So soon as we had passed through the town, Berry and I changed places. Almost immediately the road deteriorated. Its fine straightforward rolling nature was maintained: the surface, however, was in tatters….
After ten kilometres of misery, my brother-in-law slowed up and stopped. Then he turned to me.
"Have you ever driven upon this road (sic) before?"
I shook my head.
"Well, you can start now," was the reply. "I'm fed up, I am. I'd rather drive on the beach." With that he opened his door. "Oh, and give me back that cigar."
"Courage," I said, detaining him. "It can't last."
"Pardon me," said Berry, "but it can last for blistering leagues. I know these roads. Besides, my right knee's getting tremulous."
"It's quite good practice," I ventured.
"What for?" was the bitter reply. "My future estate? Possibly. I have no doubt that there it will be my blithesome duty continually to back a charabanc with a fierce clutch up an interminable equivalent of the Eiffel Tower. At present——"
"And you were driving so beautifully," said his wife.