"Well," I said, "I'm sure I wish you luck. Mind you let me know how
you get on."

"Let you know!" roared Ukridge. "Why, my dear old horse, you're coming
with us."

"Am I?" I said blankly.

"Certainly you are. We shall take no refusal. Will we, Millie?"

"No, dear."

"Of course not. No refusal of any sort. Pack up to-night and meet us
at Waterloo to-morrow."

"It's awfully good of you . . ."

"Not a bit of it--not a bit of it. This is pure business. I was saying
to Millie as we came along that you were the very man for us. A man
with your flow of ideas will be invaluable on a chicken farm.
Absolutely invaluable. You see," proceeded Ukridge, "I'm one of those
practical fellows. The hard-headed type. I go straight ahead,
following my nose. What you want in a business of this sort is a touch
of the dreamer to help out the practical mind. We look to you for
suggestions, laddie. Flashes of inspiration and all that sort of
thing. Of course, you take your share of the profits. That's
understood. Yes, yes, I must insist. Strict business between friends.
Now, taking it that, at a conservative estimate, the net profits for
the first fiscal year amount to--five thousand, no, better be on the
safe side--say, four thousand five hundred pounds . . . But we'll