem bicycle, an enlarging camera, a Kodak, anda magic lantern? What?" His reasoning was too subtle for theuneducated mind. The man retired, puzzled and unpaid, and Ukridge keptthe clockwork toy. 

A remarkable financier, Ukridge. I sometimes think that he would havedone well in the city. 

I did not go to bed till late that night. There was something sopeaceful in the silence that brooded over everything that I stayed on, enjoying it. Perhaps it struck me as all the more peaceful because Icould not help thinking of the troublous times that were to come. Already I seemed to hear the horrid roar of a herd of infuriatedcreditors. I seemed to see fierce brawlings and sackings in progressin this very garden. 

"It will be a coarse, brutal spectacle, Robert, " I said. 

Bob uttered a little whine, as if he, too, were endowed with powers ofprophecy. 

THE STORM BREAKS

XXII

Rather to my surprise, the next morning passed off uneventfully. Bylunch time I had come to the conclusion that the expected troublewould not occur that day, and I felt that I might well leave my postfor the afternoon while I went to the professor's to pay my respects. 

The professor was out when I arrived. Phyllis was in, and as we had agood many things of no importance to say to each other, it was nottill 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 ofVickers, 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 intime of need. What must the faithful hired man be thinking of me?Probably he placed me, as he had placed Ukridge, in the ragged ranksof those who have shot the moon. 

Fortunately, having just come from the professor's, I was in thecostume which of all my wardrobe was most calculated to impress. To acasual observer I should probably suggest wealth and respectability. Istopped for a moment to cool myself, for, as is my habit when pleasedwith life, I had been walking fast, then I opened the gate and strodein, trying to look as opulent as possible. 

It was an animated scene that met my eyes. In the middle of the lawnstood the devoted Beale, a little more flushed than I had seen himhitherto, parleying with a burly and excited young man without a coat. Grouped round the pair were some dozen men, young, middle-aged, andold, all talking their hardest. I could distinguish nothing of whatthey were saying. I noticed that Beale's left cheek bone was a littlediscolored, 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 latchclick, and nobody had caught sight of me. Their eyes were fixed on theyoung man and Beale. I stood at the gate and watched them. 

There seemed to have been trouble already. Looking more closely Iperceived sitting on the grass apart a second young man. His face wasobscured by a dirty pocket handkerchief, with which he dabbed tenderlyat his features. Every now and then the shirt-sleeved young man flunghis hand toward him with an indignant gesture, talking hard thewhile. It did not need a preternaturally keen observer to deduce whathad happened. Beale must have fallen out with the young man who wassitting on the grass and smitten him, and now his friend had taken upthe quarrel. 

"Now this, " I said to myself, "is rather interesting. Here in this onefarm we have the only three known methods of dealing with duns. Bealeis evidently an exponent of the violent method. Ukridge is an apostleof evasion. I shall try conciliation. I wonder which of us will be themost successful. "

Meanwhile, not to spoil Beale's efforts by allowing him too littlescope for experiment, I refrained from making my presence known, andcontinued to stand by the gate, an interested spectator. 

Things were evidently moving now. The young man's gestures becamemore vigorous. The dogged look on Beale's face deepened. The commentsof the ring increased in point and pungency. 

"What did you hit him for, then?"

This question was put, always in the same words and with the same airof quiet triumph, at intervals of thirty seconds by a little man in asnuff-colored suit with a purple tie. Nobody ever answered him orappeared to listen to him, but he seemed each time to think that hehad 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 favor of the many-headed, Charlie now proceeded fromthreats to action. His right fist swung round suddenly. But Beale wason the alert. He ducked sharply, and the next minute Charlie wassitting on the ground beside his fallen friend. A hush fell on thering, and the little man in the purple tie was left repeating hisformula 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 secondround, and Beale was getting into position once more. In another fiveminutes conciliation would be out of the question. 

"What's all this?" I said. 

