I have nothing for you. I
couldn't pay your bills if I wanted to."

It began to be borne in upon me that I was becoming unpopular.

"I am here simply as Mr. Ukridge's guest," I proceeded. After all, why
should I spare the man? "I have nothing whatever to do with his
business affairs. I refuse absolutely to be regarded as in any way
indebted to you. I am sorry for you. You have my sympathy. That is all
I can give you, sympathy--and good advice."

Dissatisfaction. I was getting myself disliked. And I had meant to be
so conciliatory, to speak to these unfortunates words of cheer which
should be as olive oil poured into a wound. For I really did
sympathize with them. I considered that Ukridge had used them
disgracefully. But I was irritated. My head ached abominably.

"Then am I to tell our Mr. Blenkinsop," asked the frock-coated one,
"that the money is not and will not be forthcoming?"

"When next you smoke a quiet cigar with your Mr. Blenkinsop," I
replied courteously, "and find conversation flagging, I rather think I
_should_ say something of the sort."

"We shall, of course, instruct our solicitors at once to institute
legal proceedings against your Mr. Ukridge."

"Don't call him my Mr. Ukridge. You can do whatever you please."

"That is your last word on the subject."

"I hope so."

"Where's our money?" demanded a discontented voice from the crowd.

Then Charlie, filled with the lust of revenge, proposed that the
company should sack the place.

"We can't see the color of our money," he said pithily, "but we can
have our own back."

That settled it. The battle was over. The most skillful general must
sometimes recognize defeat. I could do nothing further with them. I
had done my best for the farm. I could do no more.

I lit my pipe and strolled into the paddock.

Chaos followed. Indoors and out of doors they raged without check.
Even Beale gave the thing up. He knocked Charlie into a flower bed and
then disappeared in the direction of the kitchen.

It was growing dusk. From inside the house came faint sounds of mirth,
as the sacking party emptied the rooms of their contents. In the fowl
run a hen was crooning sleepily in its coop. It was a very soft,
liquid, soothing sound.

Presently out came the invaders with their loot--one with a picture,
another with a vase, another bearing the gramophone upside down.

Then I heard somebody--Charlie again, it seemed to me--propose a raid
on the fowl run.

T