








THE BROTHER OF DAPHNE

by

Dornford Yates




Chapter I       Punch and Judy
Chapter II      Clothes and the man
Chapter III     When it was dark
Chapter IV      Adam and New Year's eve
Chapter V       The Judgement of Paris
Chapter VI      Which to adore
Chapter VII     Every picture tells a story
Chapter VIII    The Busy Beers
Chapter IX      A point of honour
Chapter X       Pride goeth before
Chapter XI      The love scene
Chapter XII     The order of the bath
Chapter XIII    A lucid interval
Chapter XIV     A private view
Chapter XV      All found




CHAPTER I

PUNCH AND JUDY

"I said you'd do something," said Daphne, leaning back easily in her
long chair.

I stopped swinging my legs and looked at her.

"Did you, indeed," I said coldly.

My sister nodded dreamily.

"Then you lied, darling.  In your white throat," I said pleasantly.

"By the way, d'you know if the petrol's come?"

"I don't even care," said Daphne.  "But I didn't lie, old chap.  My
word is--"

"Your bond?  Quite so.  But not mine.  The appointment I have in Town
that day--"

"Which day?" said Daphne, with a faint smile.

"The fete day."

"Ah!"

It was a bazaar fete thing.  Daphne and several others--euphemistically
styled workers--had conspired and agreed together to obtain money by
false pretences for and on behalf of a certain mission, to wit the
Banana.  I prefer to put it that way.  There is a certain smack about
the wording of an indictment.  Almost a relish.  The fact that two
years before I had been let in for a stall and had defrauded fellow men
and women of a considerable sum of money, but strengthened my
determination not to be entrapped again.  At the same time I realized
that I was up against it.

The crime in question was fixed for Wednesday or Thursday--so much I
knew.  But no more.  There was the rub.  I really could not toil up to
Town two days running.

"Let's see," I said carelessly, "the fete's on--er--Wednesday, or
Thursday, is it?"

"Which day are you going up to Town?" said Daphne.  I changed my ground.

"The Bananas are all right," I said, lighting a cigarette.

"They only ate a missionary the other day," said my sister.

"That's bad," said I musingly.  "To any nation the consumption of home
produce is of vital--"

"We want to make sixty pounds."

"To go towards their next meal?  How much do missionaries cost?"

"To save their souls alive," said Daphne zealously.

"I'm glad something's to be saved alive," said I.

Before she could reply, tea began to appear. When the footman had
retired to fetch the second instalment of accessories, I pointed the
finger of scorn at the table, upon which he had set the tray.

"That parody emanated from a bazaar," I said contemptuously.

"It does for the garden," said my sister.

"It'd do for anything," said I.  "Its silly sides, its crazy legs-"

"Crazy?" cried Daphne indignantly.  "It'd bear an elephant."

"What if it would?" I said severely.  "It's months since we gave up the
elephants."

"Is the kettle ready?"

"It boils not, neither does it sing."

"For which piece of irreverence you will do something on Thursday."

"My dear girl," I said hurriedly, "if it were not imperative for me to
be in Town--"

"You will do something on Thursday."  I groaned.

"And this," I said, "this is my mother's daughter!  We have been nursed
together, scolded together, dandled in the same arms.  If she had not
been the stronger of the two, we should have played with the same toys."

I groaned again.  Berry opened his eyes.

"The value of a siesta upon a summer afternoon--" he began.

I cut in with a bitter laugh.  "What's he going to do?" I said.

"Take a stall, of course," said Daphne.

"Is he?" said Berry comfortably.  "Is he?  If motoring with Jonah to
Huntercombe, and playing golf all day, is not incompatible with taking
a stall on Thursday, I will sell children's underwear and egg cosies
with eclat.  Otherwise--"

"Golf," I said, "golf!  Why don't I play golf?"

"I know," said Berry; "because--"

"Miserable man!"  said Daphne.

"Who?" said her husband.

"You."