My advent caused a stir. Excited men left Beale and rallied round me. Charlie, rising to his feet, found himself dethroned from his positionof man of the moment, and stood blinking at the setting sun andopening and shutting his mouth. There was a buzz of conversation. 

"Don't all speak at once, please, " I said. "I can't possibly followwhat you say. Perhaps you will tell me what you want?"

I singled out a short, stout man in gray. He wore the largest whiskersever 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 bemuch obliged if you would stop digging your heels into it. "

This was not, I suppose, conciliation in the strictest and best senseof the word, but the thing had to be said. 

"You don't understand me, sir, " he said excitedly. "When I said wedidn't know where we were, it was a manner of speaking. We want toknow 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 tenpounds 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 thegeneral roar) ". .. And eightpence. "

"My account with Mr. Uk----"

". .. Settle--"

"I represent Bodger--"

A diversion occurred at this point. Charlie, who had long been eyeingBeale sourly, dashed at him with swinging fists and was knocked downagain. The whole trend of the meeting altered once more. Conciliationbecame a drug. Violence was what the public wanted. Beale had threefights in rapid succession. I was helpless. Instinct prompted me tojoin 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 armas he drew back from the prostrate form of his latest victim. 

"Drop it, Beale, " I whispered hotly, "drop it. We shall never managethese people if you knock them about. Go indoors and stay there whileI 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_ aturn-up, since I've bin a time-expired man. I ain't hitting of 'em, Mr. Garnet, sir, not hard I ain't. That there first one of 'em heplayed me dirty, hittin' at me when I wasn't looking. They can't sayas I started it. "

"That's all right, Beale, " I said soothingly. "I know it wasn't yourfault, and I know it's hard on you to have to stop, but I wish youwould go indoors. I must talk to these men, and we sha'n't have amoment's peace while you're here. Cut along. "

"Very well, sir. But it's 'ard. Mayn't I 'ave just one go at thatCharlie, 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 thetrees, as I waited, I caught a glimpse of the sea. I wished I was outon the Cob, where beyond these voices there was peace. My head wasbeginning 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 youngman in a frock coat and silk hat enter the garden. It was the firsttime 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 writtenon several occasions to Mr. Ukridge, calling his attention to the factthat his account has been allowed to mount to a considerable figure, and having received no satisfactory reply, desired me to visit him. Iam 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 forestalledhis question. 

"Those are some of Mr. Ukridge's creditors, " I said. "I am just aboutto 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 peepedthrough 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 justhow matters stand between us. " (A voice: "Where's Ukridge?") "Mr. Ukridge left for London suddenly (bitter laughter) yesterdayafternoon. 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. Icouldn't pay your bills if I wanted to. "

It began to be borne in upon me that I was becoming unpopular. 

"I am here simply as Mr. Ukridge's guest, " I proceeded. After all, whyshould I spare the man? "I have nothing whatever to do with hisbusiness affairs. I refuse absolutely to be regarded as in any wayindebted to you. I am sorry for you. You have my sympathy. That is allI can give you, sympathy--and good advice. "

Dissatisfaction. I was getting myself disliked. And I had meant to beso conciliatory, to speak to these unfortunates words of cheer whichshould be as olive oil poured into a wound. For I really didsympathize with them. I considered that Ukridge had used themdisgracefully. 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, " Ireplied 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 institutelegal 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. "

"Where's our money?" demanded a discontented voice from the crowd. 

Then Charlie, filled with the lust of revenge, proposed that thecompany should sack the place. 

"We can't see the color of our money, " he said pithily, "but we canhave our own back. "

That settled it. The battle was over. The most skillful general mustsometimes recognize defeat. I could do nothing further with them. Ihad 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 andthen disappeared in the direction of the kitchen. 

It was growing dusk. From inside the house came faint sounds of mirth, as the sacking party emptied the rooms of their contents. In the fowlrun 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. 

Then I heard somebody--Charlie again, it seemed to me--propose a raidon the fowl run. 

