Love Among the Chickens<br />A Story of the Haps and Mishaps on an English Chicken Farm by P. G. Wodehouse (ebook reader with android os .txt) 📗

It was too dark to read, so I lit a match. A puff of wind extinguished it. There is always just enough wind to extinguish a match.

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 going away—"

"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.[333]

"You remember Aunt Elizabeth? We got a letter from her not so long ago."

"I know whom you mean. She called you a gaby."

"And a guffin."

"Of course. I remember thinking her a shrewd and discriminating old lady, with a great gift of description. So you went to touch her?"

"That's it. I suddenly found that things were getting into an A1 tangle, and that we must have more money. So I naturally thought of Aunt Elizabeth. She isn't what you might call an admirer of mine, but she's very fond of Millie, and would do anything for her if she's allowed to chuck about a few home-truths before doing it. So we went off together, looked her up at her house, stated our painful case, and corralled the money. Millie and I shared the work. She did the asking, while I inquired after the rheumatism. She men[334]tioned the precise figure that would clear us. I patted the toy Pomeranian. Little beast! Got after me quick, when I wasn't looking, and chewed my ankle."

"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 end of 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 afraid that proverb doesn't apply to us,' said Millie, 'because I haven't repented.' What do you think of that, old horse?"[335]

"Millie's an angel," I replied.

Just then the angel joined us. She had been exploring the house, and noting the damage done. Her eyes were open to their fullest extent as she shook hands with me.

"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 the tide?

"I'm awfully sorry, Mrs. Ukridge," I said. "I really don't think I could have done more. We tried every method. Beale had seven fights, and I made a speech on the lawn, but it was all no good."

"Perhaps we can collect these men and explain things," I added. "I don'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-known voice.

"Lumme, Mr. Ukridge, sir!" he gasped.[336]

It was the first time Beale had ever betrayed any real emotion in my presence. To him, I suppose, the return of Ukridge was as sensational and astounding an event as the reappearance of one from the tomb would have been. He was not accustomed to find those who had shot the moon revisiting their old haunts.

"Go round the place and tell those blackguards that I've come back, and would like to have a word with them on the lawn. And if you find any of them stealing my fowls, knock them down."

"I 'ave knocked down one or two," said Beale with approval. "That Charlie—"

"That's right, Beale. You're an excellent man, and I will pay you your back 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,[337] sir. They've been 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 his cap well over his eyes and his mackintosh hanging around him like a Roman 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. There have been times when his conduct did not recommend itself to me. It has sometimes happened that I have seen flaws in him. But on this occasion he was at his best. He was eloquent. He dominated his audience.

He poured scorn upon his hearers, and they quailed. He flung invective at them, and they wilted.[338]

It was hard, he said, it was a little hard that a gentleman could not run up to London for a couple of days on business without having his private grounds turned upside down. He had intended to deal well by the tradesmen of the town, to put business in their way, to give them large orders. But would he? Not much. As soon as ever the sun had risen and another day begun, their miserable accounts should be paid in full and their connection with him be cut off. Afterwards it was probable that he would institute legal proceedings against them for trespass and damage to property, and if they didn't all go to prison they might consider themselves uncommonly lucky, and if they didn't fly the spot within the brief space of two ticks he would get among them with a shotgun. He was sick of them. They were no gentlemen, but cads. Scoundrels. Creatures that it would be rank flattery to describe as human beings.[339] That's the sort of things they were. And now they might go—quick!

The meeting then dispersed, without the usual vote of thanks.

We were quiet at the farm that night. Ukridge sat like Marius among the ruins of Carthage and refused to speak. Eventually he took Bob with him and went for a walk.

Half an hour later I, too, wearied of the scene of desolation. My errant steps took me in the direction of the sea. As I approached I was aware of a figure standing in the moonlight, gazing moodily out over the waters. Beside the figure was a dog.

I would not disturb his thoughts. The dark moments of massive minds are sacred. I forebore to speak to him. As readily might one of the generals of the Grand[340] Army have opened conversation with Napoleon during the retreat from Moscow.

I turned softly and walked the other way. When I looked back he was still there.