of the mongrel
class framed in the open doorway, all eyes and teeth; then the passage
was occupied by a spreading pool, and indignant barks from the
distance told that the mongrel was thinking the thing over in some
safe retreat.

"Settled _his_ hash," said Ukridge complacently. "Nothing like
resource, Garnet, my boy. Some men would have gone on letting a good
door be ruined."

"And spoiled the dog for a ha-porth of water," said Garnet. "I suppose
we shall have to clean up that mess some time."

"There you go," said Ukridge, "looking on the dark side. Be an
optimist, my boy, be an optimist. Beale and Mrs. Beale shall clean
that passage as a penance. How is the fire, Millie?"

"The kettle is just boiling, dear."

Over a cup of tea Ukridge became the man of business.

[Illustration: They had a momentary vision of an excited dog, framed
in the doorway.]

"I wonder when those fowls are going to arrive. They should have been
here to-day. If they don't come to-morrow, I shall lodge a complaint.
There must be no slackness. They must bustle about. After tea I'll
show you the garden, and we will choose a place for a fowl run.
To-morrow we must buckle to. Serious work will begin immediately after
breakfast."

"Suppose," said Garnet, "the fowls arrive before we are ready for
them?"

"Why, then, they must wait."

"But you can't keep fowls cooped up indefinitely in a crate. I suppose
they will come in a crate. I don't know much about these things."

"Oh, that'll be all right. There's a basement to this house. We'll let
'em run about there till we're ready for them. There's always a way of
doing things if you look for it."

"I hope you are going to let the hens hatch some of the eggs,
Stanley, dear," said Mrs. Ukridge. "I should so love to have some dear
little chickens."

"Of course," said Ukridge. "My idea was this: These people will send
us fifty fowls of sorts. That means--call it forty eggs a day. Let 'em
hatch out thirty a day, and we will use the other ten for the table.
We shall want at least ten. Well, I'm hanged, that dog again! Where's
that jug?"

But this time an unforeseen interruption prevented the maneuver from
being the success it had been before. Garnet had turned the handle,
and was just about to pull the door open, while Ukridge, looking like
some modern and dilapidated version of Discobolus, stood beside him
with his jug poised, when a hoarse voice spoke from the window.

"Stand still!" said