“And I hope,” said Ukridge, “the experience will do him good.  Sneaked a dog’s dinner, Garnet, under his very nose, if you please.  Naturally the dog lodged a protest.”

“I’m so afraid that he will be frightened of Bob.  He will be very timid, and Bob’s so boisterous.  Isn’t he, Mr. Garnet?”

“That’s all right,” said Ukridge.  “Bob won’t hurt him, unless he tries to steal his dinner.  In that case we will have Edwin made into a rug.”

“Stanley doesn’t like Edwin,” said Mrs. Ukridge, sadly.

Edwin arrived early in the afternoon, and was shut into the kitchen.  He struck me as a handsome cat, but nervous.

The Derricks followed two hours later.  Mr. Chase was not of the party.

“Tom had to go to London,” explained the professor, “or he would have been delighted to come.  It was a disappointment to the boy, for he wanted to see the farm.”

“He must come some other time,” said Ukridge.  “We invite inspection.  Look here,” he broke off suddenly—­we were nearing the fowl-run now, Mrs. Ukridge walking in front with Phyllis Derrick—­“were you ever at Bristol?”

“Never, sir,” said the professor.

“Because I knew just such another fat little buffer there a few years ago.  Gay old bird, he was.  He—­”

“This is the fowl-run, professor,” I broke in, with a moist, tingling feeling across my forehead and up my spine.  I saw the professor stiffen as he walked, while his face deepened in colour.  Ukridge’s breezy way of expressing himself is apt to electrify the stranger.

“You will notice the able way—­ha! ha!—­in which the wire-netting is arranged,” I continued feverishly.  “Took some doing, that.  By Jove, yes.  It was hot work.  Nice lot of fowls, aren’t they?  Rather a mixed lot, of course.  Ha! ha!  That’s the dealer’s fault though.  We are getting quite a number of eggs now.  Hens wouldn’t lay at first.  Couldn’t make them.”

I babbled on, till from the corner of my eye I saw the flush fade from the professor’s face and his back gradually relax its poker-like attitude.  The situation was saved for the moment but there was no knowing what further excesses Ukridge might indulge in.  I managed to draw him aside as we went through the fowl-run, and expostulated.

“For goodness sake, be careful,” I whispered.  “You’ve no notion how touchy he is.”

“But I said nothing,” he replied, amazed.

“Hang it, you know, nobody likes to be called a fat little buffer to his face.”

“What!  My dear old man, nobody minds a little thing like that.  We can’t be stilted and formal.  It’s ever so much more friendly to relax and be chummy.”

Here we rejoined the others, and I was left with a leaden foreboding of gruesome things in store.  I knew what manner of man Ukridge was when he relaxed and became chummy.  Friendships of years’ standing had failed to survive the test.

For the time being, however, all went well.  In his role of lecturer he offended no one, and Phyllis and her father behaved admirably.  They received his strangest theories without a twitch of the mouth.