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Updated: June 10, 2025
"Thank you, sir," said Mrs. Medley, withdrawing from the presence. Ukridge! Oh, hang it! I had not met him for years, and, glad as I am, as a general thing, to see the friends of my youth when they drop in for a chat, I doubted whether I was quite equal to Ukridge at the moment.
Ukridge with an affectionate and admiring glance at her husband. "Ah," I said, feeling my responsibilities as chorus. "A chicken farm." "I've thought it all over, laddie, and it's as clear as mud. No expenses, large profits, quick returns. Chickens, eggs, and the money streaming in faster than you can bank it. Winter and summer underclothing, my bonny boy, lined with crackling Bradbury's.
"You don't mean to tell us," he said, "that you really come from the one and only chicken farm? Why, you're the man we've all been praying to meet for days past. You're the talk of the town. If you can call Combe Regis a town. Everybody is discussing you. Your methods are new and original, aren't they?" "Probably. Ukridge knows nothing about fowls. I know less. He considers it an advantage.
Now, look here, which would you rather be owed for? A clockwork man which is broken, and you can have it back or a tandem bicycle, an enlarging camera, a kodak, and a magic-lantern? What?" His reasoning was too subtle for the uneducated mind. The man retired, puzzled, and unpaid, and Ukridge kept the clockwork toy. Rather to my surprise, the next morning passed off uneventfully.
Ukridge nursed Edwin and sewed, and Ukridge smoked cigars and incited the gramophone to murder "Mumbling Mose," I would steal away to my bedroom and write and write and write. And go on writing till 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 the best.
"Why, it explained the whole thing." "Then," I said, "I wish you would let me read it. A note like that ought to be worth reading." "It was telling you to sit tight and not worry about us going away " "That's good about worrying. You're a thoughtful chap, Ukridge." " because we should be back immediately." "And what sent you up to town?" "Why, we went to touch Millie's Aunt Elizabeth." "Oh!"
"Yes, sir." "You'd better ask Mrs. Beale to give me some dinner, and then I'll think it over." "Yes, sir." I was in an unpleasant position. Ukridge by his defection had left me in charge of the farm. I could dissolve the concern, I supposed, if I wished, and return to London, but I particularly desired to remain in Combe Regis.
In that case we will have Edwin made into a rug." "Stanley doesn't like Edwin," said Mrs. Ukridge, sadly. Edwin arrived early in the afternoon, and was shut into the kitchen. He struck me as a handsome cat, but nervous. 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 have been delighted to come.
I needed a change of air. London may have suited Doctor Johnson, but in the summer time it is not for the ordinary man. I rang the bell. "Sir?" said Mrs. Medley. "I'm going away for a bit," I said. "Yes, sir." "I don't know where. I'll send you the address, so that you can forward letters." "Yes, sir." "And, if Mr. Ukridge calls again..."
I believe if Ukridge kept white mice he would manage to get feverish excitement out of it. He is at present lying on the sofa, smoking one of his infernal brand of cigars, drinking whisky and soda, and complaining with some bitterness because the whisky isn't as good as some he once tasted in Belfast. From the basement I can hear faintly the murmur of innumerable fowls."
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