The fowls had had their moments of unrest since they had been ourproperty, but what they had gone through with us was peace comparedwith what befell them then. Not even on that second evening of ourvisit, when we had run unmeasured miles in pursuit of them, had therebeen such confusion. Roused abruptly from their beauty sleep, theyfled in all directions. The summer evening was made hideous with thenoise of them. 

"Disgraceful, sir. Is it not disgraceful!" said a voice at 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 andhis coat was smeared with mold. 

I was turning to answer him, when from the dusk in the direction ofthe house came a sudden roar. A passionate appeal to the world ingeneral to tell the speaker what all this meant. 

There was only one man of my acquaintance with a voice like that. Iwalked without hurry toward him. 

"Good evening, Ukridge, " I said. 

AFTER THE STORM

XXIII

A yell of welcome drowned the tumult of the looters. 

"Is that you, Garny, old horse? What's up? What's the matter? Haseverybody gone mad? Who are those blackguardly scoundrels in the fowlrun? 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 among so many?" I said. 

"Oh, " moaned Ukridge, as a hen flashed past us, pursued by a criminal, "it's a little hard. I can't go away for a day--"

"You can't, " I said. "You're right there. You can't go away without aword--"

"Without a word? What do you mean? Garny, old boy, pull yourselftogether. You're overexcited. Do you mean to tell me you didn't get mynote?"

"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 ofour visit. 

"Feel in your pockets, " I said. 

And history repeated itself. One of the first things he pulled out wasthe note. 

"Why, here it is!" he said in amazement. 

"Of course. Where did you expect it to be? Was it important?"

"Why, it explained the whole thing. "

"Then, " I said, "I wish you'd let me read it. A note that can explainwhat's happened ought to be worth reading. "

I took the envelope from his hand and opened it. 

It was too dark to read, so I lit a match. A puff of wind extinguishedit. There is always just enough wind to extinguish a match. 

I pocketed the note. 

"I can't read it now, " I said. "Tell me what it was about. "

"It was telling you to sit tight and not to worry about us goingaway--"

"That's good about worrying. You're a thoughtful chap, Ukridge. "

"--because we should be back in a day or two. "

"And what sent you up to town?"

"Why, we went to touch Millie's Aunt Elizabeth. "

A light began to shine on my darkness. 

"Oh!" I said. 

"You remember Aunt Elizabeth? We got a letter from her not so longago. "

"I know whom you mean. She called you a gaby. "

"And a guffin. "

"Of course. I remember thinking her a shrewd and discriminating oldlady, with a great gift of description. So you went to touch her?"

"That's it. I suddenly found that things were getting into an A1tangle, and that we must have more money. So I naturally thought ofAunt Elizabeth. She isn't what you might call an admirer of mine, butshe's very fond of Millie, and would do anything for her if she'sallowed to chuck about a few home-truths before doing it. So we wentoff together, looked her up at her house, stated our painful case, andcorralled the money. Millie and I shared the work. She did the asking, while I inquired after the rheumatism. She mentioned the precisefigure that would clear us. I patted the toy Pomeranian. Little beast!Got after me quick, when I wasn't looking, and chewed my ankle. "

"Thank Heaven for that, " I said. 

"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. "

"But you got the money?"

"Rather. And I'll tell you another thing. I scored heavily at the endof the visit. Lady Lakenheath was doing stunts with proverbs--"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Quoting proverbs, you know, bearing on the situation. 'Ah, my dear, 'she said to Millie, 'marry in haste, repent at leisure!' 'I'm afraidthat proverb doesn't apply to us, ' said Millie, 'because I haven'trepented. ' What do you think of that, old horse?"

"Millie's an angel, " I replied. 

Just then the angel joined us. She had been exploring the house, andnoting the damage done. Her eyes were open to their fullest extent asshe shook hands with me. 

"Oh, Mr. Garnet, " she said, "_couldn't_ you have stopped them?"

I felt a cur. Had I done as much as I might have done to stem thetide?

