The Princess Passes Volume 56 by Alice Muriel Williamson, Charles Norris Williamson (great book club books .txt) 📕

You're Not Afraid I Shall Run You Into A Ditch?" I Asked, Laughing. "I

Don't Believe, After All, It Can Be Any Worse Than Steering A Toboggan

Down A Good Run, Or Driving A Four-In-Hand With One's Eyes Shut, As I

Did Once For A Wager On A Road I Knew As I Knew My Own Hat."

"Perhaps It Isn't Exactly _Worse_," Said Molly, "Still--I Think You'll

Find It _Different_."

I Did.

Meanwhile, However, Winston Was Cheering Me On. "You'll Find Steering

The Simplest Thing In The World, Really," He Assured Me. "There's No

Car So Sensitive As This. The Faster You Go, The Easier It Is----"

"But, Perhaps He'd Better Not Try To Prove _That_, Just At First!"

Cried Molly, With An Affected Little Gasp.

"No, No; Certainly He Won't, My Child. He Won't Go Beyond A Walk Until

He's Sure Of Himself And The Car. You Needn't Be Frightened. I Know My

Man, Or I Shouldn't Trust Him With You And Your Mercédès. Now, Then,

Monty, Are You Ready?"

I Had Never Before Sufficiently Realised The Solemnity Of That Word

"Now." It Sounded In My Ears Like A Knell, But I Swallowed Hard, And

Echoed It. To Do Myself Justice, Though, I Don't Think I Was Afraid. I

Was Only In A Funk That I Should Do Something Stupid, And Be Disgraced

Forever In The Eyes Of Molly Winston. However, I Reflected, It

Couldn't Be So Very Bad. Molly Herself, And Even Jack, Had To Learn.

Winston Had Explained To Me Several Times The Purpose Of All The

Different Levers, And, At Least, I Shouldn't Touch The Brake Handle

When I Wanted To Change The Speed.

"No Need To Grip The Wheel So Tightly," Said Jack, And I Became Aware

That I Had Been Clinging To It As If It Were A Forlorn Hope. "A Light

Touch Is Best, You Know; It's Rather Like Steering A Boat. A Very

Slight Movement Does It, And In Half An Hour It Has Got To Be

Automatic. Of Course, Always Start On The Lowest, That Is, The First

Speed, And With The Throttle Nearly Shut."

Mine Was In Much The Same Condition, But I Managed To Mutter Something

As I Moved The Lever, And Touched The Clutch-Pedal With A Caress Timid

As A Falling Snowflake. Almost Apologetically, I Slid The Lever Into

Position, And Let In The Clutch. Somehow, I Had Not Expected It To

Answer So Soon; But, As If It Disliked Being Patted By A Stranger, The

Dragon Took The Bit Between Its Teeth And Bolted. I Hung On And Did

Things More By Instinct Than By Skill, For The Beast Was Hideously

Lithe And Strong, A Thousand Times Stronger And Wilder Than I Had

Dreamed.

Every Faculty Of Body And Brain Was Concentrated On First Keeping The

Monster Out Of The Ditch On The Off Side, Then The Ditch On The Near.

My Eyes Expanded Until They Must Have Filled My Goggles. We Waltzed,

We Wavered, We Shied, Until We Outdid The Seine In The Windings Of Its

Channel.

I Fully Expected That Winston Would Pluck Me Like A Noxious Weed From

The Driver's Seat Where I Had Taken Root, And Snatch The Helm Himself;

But Strange To Relate, I Remained Unmolested. Jack Confined His

Interference To An Occasional "Whoa," Or "Steady, Old Boy"; While In

The Tonneau So Profound A Silence Reigned That, If I Had Had Time To

Think Of Anything, I Should Have Supposed Molly To Be Swooning.

"Why Don't You Curse Me, And Put Me Out Of My Misery?" I Gasped, When

I Had By A Miracle Avoided A Tree As Large As A House, Which I Had

Seen Deliberately Step Out Of Its Proper Place To Get In My Way.

