"Oh, all sorts. My theory, laddie, is this. It doesn't matter a bit
what kind we get, because they'll all lay; and if we sell settings of
eggs, which we will, we'll merely say it's an unfortunate accident if
they turn out mixed when hatched. Bless you, people don't mind what
breed a fowl is, so long as it's got two legs and a beak. These dealer
chaps were so infernally particular. 'Any Dorkings?' they said. 'All
right,' I said, 'bring on your Dorkings.' 'Or perhaps you will require
a few Minorcas?' 'Very well,' I said, 'unleash the Minorcas.' They
were going on--they'd have gone on for hours--but I stopped 'em. 'Look
here, my dear old college chum,' I said kindly but firmly to the
manager johnny--decent old buck, with the manners of a marquess,--
'look here,' I said, 'life is short, and we're neither of us as young
as we used to be. Don't let us waste the golden hours playing guessing
games. I want fowls. You sell fowls. So give me some of all sorts. Mix
'em up, laddie,' I said, 'mix 'em up.' And he has, by jove. You go
into the yard and look at 'em. Beale has turned them out of their
crates. There must be one of every breed ever invented."

"Where are you going to put them?"

"That spot we chose by the paddock. That's the place. Plenty of mud
for them to scratch about in, and they can go into the field when they
feel like it, and pick up worms, or whatever they feed on. We must rig
them up some sort of shanty, I suppose, this morning. We'll go and
tell 'em to send up some wire-netting and stuff from the town."

"Then we shall want hen-coops. We shall have to make those."

"Of course. So we shall. Millie, didn't I tell you that old Garnet was
the man to think of things. I forgot the coops. We can't buy some, I