# Ukridge and the Old Stepper explained — Ukridge Stories > Chapter companion for Ukridge Stories by P. G. Wodehouse. ## What happens Ukridge recounts to Corky his disastrous attempt to ingratiate himself with Sir Edward Bayliss, a jute magnate, at his aunt's cottage in Market Deeping. His scheme unravels when he is caught stealing roses, a sundial, and a summerhouse from the neighboring Colonel's garden, leading to a confrontation with the Colonel (the Vulture) and Sir Edward. ## Themes in this chapter ### Deception and Manipulation Ukridge's elaborate scheme to impress Sir Edward involves stealing and lying about an uncle, showcasing his manipulative tactics. ### Social Class and Appearances Ukridge's theft of a suit and his efforts to appear respectable highlight the importance of social standing and appearances. ### The Absurdity of Modern Life The escalating absurdity of Ukridge's thefts—roses, a sundial, and a summerhouse—underscores the comic chaos of his schemes. ## Character check-ins ### Stanley Featherstonehaugh Ukridge Narrates his failed scheme to secure a job from Sir Edward Bayliss, involving theft of garden items. ### Corky The narrator and listener to Ukridge's story; has his new suit stolen by Ukridge. ### Sir Edward Bayliss The jute magnate Ukridge tries to impress; present during the confrontation. ### The Vulture Colonel Philip, the angry neighbor who discovers his roses, sundial, and summerhouse stolen. ### Myrtle Sir Edward's niece, to whom Ukridge gives the stolen sundial. ### George Tupper Lent Ukridge a fiver; mentioned as a source of funds. ### Julia Ukridge Ukridge's aunt who lent him the cottage and urged him to seek a job from Sir Edward. ### Tuppy Another source of funds for Ukridge; mentioned in the narrative. ## Key lines > Corky, old horse, this is the most amazing thing I have heard in the whole course of my existence. I’m astounded. You could knock me down with a feather. Ukridge expresses shock at Corky's complaint about the stolen suit. _Ukridge's characteristic dramatic reaction to a minor issue._ > I wish I had one. Corky sarcastically wishes he had a feather to knock Ukridge down. _Corky's dry humor in response to Ukridge's exaggeration._ > This suit?—this shabby, worn-out suit?—you don’t really mean to stand there and tell me that you actually wanted this ragged, seedy, battered old suit? Ukridge feigns innocence about taking Corky's new suit. _Ukridge's attempt to deflect blame by pretending the suit was old._ > Why, upon my honest Sam, when I came on it while rummaging through your belongings yesterday, I thought it was just something you had discarded years ago and forgotten to give to the deserving poor. Ukridge claims he thought the suit was discarded junk. _Ukridge's shameless excuse for theft._ > Spring, coming to London in a burst of golden sunshine, was calling imperiously to all young men to rejoice in their youth, to put on their new herringbone-pattern lounge suits and go out and give the populace an eyeful: and this I had been prevented from doing by the fact that my new suit had mysteriously disappeared. Corky laments that he cannot enjoy spring in his new suit because Ukridge stole it. _Corky's poetic complaint about the theft._ > After a separation of twenty-four hours, I had just met it in Piccadilly with Ukridge inside it. Corky spotted Ukridge wearing his stolen suit in Piccadilly. _The moment of discovery._ > Stanley! Bless my soul, I haven’t seen you for years. An old gentleman greets Ukridge warmly. _The introduction of the 'Old Stepper' uncle._ > Corky, old boy, I’ll tell you. That bloke is best avoided. Ukridge warns Corky to avoid the old gentleman. _Ukridge's mysterious aversion to his step-uncle._ > He married my late stepmother’s stepsister. I’m not half sure that step-step-step wouldn’t be the correct description. Ukridge explains the complicated familial relationship. _Ukridge's convoluted family ties._ > Calm yourself, laddie. You’re lunching with me. Largely on the strength of this suit, I managed to get past the outer defenses of the Foreign Office just now and touch old George Tupper for a fiver. Ukridge calms Corky by offering lunch, funded by a loan from George Tupper obtained using the stolen suit. _Ukridge's resourcefulness in using the suit to borrow money._ > Corky, do you ever brood on what might have been? Ukridge asks Corky if he reflects on missed opportunities. _Ukridge's philosophical turn before telling his story._ > I might have been wearing that suit. Corky retorts that he might have been wearing his own suit. _Corky's persistent grievance._ > There is no need to go into that again. I have explained that little misunderstanding—explained it fully. Ukridge dismisses Corky's complaint as a misunderstanding. _Ukridge's refusal to accept responsibility._ > What I mean is, do you ever brood on the inscrutable workings of Fate, and reflect how, but for this or that, you might have