s earnest attention. A
lecture on what to do with the cold mutton would be welcomed. But not
Ireland, if you don't mind. Shall we go down?"

We got to know one another very well at lunch.

"Do you hunt hens," asked Mr. Chase, who was mixing the salad--he was
one of those men who seem to do everything a shade better than anyone
else, "for amusement or by your doctor's orders?"

"Neither," I said, "and particularly not for amusement. The fact is I
have been lured down here by a friend of mine who has started a
chicken farm--"

I was interrupted. All three of them burst into laughter. Mr. Chase in
his emotion allowed the vinegar to trickle on to the cloth, missing
the salad bowl by a clear two inches.

"You don't mean to tell us," he said, "that you really come from the
one and only chicken farm?"

I could not deny it.

"Why, you're the man we've all been praying to meet for days past.
Haven't we, professor?"

"You're right, Tom," chuckled Mr. Derrick.

"We want to know all about it, Mr. Garnet," said Phyllis Derrick.

"Do you know," continued Mr. Chase, "that you are the talk of the
town? Everybody is discussing you. Your methods are quite new and
original, aren't they?"

"Probably," I replied. "Ukridge knows nothing about fowls. I know
less. He considers it an advantage. He said our minds ought to be
unbiased by any previous experience."

"Ukridge!" said the professor. "That was the name old Dawlish, the
grocer, said. I never forget a name. He is the gentleman who lectures
on the breeding of poultry, is he not? You do not?"

I hastened to disclaim any such feat.

"His lectures are very popular," said Phyllis with a little splutter
of mirth.

"He enjoys them," I said.

"Look here, Garnet," said Mr. Chase, "I hope you won't consider all
these questions impertinent, but you've no notion of the thrilling
interest we all take--at a distance--in your farm. We have been
talking of nothing else for a week. I have dreamed of it three nights
running. Is Mr. Ukridge doing this as a commercial speculation, or is
he an eccentric millionaire?"

"He's not a millionaire. I believe he intends to be, though, before
long, with the assistance of the fowls. But I hope you won't look on
me as in any way responsible for the arrangements at the farm. I am
merely a laborer. The brain work of the business lies in Ukridge's
department."

"Tell me, Mr. Garnet," said Phyllis, "do you use an incubator?"

"Oh, yes, we have a