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, reentering 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.
Love Among the Chickens Page 2