A COUNCIL OF WAR
XIV
"The fact is," said Ukridge, "if things go on as they are now, oldhorse, we shall be in the cart. This business wants bucking up. Wedon't seem to be making headway. What we want is time. If only thesescoundrels of tradesmen would leave us alone for a spell, we might getthings going properly. But we're hampered and worried and rattled allthe time. Aren't we, Millie?"
"Yes, dear."
"You don't let me see the financial side of the thing," I said,"except at intervals. I didn't know we were in such a bad way. Thefowls look fit enough, and Edwin hasn't had one for a week."
"Edwin knows as well as possible when he's done wrong, Mr. Garnet,"said Mrs. Ukridge. "He was so sorry after he had killed those othertwo."
"Yes," said Ukridge. "I saw to that."
"As far as I can see," I continued, "we're going strong. Chicken forbreakfast, lunch, and dinner is a shade monotonous, but look at thebusiness we're doing. We sold a whole heap of eggs last week."
"It's not enough, Garny, my boy. We sell a dozen eggs where we oughtto be selling a hundred, carting them off in trucks for the Londonmarket. Harrod's and Whiteley's and the rest of them are beginning toget on their hind legs, and talk. That's what they're doing. You see,Marmaduke, there's no denying it--we _did_ touch them for a lot ofthings on account, and they agreed to take it out in eggs. They seemto be getting tired of waiting."
"Their last letter was quite pathetic," said Mrs. Ukridge.
I had a vision of an eggless London. I seemed to see homes rendereddesolate and lives embittered by the slump, and millionaires biddingagainst one another for the few specimens Ukridge had actually managedto dispatch to Brompton and Bayswater.
"I told them in my last letter but three," continued Ukridgecomplainingly, "that I proposed to let them have the eggs on the_Times_ installment system, and they said I was frivolous. They saidthat to send thirteen eggs as payment for goods supplied to the valueof twenty-five pounds one shilling and sixpence was mere trifling.Trifling! when those thirteen eggs were absolutely all we had overthat week after Mrs. Beale had taken what she wanted for the kitchen.I tell you what it is, old boy, that woman literally eats eggs."
"The habit is not confined to her," I said.
"What I mean to say is, she seems to bathe in them."
An impressive picture to one who knew Mrs. Beale.
"She says she needs so many for puddings, dear," said Mrs. Ukridge. "Ispoke to her about it yesterday. And, of course, we often haveomelets."
"She can't make omelets without breakings eggs," I urged.
"She can't make them without breaking us," said Ukridge. "One or twomore omelets and we're done for. Another thing," he continued, "thatincubator thing won't work. _I_ don't know what's wrong with it."
"Perhaps it's your dodge of letting down the temperature."
I had touched upon a tender point.
"My dear fellow," he said earnestly, "there's nothing the matter withmy figures. It's a mathematical certainty. What's the good ofmathematics if not to help you work out that sort of thing? No,there's something wrong with the machine itself, and I shall probablymake a complaint to the people I got it from. Where did we get theincubator, Millie?"
"Harrod's, I think, dear. Yes, it was Harrod's. It came down with thefirst lot of things from there."
"Then," said Ukridge, banging the table with his fist, while hisglasses flashed triumph, "we've got 'em! Write and answer that letterof theirs to-night, Millie. Sit on them."
"Yes, dear."
"And tell 'em that we'd have sent 'em their confounded eggs weeks agoif only their rotten, twopenny-ha'penny incubator had worked with anyapproach to decency."
"Or words to that effect," I suggested.
"Add in a postscript that I consider that the manufacturer of thething ought to rent a padded cell at Earlswood, and that they arescoundrels for palming off a groggy machine of that sort on me. I'llteach them!"
"Yes, dear."
"The ceremony of opening the morning's letters at Harrod's ought to befull of interest and excitement to-morrow," I said.
This dashing counter stroke served to relieve Ukridge's pessimisticmood. He seldom looked on the dark side of things for long at a time.He began now to speak hopefully of the future. He planned outingenious, if somewhat impracticable, improvements in the farm. Ourfowls were to multiply so rapidly and consistently that within a shortspace of time Dorsetshire would be paved with them. Our eggs were toincrease in size till they broke records, and got three-line noticesin the "Items of Interest" column of the _Daily Mail_. Briefly, eachhen was to become a happy combination of rabbit and ostrich.
"There is certainly a good time coming," I said. "May it be soon.Meanwhile, there remain the local tradesmen. What of them?"
Ukridge relapsed once more into pessimism.
"They are the worst of the lot," he said. "I don't mind about theLondon men so much. They only write. And a letter or two hurts nobody.But when it comes to butchers and bakers and grocers and fishmongersand fruiterers, and what not, coming up to one's house and dunning onein one's own garden--well, it's a little hard, what?"