been—well, that or this? Ukridge muses on how fate could have changed his life. _Ukridge's reflection on destiny._ > For instance, but for the old Stepper I would by now be the mainstay of a vast business and in all probability happily married to a charming girl and the father of half a dozen prattling children. Ukridge claims that without the 'Old Stepper,' he would be a successful businessman and family man. _Ukridge's grandiose vision of his potential._ > In which case, if there is anything in heredity, I should have had to keep my spring suits in a safe deposit. Corky jokes that Ukridge's children would inherit his thieving ways. _Corky's witty jab at Ukridge's character._ > Corky, old horse, you keep harping on this beastly suit of yours. It shows an ungracious spirit which I do not like to see. Ukridge criticizes Corky for dwelling on the stolen suit. _Ukridge's deflection of blame._ > Fate is odd. Rummy. You can’t say it isn’t. Lots of people have noticed it. Ukridge remarks on the strangeness of fate. _Ukridge's philosophical preamble._ > And one of the rummiest things about it is the way it seems to take a delight in patting you on the head and lulling you into security and then suddenly steering your foot on to the banana skin. Ukridge describes how fate builds you up before causing a downfall. _Ukridge's metaphor for life's unpredictability._ > Just when things appear to be going smoothest, bang comes the spanner into the machinery, and there you are. Ukridge says disaster strikes when everything seems fine. _Ukridge's summary of his own experience._ > Take this business I’m going to tell you about. Just before it happened I had begun to look upon myself as Fortune’s favorite child. Ukridge introduces his story by saying he felt lucky before the incident. _Setting up the tale of his downfall._ > Everything was breaking right in the most astounding fashion. Ukridge says everything was going perfectly. _Ukridge's initial optimism._ > My Aunt Julia, having sailed for America on one of her lecturing tours, had lent me her cottage at Market Deeping in Sussex till her return, with instructions to the local tradesmen to let me have the necessaries of life and chalk them up to her. Ukridge's aunt lent him her cottage and arranged credit with local shops. _Ukridge's comfortable situation._ > From some source which at the moment I cannot recollect I had snaffled two pairs of white flannel trousers and a tennis racket. Ukridge acquired white flannel trousers and a tennis racket from an unknown source. _Ukridge's vague memory of acquiring items._ > And, finally, after a rather painful scene in the course of which I was compelled to allude to him as a pigheaded bureaucrat, I had contrived to get a couple of quid out of old Tuppy. Ukridge got money from Tuppy after a heated argument. _Ukridge's success in extracting funds._ > My position was solid. I ought to have known that luck like that couldn’t last. Ukridge felt secure but suspected his luck would run out. _Foreshadowing the disaster._ > Now, in a parting conversation on the platform at Waterloo while waiting for the boat train to start, Aunt Julia had revealed the fact that her motive in sticking me down at her cottage had not been simply to insure that I have a pleasant summer. Ukridge's aunt revealed her ulterior motive for lending the cottage. _The true purpose of the arrangement._ > It seemed that at Deeping Hall, the big house of the locality, there resided a certain Sir Edward Bayliss, O.B.E., a bird deeply immersed in the jute industry. Ukridge explains that Sir Edward Bayliss, a jute magnate, lived nearby. _Introduction of Sir Edward._ > To this day I have never quite got it clear what jute really is; but, anyway, this Sir Edward was the sort of O.B.E. to keep in with, for his business had ramifications everywhere and endless openings for the bright young man. Ukridge admits ignorance about jute but recognizes Sir Edward's influence. _Ukridge's pragmatic view of networking._ > He was, moreover, a great admirer of my aunt’s novels, and she told me in a few and, in parts, tactless words that what I was going down there for was to ingratiate myself with him and land a job. Ukridge's aunt instructed him to charm Sir Edward for a job. _The mission set by Aunt Julia._ > Which, she said—and this was where I thought her remarks lacked taste—would give me a chance of doing something useful and ceasing to be what she called a wastrel and an idler. Ukridge's aunt called him a wastrel and idler, which he found tactless. _Ukridge's indignation at the criticism._ > Idler! I’ll trouble you! As if for a single day in my life, Corky, I have ever not buzzed about, doing the work of ten men. Ukridge protests that he is not an idler, claiming he works hard. _Ukridge's self-justification._ > Why, take the mere getting of that couple of quid from old Tuppy, for instance. Simple as it sounds, I doubt if Napoleon could have done