Evening Star Newspaper, July 18, 1926, Page 70

UKRID ¢ ADDIE,” said Stanley Fratherstonebaugh Ukridge, that much-enduring man, - helping himself to my to- bacco and slipping _the pouch absently into his pocket, “lis- ten to-me, you son of Belial.” “What?” 1 said, retrieving the pouch. “Do you want to make an enormous fortune?” “I do.” “Then write my biography. We'll split the proceeds. I've been making a pretty close study of your stuff lately, old horse, and it's all wrong. The trouble with you is that you don’t plumb the well springs of human na- ture and all that. You just think up some yarn and shove it down. Now, if you tackled my life, you'd have something worth writing about. Pots of money, in it, my boy. We should clean up at least 50,000 pounds apiece.” “As much as that?” “Fully that. I'll tell you what. You're a good chap. and we've been pals for years, so I'll let you-have my share of the English serlnl rights for a hundred pounds down.” ‘What makes you think I've ot a hundred pounds “Well, then, I'll make it my share of the English and American serial rights for’ 50. “Your collar's come off its stud.” “Then I'll tell you what, old horse,” said Ukridge, inspired. “Just lend me haif a crown to be going on with.” If the leading incidents of S. F. Ukridge's disreputable career are to be given to the public—and-not, as some might suggest, decently hushed up—I suppose I am the man to write them. Ukridge and I had been inti- mate since the days of school. When he was expelled no one missed him more than 1. An unfortunate busi- ness, this expulsion. Ukridge’s gener- ous spirit, ever ill-attuned to school rules, caused him eventually to break the solemnest of them all by sneak- ing out at night to try his skill at the coco-nut-shies of the local village fair; and his foresight in putting on scar- let whiskers and a false nose for the expedition was completely neutral- ized by the fact that he absent-mind- edly wore his sclicol cap throughout the entire proceedings. He left the next morning, regretted by all. After "this there' was a hiatus of some years in-our friendship. I was at Cambridge, and Ukridge, as far as T could gather from his rare letters and the reports of mutual acquaint- ances, flitting about the world like a | Wi snipe. It was not until I settled down in London that he came back into my life. We met in Piccadilly, one day. Old associations are strong, and the fact that he was about my build and 8o could wear my socks and shirts drew us very close together. Then he disappeared again, and it was a month or more before I got news of him. * Kk ok % IT was George Tupper who brought the news. George was head of the school in my last year, and he has fulfilled exactly the impeccable promise of those early days. He is in the foreign office, doing well. “Have you heard about Ukridge?” said George Tupper. ‘“He has settled down at last. Gone to live with an aunt of his who owns one of those big houses on Wimbledon Common. A very rich woman. It will be the making of the old chap.” I suppose he was right in a way, but to me this tame subsidence in ‘Wimbledon seemed somehow an in- decent, almost a tragic, end to a col- orful career. And when I met Uk- ridge a week later my heart grew heavier still. It was in Oxford street at the hour when women come up from the sub- urbs to shop; and he was standing among the dogs and commissionaires outside Selfridge’s. His arms were full of parcels, his.face ‘was set in a mask of wan discomfort and he was 80 beautifully dressed that for an in- stant I did not recagnize him. Every- thing which the correct man wears was assembled on his person, from the silk hat to the patent leather boots. The boots pinched him, the hat hurt his forehead and the collar was worse than the hat &nd boots combined. By P. G. -Wodehousé' ! The Duke of Dumbbells, Stanley Featherstonehaugh Ukridge, in His Fxm Appearmcon the Stage of Achievement. Tae nlace was'a sea of Pekingese dogs. Later (nvestigation reduced thelr number to six, but !n that first moment there seerned’ to be hundreds. ‘With his back nnlnn the mantel- piece, smoking placidly, stood Uk: “Hallo, laddie!” he said. *“You's e !ull in time. I've got to catch a train in a quarter of an hour. Stop it; you num.