To support her statement there floated in through the window a cackling which for volume and variety beat anything I had ever heard.  Judging from the noise, it seemed as if England had been drained of fowls and the entire tribe of them dumped into the yard of Ukridge’s farm.

“There seems to have been no stint,” I said.

“Quite a goodish few, aren’t there?” said Ukridge complacently.  “But that’s what we want.  No good starting on a small scale.  The more you have, the bigger the profits.”

“What sorts have you got mostly?” I asked, showing a professional interest.

“Oh, all sorts.  My theory, laddie, is this.  It doesn’t matter a bit what kind we get, because they’ll all lay; and if we sell settings of eggs, which we will, we’ll merely say it’s an unfortunate accident if they turn out mixed when hatched.  Bless you, people don’t mind what breed a fowl is, so long as it’s got two legs and a beak.  These dealer chaps were so infernally particular.  ‘Any Dorkings?’ they said.  ’All right,’ I said, ‘bring on your Dorkings.’  ’Or perhaps you will require a few Minorcas?’ ‘Very well,’ I said, ‘unleash the Minorcas.’  They were going on—­they’d have gone on for hours—­but I stopped ’em.  ’Look here, my dear old college chum,’ I said kindly but firmly to the manager johnny—­decent old buck, with the manners of a marquess,—­ ‘look here,’ I said, ’life is short, and we’re neither of us as young as we used to be.  Don’t let us waste the golden hours playing guessing games.  I want fowls.  You sell fowls.  So give me some of all sorts.  Mix ‘em up, laddie,’ I said, ’mix ’em up.’  And he has, by jove.  You go into the yard and look at ’em.  Beale has turned them out of their crates.  There must be one of every breed ever invented.”

“Where are you going to put them?”

“That spot we chose by the paddock.  That’s the place.  Plenty of mud for them to scratch about in, and they can go into the field when they feel like it, and pick up worms, or whatever they feed on.  We must rig them up some sort of shanty, I suppose, this morning.  We’ll go and tell ’em to send up some wire-netting and stuff from the town.”

“Then we shall want hen-coops.  We shall have to make those.”

“Of course.  So we shall.  Millie, didn’t I tell you that old Garnet was the man to think of things.  I forgot the coops.  We can’t buy some, I suppose?  On tick, of course.”

“Cheaper to make them.  Suppose we get a lot of boxes.  Sugar boxes are as good as any.  It won’t take long to knock up a few coops.”

Ukridge thumped the table with enthusiasm, upsetting his cup.

“Garny, old horse, you’re a marvel.  You think of everything.  We’ll buckle to right away, and get the whole place fixed up the same as mother makes it.  What an infernal noise those birds are making.  I suppose they don’t feel at home in the yard.  Wait till they see the A1 compact residential mansions we’re going to put up for them.  Finished breakfast?  Then let’s go out.  Come along, Millie.”