"I'm awfully sorry, Mrs. Ukridge, " I said. "I really don't think Icould have done more. We tried every method. Beale had seven fights, and I made a speech on the lawn, but it was all no good. "

"Perhaps we can collect these men and explain things, " I added. "Idon't believe any of them know you've come back. "

"Send Beale round, " said Ukridge. "Beale!"

The hired retainer came running out at the sound of the well-knownvoice. 

"Lumme, Mr. Ukridge, sir!" he gasped. 

It was the first time Beale had ever betrayed any real emotion in mypresence. To him, I suppose, the return of Ukridge was as sensationaland astounding an event as the reappearance of one from the tomb wouldhave been. He was not accustomed to find those who had shot the moonrevisiting their old haunts. 

"Go round the place and tell those blackguards that I've come back, and would like to have a word with them on the lawn. And if you findany of them stealing my fowls, knock them down. "

"I 'ave knocked down one or two, " said Beale with approval. "ThatCharlie--"

"That's right, Beale. You're an excellent man, and I will pay you yourback wages to-night before I go to bed. "

"Those fellers, sir, " said Beale, having expressed his gratification, "they've been and scattered most of them birds already, sir. They'vebeen chasin' of 'em for this hour back. "

Ukridge groaned. 

"Demons!" he said. "Demons!"

Beale went off. 

The audience assembled on the lawn in the moonlight. Ukridge, with hiscap well over his eyes and his mackintosh hanging around him like aRoman toga, surveyed them stonily, and finally began his speech. 

"You--you--you--you blackguards!" he said. 

I always like to think of Ukridge as he appeared at that moment. Therehave been times when his conduct did not recommend itself to me. Ithas sometimes happened that I have seen flaws in him. But on thisoccasion he was at his best. He was eloquent. He dominated hisaudience. 

He poured scorn upon his hearers, and they quailed. He flung invectiveat them, and they wilted. 

It was hard, he said, it was a little hard that a gentleman could notrun up to London for a couple of days on business without having hisprivate grounds turned upside down. He had intended to deal well bythe tradesmen of the town, to put business in their way, to give themlarge orders. But would he? Not much. As soon as ever the sun hadrisen and another day begun, their miserable accounts should be paidin full and their connection with him be cut off. Afterwards it wasprobable that he would institute legal proceedings against them fortrespass and damage to property, and if they didn't all go to prisonthey might consider themselves uncommonly lucky, and if they didn'tfly the spot within the brief space of two ticks he would get amongthem with a shotgun. He was sick of them. They were no gentlemen, butcads. Scoundrels. Creatures that it would be rank flattery to describeas human beings. That's the sort of things _they_ were. And now theymight go--_quick_!

The meeting then dispersed, without the usual vote of thanks. 

 * * * * *

We were quiet at the farm that night. Ukridge sat like Marius amongthe ruins of Carthage and refused to speak. Eventually he took Bobwith him and went for a walk. 

Half an hour later I, too, wearied of the scene of desolation. Myerrant steps took me in the direction of the sea. As I approached Iwas aware of a figure standing in the moonlight, gazing moodily outover the waters. Beside the figure was a dog. 

I would not disturb his thoughts. The dark moments of massive mindsare sacred. I forebore to speak to him. As readily might one of thegenerals of the Grand Army have opened conversation with Napoleonduring the retreat from Moscow. 

I turned softly and walked the other way. When I looked back he wasstill there. 

[Illustration: "I did think Mr. Garnet would have fainted when thebest man said, 'I can't find it, old horse!'"]

EPILOGUE

ARGUMENT. From the _Morning Post: ". .. And graceful, wore a simplegown of stiff satin and old lace, and a heavy lace veil fell in softfolds over the shimmering skirt. A reception was subsequently held byMrs. O'Brien, aunt of the bride, at her house in Ennismore Gardens. "_

IN THE SERVANTS' HALL

THE COOK. . .. And as pretty a wedding, Mr. Hill, as ever I did see. 