-"' he bellowed, and the. Peking- ese, 0 had been barking: steadily since my urflvl-l. stopped in mid-ynp. Uki rld‘el personality seemed to exer- cise a_ magnetism over the “animal kingdom, from ex-butlers to Pekes, which bordered on the uncanny.. “I'm off to Sheep's Cray, in Kent. Taken a cottage thes ':AY“ you going to live there?” “But what about your aunt?” “Oh, I've left her. Life is stern and life is earnest, and if I mean to make a fortune I've got to hustle about and not stay cooped up in a place like ‘Wimbledon.” | T might have guessed, directly I saw $him, that some Upheaval had taken place! The'sumptuous raiment which had made him such a treat to the.eye, at our-last ‘meeting was gone, and he was back in his pre<Wimbledon cos- tume, “Which was, as the advertise- ments say, distinctly individual. Over gray. flannel trousers, a golf coat, and a brown sweater he wore like a royal rabe a bright. yellow mackintosh. His collar had broken free from {ts stud and showed a couple of inches of bare neck. His hair was disordered, and his masterful nose was topped by a pair of steel-rimmed pince-nez cun- ningly attached to his flapping ears with-ginger-beer wire. His whole ap- pearance ‘spelled revolt. Bowles manifested himself with a plateful of bones. “That's right. » Chuck ‘em down on the floor.” “Very good, sii “I like that tdlow " said Ukridge, as the door closed. “We had a dashed in- teresting talk before you came in. Did you know he had a cousin inthe music_halls?” ‘He hasn't confided in me much.” ‘He's promised me an introduction ‘to him later on. May be useful to be in touch with a man wito knows the “For the pusic hall stage. Doc acts, you know.- Performing dogs. Pots of money-in it.. I start in a modest: way th these six. When I've taught 'em a few tricks, ¥ sell them to a fellow in the pm!e-:on for a large sum buy 12 more. I train those, sell 'em for a large sum, and with the money buy 24 more. I train those—". ' “Here, wait a minute.” My head was beginning to swim. I hld a vis- ion of England paved with Pekingese dogs, all doing tricks, “How do you know you'll be able to sell'them ?"* “Of course, I shall. The demand's enormous. Supply can't cope. with it. At a conservative estimate I should think I ought to scoop:in four or five thousand pounds. the first year.. That, of course, is before me business really um!»u to expand.” 2, “I see.” “When 1.get, going prmnfly. with a n assistants under me and-an-or- lnd establshi T shall begin to touch the big money. What's I'm'aim- ing at is a sort of the country som with a lot of grou: and a set currieul doze . each member of it with so ‘many dogs under his care, me Jooking on-and superintendnig. . Why, once the thing starts moving itll run itself, and-all I shall have to do will be to sit back and indorse the checks. It isn't.as if I would have to confine my. operations to England. ; The: demand-for per- for dogs is universal throughout the civilized - world. America wants performing dogs. - Australia - wants performing dogs. Africa - could - do with a few, I've no doubt. My aim, “She makes me wear them,” he|. said, jerking his head toward the in- terior of the store and uttering a sharp howl as the movement caused the collar to gouge his neck. “Still,” I said, “you must be having a great time. George Tupper tells me that your aunt is rich. I suppose you're living off the fat of the lan ‘The browsing and sluicing are ®ood,” admitted Ukridge. “But it's a wearing life, laddie. A wearing life, eld_horse.” “"Why don’t you come and see me sometimes?” ‘m not allowed out at night.” 