Love Among the Chickens

by P. G. Wodehouse

  THE ARRIVAL

  IV

  From Axminster to Lyme Regis the line runs through country as prettyas any that can be found in the island, and the train, as if inappreciation of this fact, does not hurry over the journey. It waslate afternoon by the time the chicken farmers reached theirdestination.

  The arrangements for the carrying of luggage at Lyme Regis border onthe primitive. Boxes are left on the platform, and later, when hethinks of it, a carrier looks in and conveys them down into the valleyand up the hill on the opposite side to the address written on thelabels. The owner walks. Lyme Regis is not a place for the halt andmaimed.

  Ukridge led his band in the direction of the farm, which lay acrossthe valley, looking through woods to the sea. The place was visiblefrom the station, from which, indeed, standing as it did on the top ofa hill, the view was extensive.

  Halfway up the slope on the other side of the valley the party leftthe road and made their way across a spongy field, Ukridge explainingthat this was a short cut. They climbed through a hedge, crossed astream and another field, and after negotiating a difficult banktopped with barbed wire, found themselves in a kitchen garden.

  Ukridge mopped his forehead and restored his pince-nez to theiroriginal position, from which the passage of the barbed wire haddislodged them.

  "This is the place," he said. "We have come in by the back way. Itsaves time. Tired, Millie?"

  "No, dear, thank you."

  "Without being tired," said Garnet, "I am distinctly ready for tea.What are the prospects?"

  "That'll be all right," said Ukridge, "don't you worry. A mostcompetent man, of the name of Beale, and his wife are in charge atpresent. I wrote to them telling them that we were coming to-day. Theywill be ready for us."

  They were at the front door by this time. Ukridge rang the bell. Thenoise reechoed through the house, but there were no answeringfootsteps. He rang again. There is no mistaking the note of a bell inan empty house. It was plain that the most competent man and his wifewere out.

  "Now what are you going to do?" said Garnet.

  Mrs. Ukridge looked at her husband with quiet confidence.

  Ukridge fell back on reminiscence.

  "This," he said, leaning against the door and endeavoring to buttonhis collar at the back, "reminds me of an afternoon in the Argentine.Two other men and myself tried for three quarters of an hour to getinto an empty house, where there looked as if there might be somethingto eat, and we'd just got the door open when the owner turned up frombehind a tree with a shotgun. It was a little difficult to explain.There was a dog, too. We were glad to say good-by."

  At this moment history partially repeated itself. From the other sideof the door came a dissatisfied whine, followed by a short bark.

  "Halloo," said Ukridge, "Beale has a dog."

  "And the dog," said Garnet, "will have us if we're not careful. Whatare you going to do?"

  "Let's try the back," said Ukridge. "We must get in. What right," headded with pathos, "has a beastly mongrel belonging to a man I employto keep me out of my own house? It's a little hard. Here am I, slavingto support Beale, and when I try to get into my house, his infernaldog barks at me. But we will try kindness first. Let me get to thekeyhole. I will parley with the animal."

  He put his mouth to the keyhole and roared the soothing words "Goo'dog!" through it. Instantly the door shook as some heavy object hurleditself against it. The barking rang through the house.

  "Kindness seems to be a drug in the market," said Garnet. "Do you seeyour way to trying a little force?"

  "I'll tell you what we'll do," said Ukridge, rising. "We'll go roundand get in at the kitchen window."

  "And how long are we to stay there? Till the dog dies?"

  "I never saw such a man as you," protested Ukridge. "You have aperfect mania for looking on the dark side. The dog won't guard thekitchen door. We shall manage to shut him up somewhere."

  "Oh," said Garnet.

  "And now let's get in and have something to eat, for goodness' sake."

  The kitchen window proved to be insecurely latched. Ukridge flung itopen and they climbed in.

  The dog, hearing the sound of voices, raced back along the passage andflung himself at the door. He then proceeded to scratch at the panelsin the persevering way of one who feels that he is engaged upon abusiness at which he is a specialist.

