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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.
It was a disappointment to the boy, for he wanted to see the farm." "He must come some other time," said Ukridge. "We invite inspection. Look here," he broke off suddenly we were nearing the fowl-run now, Mrs. Ukridge walking in front with Phyllis Derrick "were you ever at Bristol?" "Never, sir," said the professor. "Because I knew just such another fat little buffer there a few years ago.
Piercing voices ordered unknown "Tommies" and "Ernies" to "keep by aunty, now." Just as Ukridge returned, that sauve qui peut of the railway crowd, the dreaded "Get in anywhere," began to be heard, and the next moment an avalanche of warm humanity poured into the carriage.
The red-headed Beale, discovered leaning in an attitude of thought on the yard gate and observing the feathered mob below with much interest, was roused from his reflections and despatched to the town for the wire and sugar boxes. Ukridge, taking his place at the gate, gazed at the fowls with the affectionate air of a proprietor.
There followed a violent crashing on the stairs, shaking the house. "Garnet! Where are you, laddie? Garnet!! GARNET!!!!!" Stanley Featherstonehaugh Ukridge was in my midst. I have often thought that Who's Who, though a bulky and well-meaning volume, omits too many of England's greatest men. It is not comprehensive enough. I am in it, nestling among the G's:
I had never really approved of these infernal talks on the art of chicken-farming which Ukridge had dropped into the habit of delivering when anybody visited our farm.
The hired man looked thoughtful for a moment, then said that it was a fine evening. "Fine evening?" shouted Ukridge. "What on earth has that got to do with it? I want to know why you and Mrs. Beale were out when we arrived." "The missus went to Axminster, Mr. Ukridge, sir." "She had no right to go to Axminster. It isn't part of her duties to go gadding about to Axminster.
Beale her omelettes, and let's hope for a larger supply of eggs." "Another thing," said Ukridge. "It isn't only that there's a shortage of eggs. That wouldn't matter so much if only we kept hatching out fresh squads of chickens. I'm not saying the hens aren't doing their best. I take off my hat to the hens. As nice a hard-working lot as I ever want to meet, full of vigour and earnestness.
At the window, with a double-barrelled gun in his hands, stood a short, square, red-headed man. The muzzle of his gun, which rested on the sill, was pointing in a straight line at the third button of my waistcoat. Ukridge emitted a roar like that of a hungry lion. "Beale! You scoundrelly, unprincipled, demon! What the devil are you doing with that gun? Why were you out? What have you been doing?
Things seem to come naturally to me somehow." "I see," said Phyllis. It was while matters were progressing with this beautiful smoothness that I observed the square form of the Hired Retainer approaching us. Somehow I cannot say why I had a feeling that he came with bad news. Perhaps it was his air of quiet satisfaction which struck me as ominous. "Beg pardon, Mr. Ukridge, sir."
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