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 things down here, and these men have the impertinence to bother me about their wretched business!"

It was on the morning after this that I heard him calling me in a voice in which I detected agitation. I was strolling about the paddock, as was my habit after breakfast, thinking about Phyllis and my wretched novel. I had just framed a more than usually murky scene for use in the earlier part of the book, when Ukridge shouted to me from the fowl run.

"Garnet, come here," he cried, "I want you to see the most astounding thing."

I joined him.

"What's the matter?" I asked.

"Blest if I know. Look at those chickens. They've been doing that for the last half hour."

I inspected the chickens. There was certainly something the matter with them. They were yawning broadly, as if we bored