1, shall I come and see you?" “Don’t dream of it. laddie,” said Ukridge, earnest. “Don’t dream of it. You're a good chap—my best pal and all that sort of thing—but the fact is, my standing in the home’s none too solid even now, and one sight of you would knock my prestige into hash. Aunt Julia would think you worldly.” “I'm not worldly."” “Well, you look worldly. You wear a squash hat and a soft collar. If you don’t ‘mind my suggesting it; old horse, I think, if I were you, I'd pop off now before she comes out. Good- by, laddie.” ‘Ichabod! I murmured sadly to myself as I passed on down Oxford street. “Ichabod!" I should have had more faith. I should have known my Ukridge bet- ter. I should have realized that a London suburb could no more im- prison that great man permanently than Elba did Napoleon. One afternoon, as I let myself into the house in Edbury street of which I rented at that time the bedroom and sitting room on the first floor, I came upon Bowles, my landlord, at the foot of the stairs. “‘Good afternoon, sir,” said Bowles, “A gentleman is waiting to see you. I fancy I heard him calling me a morient ago.” “Who is he?” “A Mr. Ukridge, sir. He—" A vast voice boomed out from above. “Bowles, old horse!” * ok ok % OWLES was an ex-butler, and about him, as about all ex-butlers, there clung like a garment an aura of dignified superiority which had never failed to crush my spirit. He was a man of portly aspect, with a bald head and prominent eyes of a lightish green—eyes that seemed to weigh me dispassionately and find me wanting. To hear this dignitary addressed—and in a shout at that—as “old horse” af- fected me with' much the same sense. of imminent chaos as would' afflict 'a devout young curate if he saw his bishop slapped on the. back. - The shock, therefore, when he:- res) not merely mildly but with what most amounted to camaraderie was FULL OF PA.ICE!S. HIS FACE WAS SET IN'A ISCOMFORT. MASK .OF WAN hddla, is mdunlly to-get, kmonowly -everybody ptio me - me. And Tll tell you: what, Il yvu like to put up a bit of laddie:. ' G wulnon thomund thanks.” lood Bowles retired, and I bmandod up- | stairs and flung open the door of sitting room. ," | But no, they couldn' started fect m entry was rapped for a lun minute without re. sult, then shouted, and I'was about to_conclude that Ukridge was not at home when the door* ludaonly opened. “‘Sorry, ‘old horse,” said Uk a harder task, l » “Wouldn't have kept you walting it | filled ra knmm whohlt was. Thought youy grocer—goods plkd to. the .value of 6 pounds u': pefity.” ~ “He xosu haufl‘ng me for )\h teflv ululedthowwinwt!uit» ting' room. down _here to. rate a. vast busi- ‘s a little hard. I come | pg, inaugu: mess and do the natives a. bit of good ! piop of 1 byv-u.bl hlnflmlndnnwln their. midst, and the fisst thing you know they turn round and bite tho hand that was going to feed them., A mu.m.amhumwaum- of the good old give-and spirit— that was all I asked. AMwhuhD- pened? >They wanted a bit on Kept ma(or;hn bothering ©on account, I'll trouble you, just when | .o I needed all my thoughts and al energy and every ounce of toncentra- tion at'my command for my extraordi-. nlrl‘lg'ndl:eultml.nd do:‘w. ‘work. X couldn’t give them a bit on acgot Later on, if ‘had’ only ex: reasonable patience, I would no doubt have been in a position to settle their infernal bills 50 times over.- But the trying hard to educate II Pekingese dogs. for the . musie, hall , and you come They calling here at all hours and ‘becamq And now what do you think has hap- My landiord’s pinched them as security for his in- fernal rent! Crippled the business at the very outset. Have you ever in your life heard of anything so tardly? I know I agreed to pay the rent weekly and I'm about six weeks h | inquired Ukrld.o, in & tense whisper. my, ;ockat. mmmnm, Iryu.udlooklnlmm. who mm rapid and earnest manner i vmleh he talked and the vehemence of "his iculations appeared to be venti- sofme theme on which he felt Ukridge was looking warm harassed, and, as I approached, 1 could hear his. voice booming in “My dear sir, my dear old horse, do be reasonable, do try to cultivate the big, broad, flexible outlook—- o the . Biattormm. 