Love Among the Chickens | Page 5

life was
not the ideal state for a girl. If he had been a girl, he felt, he would as
soon have married a volcano.
"And she's so young," he thought, as he looked across at the basket
chair. "Quite a kid."
"You and Stanley have known each other a long time, haven't you?"
said the object of his pity, breaking the silence.
"Yes. Oh, yes," said Garnet. "Several years. We were masters at the
same school together."

Mrs. Ukridge leaned forward with round, shining eyes.
"Isn't he a wonderful man, Mr. Garnet!" she said ecstatically.
Not yet, to judge from her expression and the tone of her voice, had she
had experience of the disadvantages attached to the position of Mrs.
Stanley Ukridge.
Garnet could agree with her there.
"Yes, he is certainly wonderful," he said.
"I believe he could do anything."
"Yes," said Garnet. He believed that Ukridge was at least capable of
anything.
"He has done so many things. Have you ever kept fowls?" she broke
off with apparent irrelevance.
"No," said Garnet. "You see, I spend so much of my time in town. I
should find it difficult."
Mrs. Ukridge looked disappointed.
"I was hoping you might have had some experience. Stanley, of course,
can turn his hand to anything, but I think experience is such a good
thing, don't you?"
"It is," said Garnet, mystified. "But--"
"I have bought a shilling book called 'Fowls and All About Them,' but
it is very hard to understand. You see, we--but here is Stanley. He will
explain it all."
"Well, Garnet, old horse," said Ukridge, reëntering the room after
another energetic passage of the stairs, "settle down and let's talk
business. Found cabby gibbering on doorstep. Wouldn't believe I didn't
want to bilk him. Had to give him an extra shilling. But now, about

business. Lucky to find you in, because I've got a scheme for you,
Garny, old boy. Yes, sir, the idea of a thousand years. Now listen to me
for a moment."
He sat down on the table and dragged a chair up as a leg rest. Then he
took off his pince-nez, wiped them, readjusted the wire behind his ears,
and, having hit a brown patch on the knee of his gray flannel trousers
several times in the apparent hope of removing it, began to speak.
"About fowls," he said.
"What about them?" asked Garnet. The subject was beginning to
interest him. It showed a curious tendency to creep into the
conversation.
"I want you to give me your undivided attention for a moment," said
Ukridge. "I was saying to my wife only the other day: 'Garnet's the man.
Clever man, Garnet. Full of ideas.' Didn't I, Millie?"
"Yes, dear," said Mrs. Ukridge, smiling.
"Well?" said Garnet.
"The fact is," said Ukridge, with a Micawber-like burst of candor, "we
are going to keep fowls."
He stopped and looked at Garnet in order to see the effect of the
information. Garnet bore it with fortitude.
"Yes?" he said.
Ukridge shifted himself farther on to the table and upset the inkpot.
"Never mind," he said, "it'll soak in. Don't you worry about that, you
keep listening to me. When I said we meant to keep fowls, I didn't
mean in a small sort of way--two cocks and a couple of hens and a
ping-pong ball for a nest egg. We are going to do it on a large scale.
We are going to keep," he concluded impressively, "a chicken farm!"

"A chicken farm," echoed Mrs. Ukridge with an affectionate and
admiring glance at her husband.
"Ah," said Garnet, who felt his responsibilities as chorus.
"I've thought it all out," continued Ukridge, "and it's as clear as mud.
No expenses, large profits, quick returns. Chickens, eggs, and no work.
By Jove, old man, it's the idea of a lifetime. Just listen to me for a
moment. You buy your hen--"
"One hen?" inquired Garnet.
"Call it one for the sake of argument. It makes my calculations clearer.
Very well, then. You buy your hen. It lays an egg every day of the
week. You sell the eggs--say--six for fivepence. Keep of hen costs
nothing. Profit at least fourpence, three farthings on every half-dozen
eggs. What do you think of that, Bartholomew?"
Garnet admitted that it sounded like an attractive scheme, but expressed
a wish to overhaul the figures in case of error.
"Error!" shouted Ukridge, pounding the table with such energy that it
groaned beneath him. "Error? Not a bit of it. Can't you follow a simple
calculation like that? The thing is, you see, you get your original hen
for next to nothing. That's to say, on tick. Anybody will let you have a
hen on tick. Now listen to me for a moment. You let your hen set,