Love Among the Chickens

ut last night, sir,"said Mrs. Medley, my landl

id, in my a

ir?""I said, did he leave a name?""Yes, sir. Mr. Ukridge.""Oh, my sainted aunt!""Sir!

emoment. A stout fellow in both the physical and moral sense of thewords, he was a trifle too jumpy for a man of my cloistered andintellectual life, especially as just now I was trying to plan out anew

ds up the evening by embroilingyou in a fight with a cabman. I have gone to Covent Garden balls withUkridg

that problem light wasimmediately cast by M

as left at Number Twenty bymistake.""Oh, th

was atpresent on a sketching tour in the west. I had seen him off atWaterloo a week before, and I remember that I had walked a

, but it was the postscri

ms he has been in England for some time. I met him in therefreshment-room at Yeovil Station. I was waiting for a down train; hehad changed on his way to town. As I opened the door, I heard a hugevoice entreating the lady behind the bar to 'put it in a pewter'; andthere was S. F. U. in a villainous old suit of grey flannels (I'lls

inhis pockets, looked pained and surprised, and drew me aside. 'Lookhere, Licky, old horse,' he said, 'you know I never borrow money. It

st take it, youmust take it. Licky, old man, shake hands, old horse. Shake hands, myboy.' He then tottered to the bar, deeply moved, and paid up out ofthe five shillings which he had made it as an after-thought. He askedafter you, and said you were one of the noblest men on earth. I gavehim your address, not being able to get out of it, but if I were you Ishould fly while there is yet time."It s

ng the

said Mr

away for a

ou canforward letters.""Yes, sir.""And, if Mr. Ukridge calls again . .

r. Iheard Mrs. Medley's footsteps pass along the hall. There wa

ere is theman of wrath? Exhibit the son of Belial."There fo

arnet!! GARNET!!!!!"Stanley Feather