It may be wondered why, before things came to such a crisis, I had notplaced my balance at the bank at the disposal of the senior partnerfor use on behalf of the firm. The fact was that my balance was atthe moment small. I have not yet in the course of this narrative goneinto my pecuniary position, but I may state here that it was aninconvenient one. It was big with possibilities, but of ready cashthere was but a meager supply. My parents had been poor, but I had awealthy uncle. Uncles are notoriously careless of the comfort of theirnephews. Mine was no exception. He had views. He was a great believerin matrimony, as, having married three wives--not, I should add,simultaneously--he had every right to be. He was also of opinion thatthe less money the young bachelor possessed, the better. Theconsequence was that he announced his intention of giving me ahandsome allowance from the day that I married, but not an instantbefore. Till that glad day I would have to shift for myself. And I ambound to admit that--for an uncle--it was a remarkably sensible idea.I am also of opinion that it is greatly to my credit, and a proof ofmy pure and unmercenary nature, that I did not instantly put myself upto be raffled for, or rush out into the streets and propose marriageto the first lady I met. I was making enough with my pen to supportmyself, and, be it ever so humble, there is something pleasant in abachelor existence, or so I had thought until very recently.
I had thus no great stake in Ukridge's chicken farm. I had contributeda modest five pounds to the preliminary expenses, and another fivepounds after the roop incident. But further I could not go withsafety. When his income is dependent on the whims of editors andpublishers, the prudent man keeps something up his sleeve against asudden slump in his particular wares. I did not wish to have to make ahurried choice between matrimony and the workhouse.
Having exhausted the subject of finance--or, rather, when I began tofeel that it was exhausting me--I took my clubs and strolled up thehill to the links to play off a match with a sportsman from thevillage. I had entered some days previously a competition for a trophy(I quote the printed notice) presented by a local supporter of thegame, in which up to the present I was getting on nicely. I hadsurvived two rounds, and expected to beat my present opponent, whichwould bring me into the semi-final. Unless I had bad luck, I felt thatI ought to get into the final, and win it. As far as I could gatherfrom watching the play of my rivals, the professor was the best ofthem, and I was convinced that I should have no difficulty with him.But he had the most extraordinary luck at golf, though he neveradmitted it. He also exercised quite an uncanny influence on hisopponent. I have seen men put completely off their stroke by his goodfortune.
I disposed of my man without difficulty. We parted a little coldly. Hedecapitated his brassy on the occasion of his striking Dorsetshireinstead of his ball, and he was slow in recovering from the complexemotions which such an episode induces.
In the clubhou
se I met the professor, whose demeanor was a welcomecontrast to that of my late antagonist. The professor had just routedhis opponent, and so won through to the semi-final. He was warm butjubilant.
I congratulated him, and left the place.
Phyllis was waiting outside. She often went round the course with him.
"Good afternoon," I said. "Have you been round with the professor?"
"Yes. We must have been in front of you. Father won his match."
"So he was telling me. I was very glad to hear it."
"Did you win, Mr. Garnet?"
"Yes. Pretty easily. My opponent had bad luck all through. Bunkersseemed to have a magnetic attraction for him."
"So you and father are both in the semi-final? I hope you will playvery badly."
"Thank you, Miss Derrick," I said.
"Yes, it does sound rude, doesn't it? But father has set his heart onwinning this year. Do you know that he has played in the final roundtwo years running now?"
"Really?"
"Both times he was beaten by the same man."
"Who was that? Mr. Derrick plays a much better game than anybody Ihave seen on these links."
"It was nobody who is here now. It was a Colonel Jervis. He has notcome to Lyme Regis this year. That is why father is hopeful."
"Logically," I said, "he ought to be certain to win."
"Yes; but, you see, you were not playing last year, Mr. Garnet."
"Oh, the professor can make rings round me," I said.
"What did you go round in to-day?"
"We were playing match play, and only did the first dozen holes; butmy average round is somewhere in the late eighties."
"The best father has ever done is ninety, and that was only once. Soyou see, Mr. Garnet, there's going to be another tragedy this year."
"You make me feel a perfect brute. But it's more than likely, you mustremember, that I shall fail miserably if I ever do play your father inthe final. There are days when I play golf very badly."
Phyllis smiled. "Do you really have your off days?"
"Nearly always. There are days when I slice with my driver as if itwere a bread knife."
"Really?"
"And when I couldn't putt to hit a haystack."
"Then I hope it will be on one of those days that you play father."
"I hope so, too," I said.
"You hope so?"
"Yes."
"But don't you want to win?"
"I should prefer to please you."
Mr. Lewis Waller could not have said it better.
"Really, how very unselfish of you, Mr. Garnet," she replied with alaugh. "I had no idea that such chivalry existed. I thought a golferwould sacrifice anything to win a game."
"Most things."
"And trample on the feelings of anybody."
"Not everybody," I said.
At this point the professor joined us.
Love Among the Chickens Page 14