'orm. ;l“l)tl:l y-d looking man tol.lom irreso- “Have you got the stuff, dee and Iaddie?” *Yes, here it is." “Put it back, vutlthd:"’mannefl loon. \Ukridge 'in agony, as I felt in my “talking tol Gooch, groce! “Well, mm"-,'t ynn’; chm;“ Mm a purse . m fook ety 3 'l(ydmowhamlun't-flm to go about the place sq my cash simply in order tn make grocers look silly. That for Nlcker-vn. my. “Oh! lowing us.” “Then for goodness sake, laddie, let's get a move on! If that man knew we had twenty quid fin us our lives ;:uldn't be safe. e'd make one ing.” He led the way up a shady lane the das- | thet wound off through the flelds, nose, *“Do-you know who that was | in THE PLACE WAS A SEA OF PEKINGESE DOGS. VI'I'K HIS BACK HANTBLPIECE. STOOD. - AGAINST TME UKRIDGE. uphbmw MH“AWM- ince-nez rocked - on w his col .sprang “off its bruu‘ht hu ‘fist’ down ‘with o‘ylueu-muhu brought trade and I say, I think the bird is fol- | I “Tells me with a light laugh that they've gone. Gone! Gone whére! lllnklnl furtively “like one that on a{the lonesome road doth walk in fear and dread, and having once looked back walks on and turns no more his hfl.:: t | because he knows a frightful good |had given up the pursuit after the |11y, doth close behind him tread. a matter of fact, the frightful flend first few steps, and a moment later I drew this fact to Ukridge's attention, for it was not the sort of day on - | which to break walking records un- ecessari] gleaming at me 'l(nlnuntly and I avolded it ‘with a sense of guilt. It seemed to me that, if ever there was a time for passing the buek, this wad. it. I maused tensely. It was an occasion for thinking. B eorye Tuppert” 1 crisd, on th o v ‘on the crest of & brainwave. “George Tupper?” echoed Ukridge, radiantly, his gloom melting like fog before the sun. ‘“The very man, by ! It's & most amazing but I never thought of him. George Ty per, of course! Big-hearted. the old school chum. . He'll lo nr.m:l.rot and won't flhm M(&.hflldol'l‘llm "lush, up, and bite his ear for 20 quid. Now is the time for all'good men to come to the aid of the party.” LR A S IHADhemconvlnudMGfiu’. Tupper would not fail'us, nor did he. He parted without a murmur— even with enthusiasm. The consign- ment was one that might have been made to order for him. As a boy. used to write sentimental / postry for the school mnln:‘m Mwhshthosofl.ot fTully SruRb | 0 ly. “Thank goodness we've shalken him off,” he said. “Not a bad chap in his way. I belleve—a good husband and father, I'm told, and sings in the what he lacks, old horse—vision. | He can’t understand that all vast indus- trial enterprises have been built upon a system of liberal and cheerful credit. Won’t realize that credit is the life blood of oomnwm- ‘Without | old “Nor does anybody tbz‘ ‘Well, now that he's gone, you can give me-that Did Tuppy cough up cheer- “Blithely." “I knew fit,” said Ukrld:c deep! moved, “I knew ' A good. fellow. l’ One of the best. I've always liked Tuppy. A.man you.can rely. -on. Bomouy when 1 get golng on a big he shall,have this back a thou- ..ndlold. I'm glad you brought small “Why?”, “I want to scatter ’em about on the table in front of this Nickerson bl!shter." * ¥ % % had ¢ome to a red-roofed house, set back from the road amidst trees. Ukridge wielded the knocker forcefully. - ““Tell Mr. Nickerson, maid, About the demeanor of the man who presently entered the room into which we had been shown there was that -subtle but well-marked some- thing which stamps yopr creditor the world over. Mr. Nickerson was a man of medium height, almost com- pletely surrounded by whiskers, and through the shrubbery he gaszed Ukridge with frozen ,eyes, shooting out waves of deleterious animal mag- netism. You could: see at a_ glance that he was not fond of Ukridge. Take him for all in all, Mr. Nickerson looked like one of the less amiabl prophets of the Old Testament about to lnwrvww the captive monarch -of the Amaleki 'Well?”" he said, and I have never heard the word gpoken in a more tor- bidding manner. “I've come about the rent. “Ah!"” said Mr. ‘Nickerson, ‘ulnl< edly. "Hm"' said’ Ukridge, and, with a superb gésture, flung money on tln table. 