# Love Among the Chickens (New York: 1909)/Chapter 4

​  IV
FROM Axminster to Lyme Regis the line runs through country as pretty as any that can be found in the island, and the train, as if in appreciation of this fact, does not hurry over the journey. It was late afternoon by the time the chicken farmers reached their destination.
The arrangements for the carrying of luggage at Lyme Regis border on the primitive. Boxes are left on the platform, and later, when he thinks of it, a carrier looks in and conveys them down into the valley and up the hill on the opposite side to the address written on the labels. The owner walks. Lyme Regis is not a place for the halt and maimed.
​Ukridge led his band in the direction of the farm, which lay across the valley, looking through woods to the sea. The place was visible from the station, from which, indeed, standing as it did on the top of a hill, the view was extensive.
Halfway up the slope on the other side of the valley the party left the road and made their way across a spongy field, Ukridge explaining that this was a short cut. They climbed through a hedge, crossed a stream and another field, and after negotiating a difficult bank topped with barbed wire, found themselves in a kitchen garden.
Ukridge mopped his forehead and restored his pince-nez to their original position, from which the passage of the barbed wire had dislodged them.
"This is the place," he said. "We have come in by the back way. It saves 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 most competent man, of the name of Beale, and his wife are in charge at present. I wrote to them telling them that we were coming to-day. They will be ready for us."
They were at the front door by this time. Ukridge rang the bell. The noise reëchoed through the house, but there were no answering footsteps. He rang again. There is no mistaking the note of a bell in an empty house. It was plain that the most competent man and his wife were 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 button his 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 get into an empty house, where there looked as if there might be something to eat, and we'd just got the door open when the owner turned up from behind a tree with a shot-gun. 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 side of 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. What are you going to do?"
"Let's try the back," said Ukridge. "We must get in. What right," he added ​with pathos, "has a beastly mongrel belonging to a man I employ to keep me out of my own house? It's a little hard. Here am I, slaving to support Beale, and when I try to get into my house, his infernal dog barks at me. But we will try kindness first. Let me get to the keyhole. 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 hurled itself against it. The barking rang through the house.
"Kindness seems to be a drug in the market," said Garnet. "Do you see your way to trying a little force?"
"I'll tell you what we'll do," said Ukridge, rising. "We'll go round and 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 a perfect mania for looking on the dark side. The dog won't guard the kitchen 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 it open and they climbed in.
The dog, hearing the sound of voices, raced back along the passage and flung himself at the door. He then proceeded to scratch at the panels in the persevering way of one who feels that he is engaged upon a business 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 to have some tea. Millie, you know how to light a fire. Garnet and I will be collecting cups and things. When that scoundrel Beale arrives, I shall tear him limb from limb. Deserting us like this! The man must be a thorough fraud. He told me he was an old soldier. If this was the sort of discipline they used to keep in his regiment, I don't wonder that the service is going to the dogs. There goes a plate! How is the fire getting on, Millie? I'll chop Beale into little bits. What's that you've got there, Garny, old horse? Tea? Good! Where's the bread? There! another plate. Look here, I'll give that dog three minutes, and if it doesn't stop scratching that door by then, I'll take the bread knife and go out and have a soul-to-soul talk with it. It's a little hard. My own house, and the first thing I find in it when I arrive is somebody 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 it into the scullery, whence came the sound of running water. He returned carrying the jug in both hands. His mien was that of a general who sees his way to a master stroke of strategy.
"Garny, old horse," he said, "tack on to the handle, and when I give the word fling wide the gates. Then watch that beast beyond the door get the surprise of its lifetime."
Garnet attached himself to the handle as directed. Ukridge gave the word. They ​had a momentary vision of an excited dog of the mongrel class framed in the open doorway, all eyes and teeth; then the passage was occupied by a spreading pool, and indignant barks from the distance told that the mongrel was thinking the thing over in some safe retreat.
"Settled his hash," said Ukridge complacently. "Nothing like resource, Garnet, my boy. Some men would have gone on letting a good door be ruined."
"And spoiled the dog for a ha-porth of water," said Garnet. "I suppose we shall have to clean up that mess some time."
"There you go," said Ukridge, "looking on the dark side. Be an optimist, my boy, be an optimist. Beale and Mrs. Beale shall clean that 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.
​"I wonder when those fowls are going to arrive. They should have been here today. If they don't come to-morrow, I shall lodge a complaint. There must be no slackness. They must bustle about. After tea I'll show you the garden, and we will choose a place for a fowl run. To-morrow we must buckle to. Serious work will begin immediately after breakfast."
"Suppose," said Garnet, "the fowls arrive before we are ready for them?"
"Why, then, they must wait."
"But you can't keep fowls cooped up indefinitely in a crate. I suppose they 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 of doing 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 dear little chickens."
"Of course," said Ukridge. "My idea was this: These people will send us fifty fowls of sorts. That means—call it forty eggs a day. Let 'em hatch 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's that jug?"
But this time an unforeseen interruption prevented the maneuver from being the success it had been before. Garnet had turned the handle, and was just about to pull the door open, while Ukridge, looking like some modern and dilapidated version of Discobolus, stood beside him with 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. Ukridge screamed.
At the window, with a double-barreled gun in his hands, stood a short, square, redheaded man. The muzzle of his gun, which rested on the sill, was pointing in a straight line at the third button of Garnet's waistcoat. With a distant recollection of the Deadwood Dick literature of 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! What are you doing with that gun? Why were you out? What have you been doing? Why did you shout like that? Look what you've made me do."
He pointed to the floor. Broken crockery, spreading water, his own shoes—exceedingly old tennis shoes—well soaked, ​attested the fact that 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 a renewal of the scratching, drew Mr. Beale's attention to his faithful hound.
"That's Bob," he said.
"I don't know what you call the brute," said Ukridge. "Come in and tie him 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 with you, if you can spare the time and have no other engagements."
Mr. Beale, having carefully deposited his gun against the wall of the kitchen, ​and dropped a pair of very limp rabbits with a thud to the floor, proceeded to climb through the window. This operation performed, he stood on one side while the besieged garrison passed out by the same road.
"You will find me in the garden, Beale," said Ukridge. "I have one or two little things to say to you."
Mr. Beale grinned affably.
The cool air of the garden was grateful after the warmth of the kitchen. It was a pretty garden, or would have been, if it had not been so neglected. Garnet seemed to see himself sitting in a deck chair on the lawn, looking through the leaves of the trees at the harbor below. It was a spot, he felt, in which it would be an easy and pleasant task to shape the plot of his novel. He was glad he had come. About now, outside his lodgings in town, a particularly lethal barrel organ would be striking up the latest ​revolting air with which the halls 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 was a fine evening. Garnet felt that he was begging the question. He was a strong, healthy man, and should have scorned to beg.
"Fine evening?" shouted Ukridge. "What—on—earth has that got to do with it? I want to know why you and Mrs. Beale were both out when we arrived?"
"The missus went to Axminster, Mr. Ukridge, sir."
"She had no right to go to Axminster. I don't pay her large sums to go to 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 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 he had produced from his breast pocket. 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 that infernal dog. 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 brainy and diverting tricks.