THE BUTLER. Indeed, Mrs. Minchley? And how did our niece look?

THE COOK (_closing her eyes in silent rapture_). Well, _there_! That lace! (_In a burst of ecstacy_. ) Well, _there_!!Words can't describe it, Mr. Hill. 

THE BUTLER. Indeed, Mrs. Minchley?

THE COOK. And Miss Phyllis--Mrs. Garnet, I _should_ say--she was ascalm as calm. And looking beautiful as--well, there! Now, Mr. Garnet, he _did_ look nervous, if you like, and when the best man--such aqueer-looking awkward man, in a frock coat that _I_ wouldn't have beenbest man at a wedding in--when he lost the ring and said--quite loud, everybody could hear him--"I can't find it, old horse!" why I didthink Mr. Garnet would have fainted away, and so I said to Jane, aswas sitting beside me. But he found it at the last moment, and allwent on as merrily, as you may say, as a wedding bell. 

JANE (_sentimentally_). Reely, these weddings, you know, they do giveyou a sort of feeling, if you catch my meaning, Mrs. Minchley. 

THE BUTLER (_with the air of a high priest who condescends for once tounbend and frolic with lesser mortals_). Ah! it'll be your turn next, Miss Jane. 

JANE (_who has long had designs on this dignified bachelor_). Oh, Mr. Hill, reely! You do poke your fun. 

 [_Raises her eyes to his, and drops them swiftly, leaving him with a pleasant sensation of having said a good thing particularly neatly, and a growing idea that he might do worse than marry Jane, take a nice little house in Chelsea somewhere, and let lodgings. He thinks it over. _

TILBY (_a flighty young person who, when she has a moment or two tospare from the higher flirtation with the local policeman, puts in alittle light work about the bedrooms_). Oh, I say, this'll be one inthe eye for Riggetts, pore little feller. (_Assuming an air ofadvanced melodrama. _) Ow! She 'as forsiken me! I'll go and blow melittle 'ead off with a blunderbuss! Ow that one so fair could be sofalse!

MASTER THOMAS RIGGETTS (_the page boy, whose passion for the lady whohas just become Mrs. Garnet has for many months been a byword in theservants' hall_). Huh! (_To himself bitterly. _) Tike care, tike care, lest some day you drive me too far. [_Is left brooding darkly. _

UPSTAIRS

THE BRIDE. . .. Thank you. .. . Oh, thank you. .. . Thank you so much. .. . Thank you _so_ much . .. Oh, thank you. .. . Thank you. .. . Thank you _so_much. 

THE BRIDEGROOM. Thanks. .. . Oh, thanks. .. . Thanks awf'lly. .. . Thanksawf'lly. .. . Thanks awf'lly. .. . Oh, thanks awf'lly . .. (_with abrilliant burst of invention, amounting almost to genius_) Thanks_frightfully_. 

THE BRIDE (_to herself, rapturously_). A-a-a-h!

THE BRIDEGROOM (_dabbing at his forehead with his handkerchief duringa lull_). I shall drop. 

THE BEST MAN (_appearing suddenly at his side with a glass_). Bellowsto mend, old horse, what? Keep going. You're doing fine. Bless you. Bless you. 

 [_Drifts away. _

ELDERLY STRANGER (_to bridegroom_). Sir, I have jigged your wife on myknee. 

THE BRIDEGROOM (_with absent politeness_). Ah! Lately?

ELDERLY STRANGER. When she was a baby, sir. 

THE BRIDEGROOM (_from force of habit_). Oh, thanks. Thanks awf'lly. 

THE BRIDE (_to herself_). _Why_ can't one get married everyday!. .. (_catching sight of a young gentleman whose bi-weekly conversationwith her in the past was wont to consist of two remarks on the weather andone proposal of marriage_). _Oh_! Oh, what a _shame_ inviting poorlittle Freddy Fraddle! Aunt Kathleen _must_ have known! How could she beso cruel! Poor little fellow, he must be suffering dreadfully!

