Rather to my surprise, the next morning passed off uneventfully. Ourknocker advertised no dun. Our lawn remained untrodden by hob-nailedboots. By lunch-time I had come to the conclusion that the expectedTrouble would not occur that day, and I felt that I might well leavemy post for the afternoon, while I went to the professor's to pay myrespects. The professor was out when I arrived. Phyllis was in, and itwas not till the evening that I started for the farm again.

　　As I approached, the sound of voices smote my ears.

　　I stopped. I could hear Beale speaking. Then came the rich notes ofVickers, the butcher. Then Beale again. Then Dawlish the grocer. Thena chorus.

　　The storm had burst, and in my absence.

　　I blushed for myself. I was in command, and I had deserted the fort intime of need. What must the faithful Hired Man be thinking of me?

　　Probably he placed me, as he had placed Ukridge, in the ragged ranksof those who have Shot the Moon.

　　Fortunately, having just come from the professor's I was in thecostume which of all my wardrobe was most calculated to impress. To acasual observer I should probably suggest wealth and respectability. Istopped for a moment to cool myself, for, as is my habit when pleasedwith life, I had been walking fast; then opened the gate and strodein, trying to look as opulent as possible.

　　It was an animated scene that met my eyes. In the middle of the lawnstood the devoted Beale, a little more flushed than I had seen himhitherto, parleying with a burly and excited young man without a coat.

　　Grouped round the pair were some dozen men, young, middle-aged, andold, all talking their hardest. I could distinguish nothing of whatthey were saying. I noticed that Beale's left cheekbone was a littlediscoloured, and there was a hard, dogged expression on his face. He,too, was in his shirt-sleeves.

　　My entry created no sensation. Nobody, apparently, had heard the latchclick, and nobody had caught sight of me. Their eyes were fixed on theyoung man and Beale. I stood at the gate, and watched them.

　　There seemed to have been trouble already. Looking more closely, Iperceived sitting on the grass apart a second young man. His face wasobscured by a dirty pocket handkerchief, with which he dabbed tenderlyat his features. Every now and then the shirt-sleeved young man flunghis hand towards him with an indignant gesture, talking hard thewhile. It did not need a preternaturally keen observer to deduce whathad happened. Beale must have fallen out with the young man who wassitting on the grass and smitten him; and now his friend had taken upthe quarrel"Now this," I said to myself, "is rather interesting. Here, in thisone farm, we have the only three known methods of dealing with duns.

　　Beale is evidently an exponent of the violent method. Ukridge is anapostle of Evasion. I shall try Conciliation. I wonder which of uswill be the most successful."Meanwhile, not to spoil Beale's efforts by allowing him too littlescope for experiment, I refrained from making my presence known, andcontinued to stand by the gate, an interested spectator.