and swallowed a generous mouthful of salt water; and, turning, swam
back to Bob and my clothes.

On my return, I found Ukridge, in his shirt sleeves and minus a
collar, assailing a large ham. Mrs. Ukridge, looking younger and more
child-like than ever in brown holland, smiled at me over the tea-pot.

"Hullo, old horse," bellowed Ukridge, "where have you been? Bathing?
Hope it's made you feel fit for work, because we've got to buckle to
this morning."

"The fowls have arrived, Mr. Garnet," said Mrs. Ukridge, opening her
eyes till she looked like an astonished kitten. "/Such/ a lot of them.
They're making such a noise."

To support her statement there floated in through the window a
cackling which for volume and variety beat anything I had ever heard.
Judging from the noise, it seemed as if England had been drained of
fowls and the entire tribe of them dumped into the yard of Ukridge's
farm.

"There seems to have been no stint," I said.

"Quite a goodish few, aren't there?" said Ukridge complacently. "But
that's what we want. No good starting on a small scale. The more you
have, the bigger the profits."

"What sorts have you got mostly?" I asked, showing a professional
interest.