POOR LITTLE FREDDY FRADDLE (_addressing his immortal soul as hecatches sight of the bridegroom, with a set smile on his face, shakinghands with an obvious bore_). Poor devil, poor, poor devil! And tothink that I--! Well, well! There but for the grace of God goesFrederick Fraddle. 

THE BRIDEGROOM (_to the_ OBVIOUS BORE). Thanks. Thanks awf'lly. 

THE OBVIOUS BORE (_in measured tones_). .. . Are going, as you say, toWales for your honeymoon, you should on no account miss theopportunity of seeing the picturesque ruins of Llanxwrg Castle, whichare among the most prominent spectacles of Carnarvonshire, a county, which I understand you to say, you propose to include in your visit. The ruins are really part of the village of Twdyd-Prtsplgnd, but yourbest station would be Golgdn. There is a good train service to andfrom that spot. If you mention my name to the custodian of the ruins, he will allow you to inspect the grave of the celebrated ----

IMMACULATE YOUTH (_interrupting_). Hello, Garnet, old man. Don't knowif you remember me. Latimer, of Oriel. I was a fresher in your thirdyear. Gratters!

THE BRIDEGROOM (_with real sincerity for once_). Thanks. Thanksawf'lly. 

 [_They proceed to talk Oxford shop together, to the exclusion of the O. B. , who glides off in search of another victim_. 

IN THE STREET

THE COACHMAN (_to his horse_). _Kim_ up, then!

THE HORSE (_to itself_). Deuce of a time these people are. Why don'tthey hurry. I want to be off. I'm certain we shall miss that train. 

THE BEST MAN (_to crowd of perfect strangers, with whom in somemysterious way he has managed to strike up a warm friendship_). Now, then, you men, stand by. Wait till they come out, then blaze away. Good handful first shot. That's what you want. 

THE COOK (_in the area, to_ JANE). Oh, I do 'ope they won't miss thattrain, don't you? Oh, here they come. Oh, don't Miss Phyllis--Mrs. Garnet--look--well, there. And I can remember her a little slip of agirl only so high, and she used to come to my kitchen, and she used tosay, "Mrs. Minchley, " she used to say--it seems only yesterday--"Mrs. Minchley, I want--"

 [_Left reminiscing. _

THE BRIDE (_as the page boy's gloomy eye catches hers, "smiles as shewas wont to smile_"). 

MASTER RIGGETTS (_with a happy recollection of his latest-read work offiction--"Sir Rupert of the Hall": Meadowsweet Library--to himself_). "Good-by, proud lady. Fare you well. And may you never regret. May--you--nevorrr--regret!"

 [_Dives passionately into larder, and consoles himself with jam. _

THE BEST MAN (_to his gang of bravoes_). Now, then, you men, bang itin. 

 [_They bang it in. _

THE BRIDEGROOM (_retrieving his hat_). Oh-- [_Recollects himself intime. _

THE BEST MAN. Oh, shot, sir! Shot, indeed!

 [_The_ BRIDE _and_ BRIDEGROOM _enter the carriage amid a storm of rice. _

THE BEST MAN (_coming to carriage window_). Garny, old horse. 

THE BRIDEGROOM. Well?

THE BEST MAN. Just a moment. Look here, I've got a new idea. The bestever, 'pon my word it is. I'm going to start a duck farm and run itwithout water. What? You'll miss your train? Oh, no, you won't. There's plenty of time. My theory is, you see, that ducks get thin bytaking exercise and swimming about and so on, don't you know, so that, if you kept them on land always, they'd get jolly fat in about halfthe time--and no trouble and expense. See? What? You bring the missusdown there. I'll write you the address. Good-by. Bless you. Good-by, Mrs. Garnet. 

THE BRIDE AND BRIDEGROOM (_simultaneously, with a smile apiece_). Good-by. 

 [_They catch the train and live happily ever afterwards. _]

 * * * * *