Berry turned to me.  "You hear?" he said.  "Vulgar abuse.  And why?
Simply because a previous engagement denies to me the opportunity of
subscribing to this charitable imposition.  Humble as would have been
my poor assistance, it would have been rendered with a willing heart.
But there!" he sighed--"It may not be.  The Bananas will never know,
never realize how----  By the way, who are the Bananas?"

"The Bananas?" said I.  "Surely you know the--"

"Weren't at Ascot, were they?"

"Not in the Enclosure.  No.  The bold, bad Bananas are in many ways an
engaging race.  Indeed, some of the manners and customs which they
affect are of a quite peculiar interest.  Let us look, brother, for a
moment, at their clothing.  At the first blush--I use the word
advisedly--it would seem that, like the fruit from which they take
their name--"

"I thought you'd better do some tricks," said Daphne, throwing a dark
look in my direction.

"Of course," I said;  "the very thing.  I've always been so good at
tricks."

"I mean it," said Daphne.

"Of course you do.  What about the confidence trick?  Can any lady
oblige me with a public-house?"

"She means trick-cycling, stupid," said Berry.  "Riding backwards on
one wheel while you count the ball-bearings."

"Look here," I said, "if Berry could have come and smoked a cigarette,
I wouldn't have minded trying to flick the ash off it with a
hunting-whip."

"Pity about that golf," mused Berry.  "And you might have thrown knives
round me afterwards.  As it is, you'll have to recite."

In a few telling sentences I intimated that I would do nothing of the
kind.

"I will appear," I said at last, "I will appear and run round
generally, but I promise nothing more."

"Nonsense," said my sister.  "I have promised, and I'm not going to let
you break my word.  You are going to do something definite."

"Desperate?"

"Definite.  You have three days in which to get ready.  There's Jill
calling me.  We're going to run over to Barley to whip up the Ashton
crowd.  D'you think we've enough petrol?"

"I don't even care," said I.

Daphne laughed softly.  Then: "I must go," she said, getting up.  "Give
me a cigarette and tell me if you think this dress'll do.  I'm going to
change my shoes."

"If," said I, producing my cigarette-case, "if you were half as nice as
you invariably look--"

"That's a dear," she said, taking a cigarette.  "And now, good-bye."

I watched her retreating figure gloomily.

Berry began to recite 'We are Seven.'


Thursday morning broke cloudless and brilliant.  I saw it break.
Reluctantly, of course;  I am not in the habit of rising at cock-crow.
But on this occasion I rose because I could not sleep.  When I went to
bed on Wednesday night, I lay awake thinking deeply about what I was to
do on the morrow.  Daphne had proved inexorable.  My brain, usually so
fertile, had become barren, and for my three days' contemplation of the
subject I had absolutely nothing to show.  It was past midnight before
I fell into a fitful slumber, only to be aroused three hours and a half
later by the sudden burst of iniquity with which two or more cats saw
fit to shake the silence of the rose-garden.

As I threw out the boot-jack, I noticed the dawn.  And as further sleep
seemed out of the question, I decided to dress and go out into the
woods.

When I slipped out of Knight's Bottom into the sunlit road to find
myself face to face with a Punch and Judy show, I was not far from
being momentarily disconcerted.  For a second it occurred to me that I
might be dreaming, but, though I listened carefully, I could hear no
cats, so I sat down on the bank by the side of the road and prepared to
contemplate the phenomenon.

When I say 'Punch and Judy show' I am wrong.  Although what I saw
suggested the proximity of a Punch and a Judy, to say nothing of the
likelihood of a show, I did not, as a matter of fact, descry any one of
the three.  The object that presented itself to my view was the tall,
rectangular booth, gaudy and wide-mouthed, with which, until a few
years ago, the streets of London were so familiar.  Were!  Dear old
Punch and Judy, how quickly you are becoming a thing of the past!  How
soon you will have gone the way of Jack-i'-the Green, Pepper's Ghost,
the Maypole, and many another old friend!  Out of the light into the
darkness.  The old order changeth, yielding place to new, and in a
little space men shall be content to wonder at your ancient memory as
their grandfathers marvelled at that of the frolics of my Lord of
Misrule.  However.