1 understand now why the nudvo- minded man had wanted the small notes, They made a brave display. There was & light breeze blowing in through ‘the open window, and so mu- sical a rustling did it set up as it layed about the u.peuun ‘wealth came’ into his slightly; ther, as , the sun was “Well, 1_-“ nvnlltlkt!;:; dogs now," er they're back with .me the better. mr«h__ lost a day's odmn it tainly; eyes were le | Can War, when his SMOKING mcmL : unnl | have “Why risky?” ‘MDOCI se of the dogs, of course.” Ukridge humméd a gay strain. “‘Oh, vu. 1 forgot to tell you about I've got ‘em.” "What' ~ “Yes. 1 went out late last nl;ht and pinched them out of the shed." He chuckled amused!: 1 was silent for a man wu undmlmdl spacious. There btan something about Ukrhls- um dulled the moral ted | sense, As | profit——"" Mr. Nickerson was fumbling guflt- and now he produced: from his ‘We were drawing near to the ‘White Cottage. The window of the sitting room was open, and through it yocknt a crumpled wad of notes, which | somewh way with loathing. “Whats this? -sa Ukridge, loftily. | of “cot! “I-—I thought, Mr. Ukridge, that, it it were agreeable to you, you .might consent to take your money back, and —and consider the episode closed.” You'll be astounded at the 've made already. In amin. ute I'll show you what those dogs Ukridge -turned to me with. raised|can do. church choir. But no vision. That's | eyebrows. 'N-ufl" 43 4l you what ru do,” said Uk- , Mr. Ukridge, certainly.’ “And after that—well, I'll have to think it over. Xl!hdfl‘t:nillutut‘ " BY EMMET DOUGHERTY. W HEN Harry F. Rethers ac- cepted his sheepskin from B Call- away and deserted the civilian the military. Tmymmtha%lrvflm general, dlmtl at | 6 e Nation's military forces, he fu fills a dream of his doughboy days. Born in San Francisco, Gen, Rethers' conng ns un e > 24 brother, Theodore while Rethers was a ‘student in with 1893, he tucked his d&w 4 the University of California; however, | he wore the chevrons of & major of the-Golden State ‘National Guard, and conitantly felt the urge of the ..military. life, - Frequently.. he mld go_out to Angel ' whers e 1st iment was stationed,- and vuu his 'friend, c-pt Thonias - H. who_commanded Company ‘A. Beln‘ too old—23 years—to seek ap- pointment to.a adowup in West Point, Rethers put his problem up to Barry, who promptly signed Mm up as a recruit.. The progress of the youthtul M. uate from a buck private to.a h‘k adier general found him in all the wars in which Amei look: disth h ilt( He was gven’ s'-uw star fiw m He-served - Tore -- Upon my-Sam, I'm not sure [there isn't more money- in_ the ama branch than in the profession:l 1-don’t see why eventually dog ow e« shouldn't_send their. dogs to me regular ‘thing,” just s they send th: sbns to Eton and- Winchester. My Bolly! this 1dea’s beginning to develop. 11 tell you what—how would it be to issue special eolhu to all dogs which graduated from. my college? boay ‘wotia. ressenise. " Seo. what I w] mean? Sort of badge of honor, Fel- low with"a ‘dog ‘entitled to wear the Ukridge collar would be in a position to look down on the bloke whose dog hadn’t’ got ome. Gradually it would so0 that anybody in a decent social ition would be ashamed to be seen country. More work than I could lnndle Have to’start branches. The scheme's colossal. Millions in it, my boy! Millions!” He paused with his fingers on’ the h.lndle of the front door. “Of course,” he went on, “just at present it's no good blinking the fact that I'm hampered and handi- capped by lack of Tunds and can only approach the thing on a small scale. ‘What it amounts to, laddle, is that soméhow -or other I've got to get capital.” * % % % VT seemed the moment to spring the glad news. “I promised him I wouldn't mention it,” I said, “for fear it might lead to disappointment, but as a matter of fact George Tupper is trying to raise some capital for you. I left him last night starting out to get it.” A fearful change had come M.l‘ L'kfldge‘s jubilant front. His hulged, his jaw sagged. With tho M- ‘tion of a few feet of gray whiskers would have looked exactly like the ent Mr. Nickerson. “My aunt?”, he mumbled, swaying He yun the door handle. “Yes. What's