  Inside the kitchen, Ukridge took command.

  "Never mind the dog," he said, "let it scratch."

  "I thought," said Garnet, "we were going to shut it up somewhere?"

  "Go out and shut it into the dining room, then. Personally, I mean tohave some tea. Millie, you know how to light a fire. Garnet and I willbe collecting cups and things. When that scoundrel Beale arrives, Ishall tear him limb from limb. Deserting us like this! The man must bea thorough fraud. He told me he was an old soldier. If this was thesort of discipline they used to keep in his regiment, I don't wonderthat the service is going to the dogs. There goes a plate! How is thefire getting on, Millie? I'll chop Beale into little bits. What's thatyou've got there, Garny, old horse? Tea? Good! Where's the bread?There! Another plate. Look here, I'll give that dog three minutes, andif it doesn't stop scratching that door by then, I'll take the breadknife and go out and have a soul-to-soul talk with it. It's a littlehard. My own house, and the first thing I find in it when I arrive issomebody else's beastly dog scratching holes in the doors. Stop it,you beast!"

  The dog's reply was to continue his operations _piu mosso_.

  Ukridge's eyes gleamed behind their glasses.

  "Give me a good large jug," he said with ominous calm.

  He took the largest of the jugs from the dresser and strode with itinto the scullery, whence came the sound of running water. He returnedcarrying the jug in both hands. His mien was that of a general whosees his way to a master stroke of strategy.

  "Garny, old horse," he said, "tack on to the handle, and when I givethe word fling wide the gates. Then watch that beast beyond the doorget the surprise of its lifetime."

  Garnet attached himself to the handle as directed. Ukridge gave theword. They had a momentary vision of an excited dog of the mongrelclass framed in the open doorway, all eyes and teeth; then the passagewas occupied by a spreading pool, and indignant barks from thedistance told that the mongrel was thinking the thing over in somesafe retreat.

  "Settled _his_ hash," said Ukridge complacently. "Nothing likeresource, Garnet, my boy. Some men would have gone on letting a gooddoor be ruined."

  "And spoiled the dog for a ha-porth of water," said Garnet. "I supposewe shall have to clean up that mess some time."

  "There you go," said Ukridge, "looking on the dark side. Be anoptimist, my boy, be an optimist. Beale and Mrs. Beale shall cleanthat passage as a penance. How is the fire, Millie?"

  "The kettle is just boiling, dear."

  Over a cup of tea Ukridge became the man of business.

  They had a momentary vision of an excited dog, framedin the doorway.]

  "I wonder when those fowls are going to arrive. They should have beenhere to-day. If they don't come to-morrow, I shall lodge a complaint.There must be no slackness. They must bustle about. After tea I'llshow you the garden, and we will choose a place for a fowl run.To-morrow we must buckle to. Serious work will begin immediately afterbreakfast."

  "Suppose," said Garnet, "the fowls arrive before we are ready forthem?"

  "Why, then, they must wait."

  "But you can't keep fowls cooped up indefinitely in a crate. I supposethey will come in a crate. I don't know much about these things."

  "Oh, that'll be all right. There's a basement to this house. We'll let'em run about there till we're ready for them. There's always a way ofdoing things if you look for it."

  "I hope you are going to let the hens hatch some of the eggs,Stanley, dear," said Mrs. Ukridge. "I should so love to have some dearlittle chickens."

  "Of course," said Ukridge. "My idea was this: These people will sendus fifty fowls of
sorts. That means--call it forty eggs a day. Let 'emhatch out thirty a day, and we will use the other ten for the table.We shall want at least ten. Well, I'm hanged, that dog again! Where'sthat jug?"

  But this time an unforeseen interruption prevented the maneuver frombeing the success it had been before. Garnet had turned the handle,and was just about to pull the door open, while Ukridge, looking likesome modern and dilapidated version of Discobolus, stood beside himwith his jug poised, when a hoarse voice spoke from the window.

  "Stand still!" said the voice, "or I'll corpse you."

