I am bound to say the comparison impressed me. It is odd how these little incidents of one’s boyhood linger in the memory. Across the years I could see Ukridge now, half doubled up, one gloved hand caressing his diaphragm, a stunned and horrified bewilderment in his eyes. If his bearing as an engaged man had reminded George Tupper of that occasion, it certainly did seem as if the time had come for his friends to rally round him. “You seem to have taken on the job of acting as a sort of unofficial keeper to the man,” said George. “You’ll have to help him now.” “Well, I’ll go and see him.” “The whole thing is too absurd,” said George Tupper. “How can Ukridge get married to anyone! He hasn’t a bob in the world.” “I’ll point that out to him. He’s probably overlooked it.” It was my custom when I visited Ukridge at his lodgings to stand underneath his window and bellow his name—upon which, if at home and receiving, he would lean out and drop me down his latchkey, thus avoiding troubling his landlady to come up from the basement to open the door. A very judicious proceeding, for his relations with that autocrat were usually in a somewhat strained condition. I bellowed now, and his head popped out. “Hallo, laddie!” It seemed to me, even at this long range, that there was something peculiar about his face, but it was not till I had climbed the stairs to his room that I was able to be certain. I then perceived that he had somehow managed to acquire a black eye, which, though past its first bloom, was still of an extraordinary richness. “Great Scott!” I cried, staring at this decoration. “How and when?” Ukridge drew at his pipe moodily. “It’s a long story,” he said. “Do you remember some people named Price at Clapham——” “You aren’t going to tell me your _fiancée_ has biffed you in the eye already?” “Have you heard?” said Ukridge, surprised. “Who told you I was engaged?” “George Tupper. I’ve just been seeing him.” “Oh, well, that saves a lot of explanation. Laddie,” said Ukridge, solemnly, “let this be a warning to you. Never——” I wanted facts, not moralisings. “How did you get the eye?” I interrupted. Ukridge blew out a cloud of smoke and his other eye glowed sombrely. “That was Ernie Finch,” he said, in a cold voice. “Who is Ernie Finch? I’ve never heard of him.”