And Berry Came Too by Dornford Yates Page A

master of the art of provocation, my brother-in-law’s delight is to sow the wind. As the whirlwind subsided—
    “The point is this,” said Jonah. “The saleroom is full of surprises. Sales are not governed by the law of supply and demand. The bids are ruled by private calculations which no one on earth can divine. That table might go for two hundred – just because, for private reasons, nobody present considered it worth his while to pay any more.” He glanced at his watch. “If I am to drive, I must have an hour and a half. And the sale begins at midday. If we start in a quarter of an hour, we ought to get there on time.”
    As we fled from table—
    “But what about lunch?” screamed Berry. “I’m not going to…
    Ten minutes later we pushed him into the Rolls.

    The way to Hammercloth ran through the lively pageant which only an English June can ever present. It had rained the night before, and now the grateful sunshine was clothing a world refreshed in a magic of green and silver that filled the eye. The pale-blue sky was cloudless, the cool, still air was charged with the lovely odour of English earth, and the brown roads were printed with shadows of the lovely creations which another summer had designed for the wayside trees.
    As we ran through the village of Broomstick, the church clock told us the hour – eleven o’clock. With twenty miles behind us, we had a bare thirty to go.
    I was sitting with Jonah, and Berry was seated behind, between Daphne and Jill. At their feet the Knave lay couched, as a good dog should.
    My sister addressed her husband.
    “Have you got your chequebook?” she said.
    “A good moment to ask,” said Berry. “We’re very near half-way there. If you’d asked me as we were leaving—”
    “Well, I’ve only just thought of it.”
    “That’s my point,” said Berry. “Now If I had forgotten the thing, I should be abused and reviled till I couldn’t think straight. Yet you yourself have let twenty-one miles go by before—”
    “Have you got it?” demanded Daphne.
    “I decline to answer,” said Berry, “until you admit your fault. What about the tickets last week? Nobody gave them a thought till we got to the theatre steps – but I had to stand the racket. Talk about execration… I might have been Titus Oates.”
    “Oh, be a sport,” purred Daphne. “Just for my peace of mind.”
    “Confess your fault,” said her husband.
    “All right. I confess. I ought to have asked you before.”
    “Then we’re both to blame,” said Berry, “because I’ve left it behind.”
    The explosion of dismay which greeted this shocking announcement may be better imagined than set down. Daphne and Jill recoiled from the delinquent – two lovely Furies, bristling with horror and wrath: voicing his indignation, my cousin set a foot on the brake: I flung round in my seat, fiercely demanding confirmation of a fact which I could not accept; and the Knave, from whom nothing was hid, leaped from his place to plant his forepaws upon Berry and bark like a fiend possessed.
    As the storm died down—
    “If we go back,” said Jonah, “we shall not get to the sale before a quarter to one. That may not matter at all. The table may not come up till this afternoon. But of course it may come up at a quarter past twelve.”
    “We’d better go on,” said I. “They’ll probably waive the deposit if we can give them a card.”
    “Have you got a card?” said Daphne.
    “No,” said Berry, “I haven’t. I’ve three pounds ten in notes and a snapshot of you at Biarritz in ’94. Perhaps if we showed them that—”
    “Who’s got a card?” – violently.
    There was a painful silence – nobody had a card.
    “I did get it out,” murmured Berry. “It’s on the library table, south of the blotting pad. I can see it now.” He turned to his wife. “I can’t think how we forgot it,” he added reproachfully.
    Before Daphne could find her tongue—
    “Who’s doing the sale?” said