  Garnet dropped the handle, Ukridge dropped the jug, Mrs. Ukridgescreamed.

  At the window, with a double-barreled gun in his hands, stood a short,square, red-headed man. The muzzle of his gun, which rested on thesill, was pointing in a straight line at the third button of Garnet'swaistcoat. With a distant recollection of the Deadwood Dick literatureof his childhood, Garnet flung both hands above his head.

  Ukridge emitted a roar like that of a hungry lion.

  "Beale!" he shouted. "You scoundrelly, unprincipled blackguard! Whatare you doing with that gun? Why were you out? What have you beendoing? Why did you shout like that? Look what you've made me do."

  He pointed to the floor. Broken crockery, spreading water, his ownshoes--exceedingly old tennis shoes--well soaked, attested the factthat damage had been done.

  "Lor'! Mr. Ukridge, sir, is that you?" said the red-headed man calmly."I thought you was burglars."

  A sharp bark from the other side of the kitchen door, followed by arenewal of the scratching, drew Mr. Beale's attention to his faithfulhound.

  "That's Bob," he said.

  "I don't know what you call the brute," said Ukridge. "Come in and tiehim up."

  "'Ow am I to get in, Mr. Ukridge, sir?"

  "Come in through the window, and mind what you're doing with that gun.After you've finished with the dog, I should like a brief chat withyou, if you can spare the time and have no other engagements."

  Mr. Beale, having carefully deposited his gun against the wall of thekitchen, and dropped a pair of very limp rabbits with a thud to thefloor, proceeded to climb through the window. This operationperformed, he stood on one side while the besieged garrison passed outby the same road.

  "You will find me in the garden, Beale," said Ukridge. "I have one ortwo little things to say to you."

  Mr. Beale grinned affably.

  The cool air of the garden was grateful after the warmth of thekitchen. It was a pretty garden, or would have been, if it had notbeen so neglected. Garnet seemed to see himself sitting in a deckchair on the lawn, looking through the leaves of the trees at theharbor below. It was a spot, he felt, in which it would be an easy andpleasant task to shape the plot of his novel. He was glad he had come.About now, outside his lodgings in town, a particularly lethal barrelorgan would be striking up the latest revolting air with which thehalls had inflicted London.

  "Here you are, Beale," said Ukridge, as the red-headed man approached."Now, then, what have you to say?"

  The hired man looked thoughtful for a while, then observed that it wasa fine evening. Garnet felt that he was begging the question. He was astrong, healthy man, and should have scorned to beg.

  "Fine evening?" shouted Ukridge. "What--on--earth has that got to dowith it? I want to know why you and Mrs. Beale were both out when wearrived?"

  "The missus went to Axminster, Mr. Ukridge, sir."

  "She had no right to go to Axminster. I don't pay her large sums to goto Axminster. You knew I was coming this evening."

  "No, Mr. Ukridge, sir."

  "You didn't!"

  "No, Mr. Ukridge, sir."

  "Beale," said Ukridge with studied calm, "one of us two is a fool."

  "I noticed that, sir."

  "Let us sift this matter to the bottom. You got my letter?"

  "No, Mr. Ukridge, sir."

  "My letter saying that I should arrive to-night. You did not get it?"

  "No, sir."

  "Now look here, Beale," said Ukridge, "I am certain that that letterwas posted. I remember placing it in my pocket for that purpose. It isnot there now. See. These are all the contents of my--well, I'mhanged!"

  He stood looking at the envelope he had produced from his breastpocket. Mr. Beale coughed.

  "Beale," said Ukridge, "you--er--there seems to have been a mistake."

  "Yes, sir."

  "You are not so much to blame as I thought."

  "No, sir."

  "Anyhow," said Ukridge, in inspired tones, "I'll go and slay thatinfernal dog. Where's your gun, Beale?"

  But better counsels prevailed, and the proceedings closed with a coldbut pleasant little dinner, at which the spared mongrel came outunexpectedly strong with brainy and diverting tricks.