ith
Ukridge, and found myself legging it down Henrietta Street in the grey
dawn, pursued by infuriated costermongers.

I wondered how he had got my address, and on that problem light was
immediately cast by Mrs. Medley, who returned, bearing an envelope.

"It came by the morning post, sir, but it was left at Number Twenty by
mistake."

"Oh, thank you."

"Thank you, sir," said Mrs. Medley.

I recognised the handwriting. The letter, which bore a Devonshire
postmark, was from an artist friend of mine, one Lickford, who was at
present on a sketching tour in the west. I had seen him off at Waterloo
a week before, and I remember that I had walked away from the station
wishing that I could summon up the energy to pack and get off to the
country somewhere. I hate London in July.

The letter was a long one, but it was the postscript which interested
me most.

"... By the way, at Yeovil I ran into an old friend of ours, Stanley
Featherstonehaugh Ukridge, of all people. As large as life--quite six
foot two, and tremendously filled out. I thought he was abroad. The
last I heard of him was that he had started for Buenos Ayres in a
cattle ship, with a borrowed pipe by way of luggage. It seems he has
been in England for some time. I met him in the refreshment-room at
Yeovil Station. I was waiting for a down train; he had changed on his
way to town. As I opened the door, I heard a huge voice entreating the
lady behind the bar to 'put it in a pewter'; and there was S. F. U. in
a villainous old suit of grey flannels (I'll swear it was the one he
had on last time I saw him) with pince-nez tacked on to his ears with
ginger-beer wire as usual, and a couple of inches of bare neck showing
between the bottom of his collar and the top of his coat--you remember
how he could never get a stud to do its work. He also wore a
mackintosh, though it was a blazing day.

"He greeted me with effusive shouts. Wouldn't hear of my standing the
racket. Insisted on being host. When we had finished, he fumbled in his
pockets, looked pained and surprised, and drew me aside. 'Look here,
Licky, old horse,' he said, 'you know I never borrow money. It's
against my principles. But I _must_ have a couple of bob. Can you, my
dear good fellow, oblige me with a couple of bob till next Tuesday?
I'll tell you what I'll do. (In a voice full of emotion). I'll let you
have this (producing a beastly little threepenny bit with a hole in it
which he had probably pic