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I was strolling about the paddock, as was my habit after breakfast, thinking about Phyllis and trying to get my novel into shape. I had just framed a more than usually murky scene for use in the earlier part of the book, when Ukridge shouted to me from the fowl-run. "Garny, come here. I want you to see the most astounding thing." "What's the matter?" I asked. "Blast if I know.
You'll feel another man. Give up this bachelor business. It's a mug's game. I look on you bachelors as excrescences on the social system. I regard you, old man, purely and simply as a wart. Go and get married, laddie, go and get married. By gad, I've forgotten to pay the cabby. Lend me a couple of bob, Garny old chap."
"Garny, old horse, I've been thinking, laddie! I've got an idea! The idea of a lifetime. The best ever, 'pon my Sam! I'm going to start a duck farm!" "A duck farm?" "A duck farm, laddie! And run it without water.
There appeared round the corner of Ukridge a young woman. She paused in the doorway and smiled pleasantly. "Garny, old horse," said Ukridge with some pride, "this is her! The pride of the home. Companion of joys and sorrows and all the rest of it. In fact," in a burst of confidence, "my wife." I bowed awkwardly. The idea of Ukridge married was something too overpowering to be readily assimilated.
He took the largest of the jugs from the dresser and strode with it into the scullery, whence came a sound of running water. He returned carrying the jug with both hands, his mien that of a general who sees his way to a masterstroke of strategy. "Garny, old horse," he said, "freeze onto the handle of the door, and, when I give the word, fling wide the gates.
I got a letter from Whiteley's this morning asking when my first consignment was going to arrive. You know, these people make a mistake in hurrying a man. It annoys him. It irritates him. When we really get going, Garny, my boy, I shall drop Whiteley's. I shall cut them out of my list and send my eggs to their trade rivals. They shall have a sharp lesson. It's a little hard.
Why can't these cats leave people alone?" "Oh, woman, woman!" I threw in helpfully. "Always interfering " "Rotten!" "And backbiting " "Awful!" "I shan't stand it." "I shouldn't!" "Look here! On the next page she calls me a gaby!" "It's time you took a strong line." "And in the very next sentence refers to me as a perfect guffin. What's a guffin, Garny, old boy?" I considered the point.
"A little, dear. I should like some tea." "Same here," I agreed. "That'll be all right," said Ukridge. "A most competent man of the name of Beale and his wife are in charge at present. I wrote to them telling them that we were coming to-day. They will be ready for us. That's the way to do things, Garny old horse. Quiet efficiency. Perfect organisation." We were at the front door by this time.
The point is that the letters were written. It shows we are solid and practical. Well now, can you get your things ready by to-morrow, Garny old horse?" Strange how one reaches an epoch-making moment in one's life without recognising it. If I had refused that invitation, I would not have at any rate, I would have missed a remarkable experience.
We must be the keen, tense men of affairs, or, before we know where we are, we shall find ourselves right in the gumbo. "I've noticed, Garny, old horse, that you haven't been the whale for work lately that you might be. You must buckle to, laddie. There must be no slackness. We are at a critical stage. On our work now depends the success of the speculation. Look at those damned cocks.
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