Love Among the Chickens P. G. Wodehouse (ink ebook reader .txt) đ
- Author: P. G. Wodehouse
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The tide was high, and, leaving my clothes to the care of Bob, who treated them as a handy bed, I dived into twelve feet of clear, cold water. As I swam, I compared it with the morning tub of London, and felt that I had done well to come with Ukridge to this pleasant spot. Not that I could rely on unbroken calm during the whole of my visit. I knew nothing of chicken-farming, but I was certain that Ukridge knew less. There would be some strenuous moments before that farm became a profitable commercial speculation. At the thought of Ukridge toiling on a hot afternoon to manage an undisciplined mob of fowls, I laughed, and swallowed a generous mouthful of salt water; and, turning, swam back to Bob and my clothes.
On my return, I found Ukridge, in his shirt sleeves and minus a collar, assailing a large ham. Mrs. Ukridge, looking younger and more childlike than ever in brown holland, smiled at me over the teapot.
âHullo, old horse,â bellowed Ukridge, âwhere have you been? Bathing? Hope itâs made you feel fit for work, because weâve got to buckle to this morning.â
âThe fowls have arrived, Mr. Garnet,â said Mrs. Ukridge, opening her eyes till she looked like an astonished kitten. âSuch a lot of them. Theyâre making such a noise.â
To support her statement there floated in through the window a cackling which for volume and variety beat anything I had ever heard. Judging from the noise, it seemed as if England had been drained of fowls and the entire tribe of them dumped into the yard of Ukridgeâs farm.
âThere seems to have been no stint,â I said.
âQuite a goodish few, arenât there?â said Ukridge complacently. âBut thatâs what we want. No good starting on a small scale. The more you have, the bigger the profits.â
âWhat sorts have you got mostly?â I asked, showing a professional interest.
âOh, all sorts. My theory, laddie, is this. It doesnât matter a bit what kind we get, because theyâll all lay; and if we sell settings of eggs, which we will, weâll merely say itâs an unfortunate accident if they turn out mixed when hatched. Bless you, people donât mind what breed a fowl is, so long as itâs got two legs and a beak. These dealer chaps were so infernally particular. âAny Dorkings?â they said. âAll right,â I said, âbring on your Dorkings.â âOr perhaps you will require a few Minorcas?â âVery well,â I said, âunleash the Minorcas.â They were going onâ âtheyâd have gone on for hoursâ âbut I stopped âem. âLook here, my dear old college chum,â I said kindly but firmly to the manager johnnyâ âdecent old buck, with the manners of a marquessâ ââlook here,â I said, âlife is short, and weâre neither of us as young as we used to be. Donât let us waste the golden hours playing guessing games. I want fowls. You sell fowls. So give me some of all sorts. Mix âem up, laddie,â I said, âmix âem up.â And he has, by Jove. You go into the yard and look at âem. Beale has turned them out of their crates. There must be one of every breed ever invented.â
âWhere are you going to put them?â
âThat spot we chose by the paddock. Thatâs the place. Plenty of mud for them to scratch about in, and they can go into the field when they feel like it, and pick up worms, or whatever they feed on. We must rig them up some sort of shanty, I suppose, this morning. Weâll go and tell âem to send up some wire-netting and stuff from the town.â
âThen we shall want hen-coops. We shall have to make those.â
âOf course. So we shall. Millie, didnât I tell you that old Garnet was the man to think of things. I forgot the coops. We canât buy some, I suppose? On tick, of course.â
âCheaper to make them. Suppose we get a lot of boxes. Sugar boxes are as good as any. It wonât take long to knock up a few coops.â
Ukridge thumped the table with enthusiasm, upsetting his cup.
âGarny, old horse, youâre a marvel. You think of everything. Weâll buckle to right away, and get the whole place fixed up the same as mother makes it. What an infernal noise those birds are making. I suppose they donât feel at home in the yard. Wait till they see the A1 compact residential mansions weâre going to put up for them. Finished breakfast? Then letâs go out. Come along, Millie.â
The redheaded Beale, discovered leaning in an attitude of thought on the yard gate and observing the feathered mob below with much interest, was roused from his reflections and despatched to the town for the wire and sugar boxes. Ukridge, taking his place at the gate, gazed at the fowls with the affectionate air of a proprietor.
âWell, they have certainly taken you at your word,â I said, âas far as variety is concerned.â
The man with the manners of a marquess seemed to have been at great pains to send a really representative selection of fowls. There were blue ones, black ones, white, grey, yellow, brown, big, little, Dorkings, Minorcas, Cochin Chinas, Bantams, Wyandottes. It was an imposing spectacle.
The Hired Man returned towards the end of the morning, preceded by a cart containing the necessary wire and boxes; and Ukridge, whose enthusiasm brooked no delay, started immediately the task of fashioning the coops, while I, assisted by Beale, draped the wire-netting about the chosen spot next to the paddock. There were little unpleasantnessesâ âonce a roar of anguish told that Ukridgeâs hammer had found the wrong billet, and on another occasion my flannel trousers suffered on the wireâ âbut the work proceeded steadily. By the middle of the afternoon, things were in a sufficiently advanced state to suggest to Ukridge
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