"Go round the place and tell those blackguards that I've come back, and would like to have a word with them on the lawn. And if you find any of them stealing my fowls, knock them down."
"I 'ave knocked down one or two," said Beale with approval. "That Charlie—"
"That's right, Beale. You're an excellent man, and I will pay you your back wages to-night before I go to bed."
"Those fellers, sir," said Beale, having expressed his gratification, "they've been and scattered most of them birds already, 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.