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Updated: June 10, 2025
"And have you had any success with the incubator? I love incubators. I have always wanted to have one of my own, but we have never kept fowls." "The incubator has not done all that it should have done," I said. "Ukridge looks after it, and I fancy his methods are not the right methods. I don't know if I have got the figures absolutely correct, but Ukridge reasons on these lines.
Then I reflected that they could hardly have met in the few hours between my parting from the professor at the club-house and my meeting with him on the beach. Ukridge rarely left the farm. When he was not working among the fowls, he was lying on his back in the paddock, resting his massive mind. I came to the conclusion that after all the professor had not seen me.
Where did you think of tackling him?" "Phyllis tells me that he always goes for a swim before breakfast. I thought of going down to-morrow and waylaying him." "You couldn't do better. By Jove!" said Ukridge suddenly. "I'll tell you what I'll do, laddie. I wouldn't do it for everybody, but I look on you as a favourite son. I'll come with you, and help break the ice." "What!"
Ukridge suddenly. She had dropped the letter she had been reading, and was staring indignantly in front of her. There were two little red spots on her cheeks. "What's the matter, old chap?" inquired Ukridge affectionately, glancing up from his pile of bills and forgetting his own troubles in an instant. "Buck up! Aunt Elizabeth been getting on your nerves again? What's she been saying this time?"
So you see it's a thoroughly organised business. How many hen-letters did you write last week, old girl?" "Ten, dear." Ukridge turned triumphantly to me. "You hear? Ten. Ten letters asking for hens. That's the way to succeed. Push and enterprise." "Six of them haven't answered, Stanley, dear, and the rest refused." "Immaterial," said Ukridge with a grand gesture. "That doesn't matter.
"Are you trying to drown me, sir?" barked the professor. "My dear old horse," said Ukridge complainingly, "it's a little hard. You might look where you're going." "You grappled with me!" "You took me by surprise, laddie. Rid yourself of the impression that you're playing water-polo." "But, professor," I said, joining the group and treading water, "one moment." I was growing annoyed with the man.
"Because if so, that's what they've got. I never saw a more bored-looking lot of birds." "Oh, do look at that poor little brown one by the coop," said Mrs. Ukridge sympathetically; "I'm sure it's not well. See, it's lying down. What can be the matter with it?" "I tell you what we'll do," said Ukridge. "We'll ask Beale. He once lived with an aunt who kept fowls. He'll know all about it. Beale!"
They were blighters. Creatures that it would be fulsome flattery to describe as human beings. He would call them skunks, only he did not see what the skunks had done to be compared with them. And now they might go quick! We were quiet at the farm that night. Ukridge sat like Marius among the ruins of Carthage, and refused to speak. Eventually he took Bob with him and went for a walk.
Understand that, sir. Our acquaintance began to-day, and it will cease to-day. Good-night to you, sir. Come, Phyllis, me dear. Mrs. Ukridge, good-night." Why is it, I wonder, that stories of Retribution calling at the wrong address strike us as funny instead of pathetic? I myself had been amused by them many a time.
"It was shortly after Ukridge had got on your father's nerves, and nipped our acquaintance in the bud. I used to come every night to the hedge opposite your drawing-room window, and brood there by the hour." "Poor old boy!" "Hoping to hear you sing. And when you did sing, and he joined in all flat, I used to swear. You'll probably find most of the bark scorched off the tree I leaned against."
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