Some people do not believe in presentiments. They attribute thatcurious feeling that something unpleasant is going to happen to suchmundane causes as liver, or a chill, or the weather. For my own part,I think there is more in the matter than the casual observer mightimagine.

　　I awoke three days after my meeting with the professor at the club-house, filled with a dull foreboding. Somehow I seemed to know thatthat day was going to turn out badly for me. It may have been liver ora chill, but it was certainly not the weather. The morning wasperfect,--the most glorious of a glorious summer. There was a hazeover the valley and out to sea which suggested a warm noon, when thesun should have begun the serious duties of the day. The birds weresinging in the trees and breakfasting on the lawn, while Edwin, seatedon one of the flower-beds, watched them with the eye of a connoisseur.

　　Occasionally, when a sparrow hopped in his direction, he would make asudden spring, and the bird would fly away to the other side of thelawn. I had never seen Edwin catch a sparrow. I believe they looked onhim as a bit of a crank, and humoured him by coming within springingdistance, just to keep him amused. Dashing young cock-sparrows wouldshow off before their particular hen-sparrows, and earn a cheapreputation for dare-devilry by going within so many years of Edwin'slair, and then darting away. Bob was in his favourite place on thegravel. I took him with me down to the Cob to watch me bathe.

　　"What's the matter with me to-day, Robert, old son?" I asked him, as Idried myself.

　　He blinked lazily, but contributed no suggestion.

　　"It's no good looking bored," I went on, "because I'm going to talkabout myself, however much it bores you. Here am I, as fit as a prize-fighter, living in the open air for I don't know how long, eating goodplain food--bathing every morning--sea-bathing, mind you--and yetwhat's the result? I feel beastly."Bob yawned, and gave a little whine.

　　"Yes," I said, "I know I'm in love. But that can't be it, because Iwas in love just as much a week ago, and I felt all right then. Butisn't she an angel, Bob? Eh? Isn't she? And didn't you feel buckedwhen she patted you? Of course you did. Anybody would. But how aboutTom Chase? Don't you think he's a dangerous man? He calls her by herChristian name, you know, and behaves generally as if she belonged tohim. And then he sees her every day, while I have to trust to meetingher at odd times, and then I generally feel such a fool I can't thinkof anything to talk about except golf and the weather. He probablysings duets with her after dinner, and you know what comes of duetsafter dinner."Here Bob, who had been trying for some time to find a decent excusefor getting away, pretended to see something of importance at theother end of the Cob, and trotted off to investigate it, leaving me tofinish dressing by myself.

　　"Of course," I said to myself, "It may be merely hunger. I may be allright after breakfast. But at present I seem to be working up for areally fine fit if the blues. I feel bad."I whistled to Bob, and started for home. On the beach I saw theprofessor some little distance away, and waved my towel in a friendlymanner. He made no reply.

　　Of course, it was possible that he had not seen me; but for somereason his attitude struck me as ominous. As far as I could see, hewas looking straight at me, and he was not a short-sighted man. Icould think of no reason why he should cut me. We had met on the linkson the previous morning, and he had been friendliness itself. He hadcalled me "me dear boy," supplied me with a gin and gingerbeer at theclubhouse, and generally behaved as if he had been David and IJonathan. Yet in certain moods we are inclined to make mountains outof molehills, and I went on my way, puzzled and uneasy, with adistinct impression that I had received the cut direct.

　　I felt hurt. What had I done that Providence should make things sounpleasant for me? It would be a little hard, as Ukridge would havesaid, if, after all my trouble, the professor had discovered somefresh grievance against me. Perhaps Ukridge had been irritating himagain. I wished he would not identify me so completely with Ukridge. Icould not be expected to control the man. Then I reflected that theycould hardly have met in the few hours between my parting from theprofessor at the club-house and my meeting with him on the beach.

　　Ukridge rarely left the farm. When he was not working among the fowls,he was lying on his back in the paddock, resting his massive mind.

　　I came to the conclusion that after all the professor had not seen me.

　　"I'm an idiot, Bob," I said, as we turned in at the farm gate, "and Ilet my imagination run away with me."Bob wagged his tail in approval of the sentiment.

　　Breakfast was ready when I got in. There was a cold chicken on thesideboard, devilled chicken on the table, a trio of boiled eggs, and adish of scrambled eggs. As regarded quantity Mrs. Beale never failedus.

　　Ukridge was sorting the letters.

　　"Morning, Garny," he said. "One for you, Millie.""It's from Aunt Elizabeth," said Mrs. Ukridge, looking at theenvelope.

　　I had only heard casual mention of this relative hitherto, but I hadbuilt up a mental picture of her partly from remarks which Ukridge hadlet fall, but principally from the fact that he had named the mostmalignant hen in our fowl-run after her. A severe lady, I imaginedwith a cold eye.

　　"Wish she'd enclose a cheque," said Ukridge. "She could spare it.

　　You've no idea, Garny, old man, how disgustingly and indecently richthat woman is. She lives in Kensington on an income which would do herwell in Park Lane. But as a touching proposition she had proved almostnegligible. She steadfastly refuses to part.""I think she would, dear, if she knew how much we needed it. But Idon't like to ask her. She's so curious, and says such horrid things.""She does," agreed Ukridge, gloomily. He spoke as one who had hadexperience. "Two for you, Garny. All the rest for me. Ten of them, andall bills."He spread the envelopes out on the table, and drew one at a venture.

　　"Whiteley's," he said. "Getting jumpy. Are in receipt of my favour ofthe 7th inst. and are at a loss to understand. It's rummy about theseblighters, but they never seem able to understand a damn thing. It'shard! You put things in words of one syllable for them, and they justgoggle and wonder what it all means. They want something on account.

　　Upon my Sam, I'm disappointed with Whiteley's. I'd been thinking inrather a kindly spirit of them, and feeling that they were a moreintelligent lot than Harrod's. I'd had half a mind to give Harrod'sthe miss-in-baulk and hand my whole trade over to these fellows. Butnot now, dash it! Whiteley's have disappointed me. From the way theywrite, you'd think they th............