Part 5 (1/2)
”No, sir.”
”What!”
”No, sir.”
”Beale,” said Ukridge with studied calm, the strong man repressing himself. ”One of us two is a fool.”
”Yes, sir.”
”Let us sift this matter to the bottom. You got my letter?”
”No, sir.”
”My letter saying that I should arrive to-day. You didn't get it?”
”No, sir.”
”Now, look here, Beale, this is absurd. I am certain that that letter was posted. I remember placing it in my pocket for that purpose. It is not there now. See. These are all the contents of my--well, I'm hanged.”
He stood looking at the envelope which he had produced from his breast-pocket. A soft smile played over Mr. Beale's wooden face. He 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.”
There was a silence.
”Anyhow,” said Ukridge in inspired tones, ”I'll go and slay that infernal dog. I'll teach him to tear my door to pieces. Where's your gun, Beale?”
But better counsels prevailed, and the proceedings closed with a cold but pleasant little dinner, at which the spared mongrel came out unexpectedly strong with ingenious and diverting tricks.
CHAPTER V
BUCKLING TO
Suns.h.i.+ne, streaming into my bedroom through the open window, woke me next day as distant clocks were striking eight. It was a lovely morning, cool and fresh. The gra.s.s of the lawn, wet with dew, sparkled in the sun. A thrush, who knew all about early birds and their perquisites, was filling in the time before the arrival of the worm with a song or two, as he sat in the bushes. In the ivy a colony of sparrows were opening the day with brisk scuffling. On the gravel in front of the house lay the mongrel, Bob, blinking lazily.
The gleam of the sea through the trees turned my thoughts to bathing. I dressed quickly and went out. Bob rose to meet me, waving an absurdly long tail. The hatchet was definitely buried now. That little matter of the jug of water was forgotten.
A walk of five minutes down the hill brought me, accompanied by Bob, to the sleepy little town. I pa.s.sed through the narrow street, and turned on to the beach, walking in the direction of the combination of pier and break-water which loomed up through the faint mist.
The tide was high, and, leaving my clothes to the care of Bob, who treated them as a handy bed, I dived into twelve feet of clear, cold water. As I swam, I compared it with the morning tub of London, and felt that I had done well to come with Ukridge to this pleasant spot.
Not that I could rely on unbroken calm during the whole of my visit. I knew nothing of chicken-farming, but I was certain that Ukridge knew less. There would be some strenuous moments before that farm became a profitable commercial speculation. At the thought of Ukridge toiling on a hot afternoon to manage an undisciplined mob of fowls, I laughed, and swallowed a generous mouthful of salt water; and, turning, swam back to Bob and my clothes.
On my return, I found Ukridge, in his s.h.i.+rt sleeves and minus a collar, a.s.sailing a large ham. Mrs. Ukridge, looking younger and more child-like than ever in brown holland, smiled at me over the tea-pot.