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 sir. They've been chasin' of 'em for this hour back."

Ukridge groaned.

"Demons!" he said. "Demons!"

Beale went off.

The audience assembled on the lawn in the moonlight. Ukridge, with his cap well over his eyes and his mackintosh hanging around him like a Roman toga, surveyed them stonily, and finally began his speech.

"You—you—you—you blackguards!" he said.

I always like to think of Ukridge as he appeared at that moment. There have been times when his conduct did not recommend itself to me. It has sometimes happened that I have seen flaws in him. But on this occasion he was at his best. He was eloquent. He dominated his audience.

He poured scorn upon his hearers, and they quailed. He flung invective at them, and they wilted.