There was the booth.  But that was all.  It stood quite alone at the
side of the white road.  I walked round it.  Nothing.  I glanced up and
down the road, but there was no one in sight.  I had been feeling
hungry, for it was seven o'clock; but this was better than breakfast,
and I returned to the bank.  The little red curtains fluttered, as a
passing breeze caught them, and I marked how bright and new they
looked.  It was certainly in good condition--this booth.

"Well?" said a voice.

"Well?" said I.

A pause.  A girl's voice it was:  coming from within the booth.

"You seem rather surprised," said the voice.

"No, no," I said, "not really surprised.  Only a little staggered.  You
see, I know so few booths."

"What are you doing here?"

"To be frank, booth, I'm waiting."

"I'm waiting, too."

"So?" said I.  "I wait, you wait, let us wait, ye shall have been about
to see, they would--"

"What are you waiting for?"

"Developments.  And you?"

"My breakfast."

I looked up and down the road.  "I don't see it coming," I said
anxiously.  "What's it look like?"

"Milk.  You don't happen to have any, I suppose?"

I felt in my pockets.

"There, now," I said, "I must have left it on the piano.  I got up
rather hurriedly this morning," I added apologetically.

"Never mind."

"I'll tell you what, booth, I'll go and get some."

"No, thanks very much.  Don't you bother; it'll come along presently."

"Are you sure?  This isn't 'The Blue Bird.'"

"Yes, it's all right--really."

There was another pause.  Then:

"Hadn't you better be getting back to breakfast?" said the girl.

"Not much," said I.  "I don't run up against booths every day.
Besides--"

"Besides what?"

"Well, booth, I'm awfully curious."

"What do you want to know?"

"You're very good."

"I didn't say I'd tell you."

"I'll risk that.  In a word, why are you?"

"Ah!"

I waited in silence for a few moments.  At length:

"Suppose," she said slowly, "suppose a bet had been made."

"A bet?"

"A bet."

"Shocking!  Go on."

"Well?  Isn't that enough?"

"Nothing like."

"I don't think much of your imagination."

I raised my eyes to heaven.  "A prophet is not without honour," I
quoted.

"Is this your own country?"

"It is."

"Oh, I say, you'd be the very man!"

"I am," I said.  "Refuse substitutes."

It gradually appeared that, in a rash moment, she had  made some silly
wager that she could give a Punch and  Judy show on her own in the
village of Lynn Hammer and the vicinity.  Of course, she had not meant
it. She had spoken quite idly, secure in the very impracticability of
the thing.  But certain evil-disposed persons--referred to mysteriously
as 'they'--had fastened greedily upon her words, and, waving aside her
objection that she had no paraphernalia, deliberately proceeded to
provide the same, that she might have no excuse.  The booth was run up,
the puppets procured.  The gentle hint that she wanted to withdraw had
been let fall at the exact moment with deadly effect, and--the wicked
work was done.  She had been motored over and here set down, complete
with booth, half an hour ago.  They were going to look back later, just
to see how she was getting on.  The ordeal was to be over and the wager
won by six o'clock, and she might have the assistance of a native in
her whimsical venture.

"Right up to the last I believe the brutes thought I would cry off,"
she said.  "I very nearly did, too, when it came to it.  Only I saw
Peter smiling.  It is rather a hopeless position, isn't it?"

"It was.  But now that you've got your native--"

"Oh!" she said.  Then:  "But I've got one."

"Where?"

"He's getting the milk."

"I don't believe he is.  Anyway, you can discharge him and take me on.
I've been out of work for years.  Besides, you've been sent.  In your
advent I descry the finger of Providence."

"I wish I did.  What do you mean?"

"This day," I said, "I am perforce a zealot."

"A what?"

"A zealot--a Banana zealot.  You, too, shall be a zealot.  We will
unite our zeal, and this day light such a candle--"

"The man's mad," she said.  "Quite mad."

I explained.  "You see," I said, "it's like this.  Simply miles away,
somewhere south south and by south of us, there are a lot of heathen.
They're called Bananas.  I don't know very much about it, but there
seems