"I don't know where. I'll send you the address, so that you can forward letters." 

 "Yes, sir." 

 "And, if Mr. Ukridge calls again..." 

 At this point a thunderous knocking on the front door interrupted me. Something seemed to tell me who was at the end of that knocker. I heard Mrs. Medley's footsteps pass along the hall. There was the click of the latch. A volume of sound rushed up the stairs. 

 "Is Mr. Garnet in? Where is he? Show me the old horse. Where is the man of wrath? Exhibit the son of Belial." 

 There followed a violent crashing on the stairs, shaking the house. 

 "Garnet! Where are you, laddie? Garnet!! GARNET!!!!!" 

 Stanley Featherstonehaugh Ukridge was in my midst. 

 

 

 CHAPTER II 

 MR. AND MRS. S. F. UKRIDGE 

 I have often thought that Who's Who, though a bulky and well-meaning volume, omits too many of England's greatest men. It is not comprehensive enough. I am in it, nestling among the G's:— 

 "Garnet, Jeremy, o.s. of late Henry Garnet, vicar of Much Middlefold, Salop; author. Publications: 'The Outsider,' 'The Manoeuvres of Arthur.' Hobbies: Cricket, football, swimming, golf. Clubs: Arts." 

 But if you search among the U's for UKRIDGE, Stanley Featherstonehaugh, details of whose tempestuous career would make really interesting reading, you find no mention of him. It seems unfair, though I imagine Ukridge bears it with fortitude. That much-enduring man has had a lifetime's training in bearing things with fortitude. 

 He seemed in his customary jovial spirits now, as he dashed into the room, clinging on to the pince-nez which even ginger-beer wire rarely kept stable for two minutes together. 

 "My dear old man," he shouted, springing at me and seizing my hand in the grip like the bite 

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