it. Ukridge boasts that getting money from Tuppy was a feat even Napoleon couldn't match. _Ukridge's exaggerated self-praise._ > Tuppy, sterling fellow though he is, has his bad mornings. He comes down to his office and finds a sharp note from the President of Uruguay or someone on his desk, and it curdles the milk of human kindness within him. Ukridge explains that Tuppy's mood is soured by difficult correspondence. _Characterization of Tuppy._ > On these occasions he becomes so tight that he could carry an armful of eels up five flights of stairs and not drop one. Ukridge says Tuppy becomes extremely stingy when upset. _Vivid metaphor for Tuppy's tightfistedness._ > And yet, in less than a quarter of an hour I had got a couple of quid out of him. Ukridge succeeded in getting money from Tuppy quickly. _Ukridge's persuasive skill._ > Oh, well, women say these things. Ukridge dismisses his aunt's criticism as typical of women. _Ukridge's casual sexism._ > Well, I packed a suitcase and took the next train down to Market Deeping. Ukridge went to Market Deeping as instructed. _Transition to the main story._ > And the first thing for you to do, Corky, before I go on, is to visualize the general layout of the place. Ukridge asks Corky to imagine the setting. _Ukridge's narrative style._ > My aunt’s cottage (Journey’s End) was here where this bit of bread is. Here, next to it, where I’ve put the potato, was a smallish house (Pondicherry) belonging to Colonel Bayliss, the jute-fancier’s brother. Ukridge uses bread and potato to illustrate the locations of the cottage and Colonel Bayliss's house. _Ukridge's improvised diagram._ > The gardens adjoined, but anything in the way of neighborly fraternizing was prevented for the moment by the fact that the Colonel was away—at Harrogate, I learned later, trying to teach his liver to take a joke. The Colonel was away at Harrogate for liver treatment. _Humorous description of the Colonel's absence._ > All this expanse here—I’ll mark it with a splash of Worcester Sauce—was the park of Deeping Hall, beyond which was the Hall itself and all the gardens, messuages, pleasances, and so forth that you’d expect. Ukridge uses Worcester sauce to indicate the park of Deeping Hall. _Ukridge's culinary mapping._ > Got it now? Right. Well, as you can see from the diagram, the park of the Hall abutted—if that’s the word I want—on the back garden of my cottage. Ukridge confirms the layout: the Hall's park adjoins his cottage's back garden. _Setting the scene._ > And judge of my emotions when, as I smoked an after-breakfast pipe under the trees on the first morning after my arrival, I saw the most extraordinarily pretty girl riding there. Ukridge saw a very pretty girl riding in the park on his first morning. _Introduction of Myrtle._ > Hither and thither. She came so close once that I could have hit her with The girl rode back and forth, coming close to Ukridge. _Ukridge's proximity to the girl._ > The way I look at it is this. A man like my uncle would no doubt have a number of accounts in different banks. The one on which he drew this cheque happened to have insufficient funds in it, and the bank manager, with gross discourtesy— Ukridge invents an excuse about his uncle's bank accounts to explain a bounced cheque. _Ukridge's fabrication to cover his theft._ > Well, yes, possibly. Sir Edward responds doubtfully to Ukridge's excuse. _Sir Edward's skepticism._ > I shall tell my uncle of what has occurred— Ukridge threatens to inform his uncle about the incident. _Ukridge's bluff._ > At this moment somebody behind me said, 'Ha!' or it may have been 'Ho!'—and I spun round and there in the French window was standing another perfect stranger. A stranger interrupts Ukridge with an exclamation. _The arrival of the Vulture._ > This new addition to our little party was a long, lean, Anglo-Indian-looking individual. You know the type. Beige as to general colour scheme and rather like a vulture with a white mustache. The stranger is described as lean, Anglo-Indian, and vulture-like with a white mustache. _Physical description of the Vulture._ > Uncle Philip! cried Myrtle. Myrtle identifies the stranger as Uncle Philip. _Revealing the Vulture's identity._ > The Vulture gave a kind of nod in her direction. He seemed upset about something. The Vulture nods to Myrtle, appearing agitated. _The Vulture's mood._ > Don’t talk to me. I haven’t time. Many happy returns of the day and so forth, but don’t talk to me now, child. There’s the man I want to talk to. The Vulture dismisses Myrtle and focuses on Ukridge. _The Vulture's urgency._ > You know Mr. Ukridge? Sir Edward asks if the Vulture knows Ukridge. _Sir Edward's question._ > No, I don’t. And I don’t want to. But I know he’s stolen— The Vulture denies knowing Ukridge but accuses him of theft. _The accusation begins._ > He broke off with a hideous rattle in his voice, and I saw that he was staring at the table. The