matter. Really, you're come
out of it very well. Now, look here, which would you rather be owed
for? A clockwork man--which is broken, and you can have it back--or a
tandem bicycle, an enlarging camera, a kodak, and a magic-lantern?
What?" His reasoning was too subtle for the uneducated mind. The man
retired, puzzled, and unpaid, and Ukridge kept the clockwork toy.

CHAPTER XXII

THE STORM BREAKS

Rather to my surprise, the next morning passed off uneventfully. Our
knocker advertised no dun. Our lawn remained untrodden by hob-nailed
boots. By lunch-time I had come to the conclusion that the expected
Trouble would not occur that day, and I felt that I might well leave my
post for the afternoon, while I went to the professor's to pay my
respects. The professor was out when I arrived. Phyllis was in, and it
was not till the evening that I started for the farm again.

As I approached, the sound of voices smote my ears.

I stopped. I could hear Beale speaking. Then came the rich notes of
Vickers, the butcher. Then Beale again. Then Dawlish the grocer. Then a
chorus.

The storm had burst, and in my absence.

I blushed for myself. I was in command, and I had deserted the fort in
time of need. What must the faithful Hired Man be thinking of me?
Probably he placed me, as he had placed Ukridge, in the ragged ranks of
those who have Shot the Moon.

Fortunately, having just come from the professor's I was in the costume
which of all my wardrobe was most calculated to impress. To a casual
observer I should probably suggest wealth and respectability. I stopped
for a moment to cool myself, for, as is my habit when pleased with
life, I had been walking fast; then opened the gate and strode in,
trying to look as opulent as possible.

It was an animated scene that met my eyes. In the middle of the lawn
stood the devoted Beale, a little more flushed than I had seen him
hitherto, parleying with a burly and excited young man without a coat.
Grouped round the pair were some dozen men, young, middle-aged, and
old, all talking their hardest. I could distinguish nothing of what
they were saying. I noticed that Beale's left cheekbone was a little
discoloured, and there was a hard, dogged expression on his face. He,
too, was in his shirt-sleeves.

My entry created no sensation. Nobody, apparently, had heard the latch
click, and nobody had caught sight of me. Their eyes were fixed on the
young man and Beale. I stood at the gate, a