irrelevance.

I had not. She looked disappointed.

"I was hoping you might have had some experience. Stanley, of course,
can turn his hand to anything; but I think experience is rather a good
thing, don't you?"

"Yes. But . . ."

"I have bought a shilling book called 'Fowls and All About Them,' and
this week's copy of C.A.C."

"C.A.C.?"

"/Chiefly About Chickens/. It's a paper, you know. But it's all rather
hard to understand. You see, we . . . but here is Stanley. He will
explain the whole thing."

"Well, Garny, old horse," said Ukridge, re-entering the room after
another energetic passage of the stairs. "Years since I saw you. Still
buzzing along?"

"Still, so to speak, buzzing," I assented.

"I was reading your last book the other day."

"Yes?" I said, gratified. "How did you like it?"

"Well, as a matter of fact, laddie, I didn't get beyond the third