the matter? ‘thought if he told her all about it she might relent and rally around.” The sigh of a gallant fighter at the end of his strength forced its way up and Ukridge’s mackintosh-covered “Of all the dashed, infernal, officious, muddling, fat-headed, inter- *" he ‘warmly, “George Tupper is the wol “What do you mean?” “The man oughtn't to be at large. He’s a public menace.” ooy ‘Those dogs belong to my aunt. I pinched them when she chucked me out!” Ins‘ld&ltha ?otul‘: the Pekingess were still yapping in unrlmuly ] “Upon my Sam,” said Ukridge, “it's a little hard.” I think he would have said more, but at this point a volce spoke with a sudden and awful abruptness from the interior of the cottage. It was & woman's voice, a-quiet, steely voice, a voice, it seemed to me, that sug- gested cold eyes, a beaky nose and hair like gun metal. . “Stanley!” That was all it said, but it was enough. Ukridge's eye met mine in a wild surmise. He seemed to shrink into his mackintosh like a snail sur- ‘while eating lettuce. “Stanley!” “George Tupper!”—Ukridge's eyes | ridge. "t dlmmedwithanot unm.nlly emotion— ‘Tupper! By gad,that fellow salt ol m earth. Good, loyal A true friend. A man you can rely on. Upon my Sam, if there Wers more. fellows about . Tike old Tuppy there wouldn’t be all this mod- ern pessimiem and unrest. Did he seem to have any idea where he could raise a bit of capital for me?” “Yes. He went around to tell your aunt about your comihg down here to train those Pekes, and—what’s the matter?” " of mwsfim r«a-f?n_ : “Yes, Aunt Julia?” quavered Uk- “Come here.” I wish to spesk to Gy “Yes, Aunt Julia.” I sidled out into the road. the cottage the yapping of the Pek- ingese had become quite nymum I found myself trotting, and then- though it was a warm day— nnlnr qune rapidly. I could have stayed if I had wanted to, but somehow I did not want to. Something seemed to tell me that on this holy domestic scene I should be an intruder. (Copyright, 1926.) 'Ass~1$tant Quartermaster General Of Army Began Career as a Private the Quartermaster Corps while still on border service. Gen. Townsley, then superintendent of the Army’s ‘War College on the Hudson, requested Rethery’ service in 1915, and he was made assistant to the quartermaster at the Point. The entrance of the United States fato the World War found Rethers in another important post—assistant ¢ to the’ military attache at the Amer- ican embassy in London, and later chief quartermaster of the base sec- tion in Great Britain. In this assign- ment Gen. Retherg had to look after the American troops going to France through England. For two and a half years Rethers fllled the important function of expediting the movement of an 'average of 200,000 men a month ‘through British ports across the channel to France. He also had charge of the quartermaster pur- chases in Europe. Following ‘the armistice he bad charge. of the liquidation of war stocks and cancellation of ggntracts made by the American Afmy for supplies purchased in Europe for the A. E. F. For this service he was awarded . the Distinguished Service Medal by the United States, and the London government -conferred upon him the rank of Commander of the British Order of St. Michael and St. Gen. Rethers was the first chief of 1 the American Graves Registration Service, with a staff of 100 officers and 2,200 civillans, and handled with reverent care the sending home of 45,000 bodies of our heroic dead, and the corftentration of the remaining American casualties in the eight United States mémorial cemeteries in France, Belgium, England and Ttaly. 4 3 In tion: of his work in this connection, thc French. government n. Rethers the French conferred on | Lesgion 4’ Honnm {(Officier) by presi- dential decree on November 12, 1920, ‘jand the Montenegrin ::;crnm—t the Ordre du (Commandeur), and %om ':‘nv: Medaille pour la Bravoure Upon Gongress giving the required 1 authority, thé French nvm"m : Btatuette, with the following citation: “Already the holder of the Disting- uished Service Medal, for eminent during the war, ized with