boy," supplied me with a gin and gingerbeer at the clubhouse,
and generally behaved as if he had been David and I Jonathan. Yet in
certain moods we are inclined to make mountains out of molehills, and I
went on my way, puzzled and uneasy, with a distinct impression that I
had received the cut direct.

I felt hurt. What had I done that Providence should make things so
unpleasant for me? It would be a little hard, as Ukridge would have
said, if, after all my trouble, the professor had discovered some fresh
grievance against me. Perhaps Ukridge had been irritating him again. I
wished he would not identify me so completely with Ukridge. I could not
be expected to control the man. Then I reflected that they could hardly
have met in the few hours between my parting from the professor at the
club-house and my meeting with him on the beach. Ukridge rarely left
the farm. When he was not working among the fowls, he was lying on his
back in the paddock, resting his massive mind.

I came to the conclusion that after all the professor had not seen me.

"I'm an idiot, Bob," I said, as we turned in at the farm gate, "and I
let my imagination run away with me."

Bob wagged his tail in approval of the sentiment.

Breakfast was ready when I got in. There was a cold chicken on the
sideboard, devilled chicken on the table, a trio of boiled eggs, and a
dish of scrambled eggs. As regarded quantity Mrs. Beale never failed us.

Ukridge was sorting the letters.

"Morning, Garny," he said. "One for you, Millie."

"It's from Aunt Elizabeth," said Mrs. Ukridge, looking at the envelope.

I had only heard casual mention of this relative hitherto, but I had
built up a mental picture of her partly from remarks which Ukridge had
let fall, but principally from the fact that he had named the most
malignant hen in our fowl-run after her. A severe lady, I imagined with
a cold eye.

"Wish she'd enclose a cheque," said Ukridge. "She could spare it.
You've no idea, Garny, old man, how disgustingly and indecently rich
that woman is. She lives in Kensington on an income which would do her
well in Park Lane. But as a touching proposition she had proved almost
negligible. She steadfastly refuses to part."

"I think she would, dear, if she knew how much we needed it. But I
don't like to ask her. She's so curious, and says such horrid things."

"She does," agreed Ukridge, gloomily. He spoke as one who had had
experience. "Two for you, Garny. All the re