Vulture stops speaking and stares at the table. _The Vulture's discovery._ > It belonged to my aunt and was the only thing in the room that the shirt-sleeved birds had left, so it was fairly conspicuous. The table, belonging to Ukridge's aunt, was the only remaining furniture. _The table's significance._ > Good God! he said. The Vulture exclaims in shock. _The Vulture's reaction._ > He switched an eye round and let it play on me like an oxyacetylene blowpipe. The Vulture glared intensely at Ukridge. _The Vulture's intimidating stare._ > I don’t know what the treatment for liver is at Harrogate, but they ought to change it. It’s ineffective. It had obviously done this man no good at all. Ukridge comments that the Harrogate liver treatment failed to improve the Vulture's temper. _Ukridge's sarcastic aside._ > Good God! he said again. The Vulture repeats his exclamation. _Emphasis on his shock._ > The O.B.E. came to the surface. 'What’s the matter, Philip?' he asked, annoyed. He had only just finished coughing, having swallowed a bit of cake the wrong way. Sir Edward, annoyed, asks what is wrong after choking on cake. _Sir Edward's irritation._ > I’LL tell you what’s the matter. I was in my garden just now, and I found it looted—looted! That man there has stripped it of every rose I possess. My roses! The place is a desert. The Vulture accuses Ukridge of stealing all his roses. _The first theft revealed._ > Is this true, Mr. Ukridge? asked the O.B.E. Sir Edward asks Ukridge if the accusation is true. _Sir Edward's inquiry._ > Certainly not, I said. Ukridge denies the accusation. _Ukridge's immediate denial._ > Oh, it isn’t? said the Vulture. It isn’t, eh? Then where did those roses come from? There aren’t any rose trees in the garden of this house. Damn it, I’ve been here half a dozen times and I ought to know. Where did you get those roses? Answer me that. The Vulture challenges Ukridge to explain the source of the roses. _The Vulture's logical argument._ > My uncle gave them to me. Ukridge claims his uncle gave him the roses. _Ukridge's lie._ > The O.B.E., having now disposed of the cake, uttered a nasty laugh. 'Your uncle!' he said. 'What uncle?' cried the Vulture. 'Where’s this uncle? Show me this uncle. Produce him!' Sir Edward laughs sarcastically, and the Vulture demands to see the uncle. _The demand for proof._ > I’m afraid it would be a little difficult to do that, Philip, said the O.B.E., and I didn’t at all like his manner. It appears that Mr. Ukridge possesses a mysterious uncle. Nobody has ever set eyes on him, but it would seem that he buys furniture and does not pay for it, steals roses— Sir Edward sarcastically describes Ukridge's mysterious uncle as a thief. _Sir Edward's disbelief._ > And sundials, put in the Vulture. The Vulture adds that the uncle stole sundials. _Additional theft._ > Sundials? Sir Edward repeats in surprise. _Sir Edward's astonishment._ > That’s what I said. After I’d had a look at my garden I went over to the Hall, and there in the middle of the lawn was my sundial. They told me this fellow here had given it to Myrtle. The Vulture found his sundial at the Hall, given to Myrtle by Ukridge. _The sundial theft revealed._ > I wasn’t in any too good shape by this time, but I collected enough of the old manly spirit to come back at him. 'How do you know it was your sundial?' I said. Ukridge, though shaken, challenges the Vulture's claim. _Ukridge's weak defense._ > Because it had my motto on it. And, as if that wasn’t enough, he’s stolen my summerhouse! The Vulture identifies the sundial by its motto and adds that his summerhouse is also stolen. _The summerhouse theft._ > The O.B.E. gulped. 'Your summerhouse?' he said in a low, almost reverent voice. The spaciousness of the thing seemed to have affected his vocal cords. Sir Edward is stunned by the audacity of stealing a summerhouse. _Sir Edward's reaction to the scale of theft._ > How could he have stolen a summerhouse? Sir Edward asks how a summerhouse could be stolen. _Incredulity._ > I don’t know how he did it. In sections, I suppose. It’s one of those portable summerhouses. I had it sent down from the Stores last month. And there it is, standing at the bottom of his garden. The Vulture explains the summerhouse was portable and now sits in Ukridge's garden. _The method of theft._ > I tell you, the man ought not to be at large. He’s a menace. Good God! When I was in Africa during the Boer War a platoon of Australians scrounged one of my cast-iron sheds one night, but I never expected that that sort of The Vulture compares Ukridge to Australian soldiers who stole his shed during the Boer War. _The Vulture's historical comparison._ ## Links - HTML: https://www.betterreads.online/discover/ukridge_stories_se/chapters/ukridge-and-the-old-stepper - Book: https://www.betterreads.online/discover/ukridge_stories_se - All chapters: https://www.betterreads.online/discover/ukridge_stories_se/chapters