“All right, Uncle Stanley,” chorused the children. “Uncle Stanley?” I said, accusingly. He winced a little. I had to give him credit for that. “Those are the Price kids. From Clapham.” “I remember them.” “I’m taking them out for the day. Must repay hospitality, Corky my boy.” “Then you have really been inflicting yourself on those unfortunate people?” “I have looked in from time to time,” said Ukridge, with dignity. “It’s just over a week since you met them. How often have you looked in?” “Couple of times, perhaps. Maybe three.” “To meals?” “There was a bit of browsing going on,” admitted Ukridge. “And now you’re Uncle Stanley!” “Fine, warm-hearted people,” said Ukridge, and it seemed to me that he spoke with a touch of defiance. “Made me one of the family right from the beginning. Of course, it cuts both ways. This afternoon, for instance, I got landed with those kids. But, all in all, taking the rough with the smooth, it has worked out distinctly on the right side of the ledger. I own I’m not over keen on the hymns after Sunday supper, but the supper, laddie, is undeniable. As good a bit of cold beef,” said Ukridge, dreamily, “as I ever chewed.” “Greedy brute,” I said, censoriously. “Must keep body and soul together, old man. Of course, there are one or two things about the business that are a bit embarrassing. For instance, somehow or other they seem to have got the idea that that car we turned up in that day belongs to me, and the kids are always pestering me to take them for a ride. Fortunately I’ve managed to square Frederick, and he thinks he can arrange for a spin or two during the next few days. And then Mrs. Price keeps asking me to bring my aunt round for a cup of tea and a chat, and I haven’t the heart to tell her that my aunt absolutely and finally disowned me the day after that business of the dance.” “You didn’t tell me that.” “Didn’t I? Oh, yes. I got a letter from her saying that as far as she was concerned I had ceased to exist. I thought it showed a nasty, narrow spirit, but I can’t say I was altogether surprised. Still, it makes it awkward when Mrs. Price wants to get matey with her. I’ve had to tell her that my aunt is a chronic invalid and never goes out, being practically bedridden. I find all this a bit wearing, laddie.” “I suppose so.” “You see,” said Ukridge, “I dislike subterfuge.” There seemed no possibility of his beating this, so I left the man and resumed my researches. After this I was out of town for a few weeks, taking my annual vacation. When I got back to Ebury Street, Bowles, my landlord, after complimenting me in a stately way on my sunburned appearance, informed me that George Tupper had called several times while I was away. “Appeared remarkably anxious to see you, sir.” I was surprised at this. George Tupper was always glad—or seemed to be glad—to see an old school friend when I called upon him, but he rarely sought me out in my home. “Did he say what he wanted?”