Berry And Co. by Dornford Yates

step of the first flight of stairs stood a little white dog, regarding us squarely. He might have been painted by Maud Earl. His ears were pricked, his little forefeet placed close together, his tail was upright. A gas officer would have said that he was “in the alert position.”
    “Hello, Nobby,” said I. “How goes it?”
    At the sound of his name the terrier put his small head on one side with an air of curiosity as evident as it was attractive.
    “What a darling!” cried Jill.
    As she spoke I heard a latch-key inserted, and the next moment Berry pushed open the door.
    Breathing out threatenings, the darling streaked down the stairs and across the hall to the new-comer’s feet, where he stood with his back arched, one forepaw raised, and bared teeth, emitting a long low snarl, while there was a look in the bright brown eyes which there was no mistaking.
    My brother-in-law stood as if rooted to the spot.
    Jill began to shake with laughter.
    “What did I say?” said Berry, remaining motionless. “Can’t enter my own house now. It’s all right, old chap,” he added, gazing at Nobby with a winning smile. “I belong here.”
    His statement was not accepted. Nobby, who was clearly taking no risks, replied with a growl charged with such malevolence that I thought it advisable to interfere.
    I addressed myself to the terrier.
    “Good man,” I said reassuringly, patting Berry upon the shoulder.
    Jonah contends that the dog construed my movement as an attempted assault, which it was his duty to abet. In any event, in less time than it takes to record, the growl culminated in that vicious flurry which invariably accompanies the closing of jaws, there was a noise of torn cloth, and with a yell Berry leapt for and reached the bookcase to which he adhered, clinging rather than perched, after the manner of a startled ape.
    A roar of laughter from me and long, tremulous wails of merriment from Jill brought my sister and Jonah pell-mell upon a never-to-be-forgotten scene.
    The four of us huddled together, helpless with mirth, while Berry, calling upon Sirius, clung desperately to the bookcase, and Nobby, clearly interpreting our merriment as applause, stood immediately below his victim, panting a little with excitement and wagging his tail tentatively.
    “After all,” said my brother-in-law, “what is Death? A b-b-bagatelle. Excelsior. Of course, I ought to have a banner, really. Just to wave as I fall. Two and a half guineas these trousers cost. Think of the dogs you could get for that. Excelsior. Seriously, I should get him a set of false teeth and keep them locked up. It’ll save in the end. Yes, I know it’s side-splitting. I’m only sorry I haven’t got a tail. Then I could hang from the electric light. As it is, what about calling off the dog? Not that I’m not comfortable. And the air up here’s lovely. But—”
    With an effort I pulled myself together and laid a hand on Jill’s shoulder.
    “Here,” I said, nodding in Berry’s direction, “here we have the Flat-footed Baboon, an animal of diverting but vulgar habits. That between its eyes is its nose. The only other known specimen is at Dartmoor.”
    “D’you mind not talking?” said Berry. “I’m just thinking out your death. They say pressing is very painful. Or would you rather call off the mammal?”
    I picked up Nobby and put him under my arm.
    “You know, you’re a wicked dog,” said I.
    For a moment his bright brown eyes met mine. Then with a sudden movement he put up a cold black nose and licked my face…
    Before we retired that night, Berry had admitted that Nobby had his points, Nobby had accepted from Berry a caviare sandwich, and I had handed my brother-in-law a cheque for two pounds twelve shillings and sixpence.
     
    It had been arranged that we should spend Christmas with the St Martins in Wiltshire, and we were to make the journey on the twenty-third. High festival was to be held at Red Abbey, a fine old place with mullioned