"'Curse You,' My Dear Fellow? You're Doing Splendidly," Said Jack.

"You Deserve Praise, Not Blows. I Did A Lot Worse When I Began."

Thus Encouraged, I Gained Confidence In Myself And The Machine. Almost

At Once, I Was Conscious Of Improvement In Mastering The Touch Of The

Wheel. Soon, I Was Imitating A Straight Line With Fair Success,

Subject To A Few Graceful Deviations. I Realised That, After All, We

Were Not Going Very Fast, Though My Sensation At Starting Had Been

That Of Hanging On To A Streak Of Greased Lightning.

I Began To Sigh For More Worlds To Conquer, And When Jack Reminded Me

That We Were On The First Speed, I Pronounced Myself Equal To An

Experiment With The Second. He Made Me Practice Taking One Hand From

The Wheel, Looking About Me A Little, And Trying To Keep The Car

Straight By Feeling Rather Than Sight. When I Had Accomplished These

Feats, And Had Not Brought The Car To Grief (Even Though We Passed

Several Vehicles, And I Was Drawn By A Demoniac Influence To Swerve

Towards Each One As If It Had Been The Loadstone To My Magnet, Or The

Candle To My Moth), Jack Finally Consented To Grant My Request. He

Told Me Clearly What To Do, And I Did It, Or Some Inward Servant Of

Myself Did, Whenever The Master Was Within An Ace Of Losing His Head.

I Pressed Down The Clutch-Pedal, Pulled The Lever Affectionately

Towards Me, And Very Gradually Opened The Throttle, So As Not To

Startle It. In Spite Of My Caution, However, I Thought For An Instant

We Were Really Going To Get On The Other Side Of The Horizon, Which

Had Been Avoiding Us For So Long. We Shot Ahead Alarmingly, But To My

Intense Relief, As Well As Surprise, I Found That Jack Had Not

Exaggerated. It Was Easier To Steer On The Second Speed Than On The

First. I Had Merely To Tickle The Wheel With My Finger, To Send Us

Gliding, Swanlike, This Way Or That. To Be Sure, I Did Well-Nigh Run

Over A Chicken, But I Would Be Prepared To Argue With It Till It Was

Black In The Face (Or Resort To Litigation, If Necessary) That The

Proper Place For Its Blood Would Be On Its Own Silly Head, Not Mine.

Elated By My Triumphs, I Scarcely Listened Further To Jack's

Directions; How, If I Thought There Was Danger, All I Had To Do Was

To Unclutch, And Put On The Brake, Whereupon The Car Would Stop As If

By Magic, As It Had For Molly In The Fulham Road; How I Must Not

Forget That The Foot Brakes Had A Way Of Obeying Fiercely, And Must

Not Be Applied With Violence; How I Must Remember To Pull The Brake

Lever By My Hand, Towards Me If I Wanted To Stop; How It Acted On

Expanding Rings On The Inside Faces Of Drums, Which Were On The Back

Wheels (I Pitied Those Poor, Concealed Faces, For The Description Was

Neuralgic, Somehow), And I Could Lock Them At Almost Any Speed.

"I Want To Get On The Third, And Then I'll Try The Fourth, Thank You,"

I Interpolated Impatiently. "More-More! Faster, Faster! Whew, This

Knocks Spots Out Of The Ice Run!"

"Let Him Have His Way, Jack," Cried Molly, Speaking For The First

Time. "Hurrah, The Motor Microbe Is In His Blood, And Never, Never

Will He Get It Out Again."

"Full Speed Ahead, Then!" Said Jack.

I Took Him At His Word. I Could Have Shouted For Joy. Mercédès Was

Mine, And I Was Mercédès'.

"Seared Is, Of Course, My Heart--But Unsubdued

     Is, And Shall Be, My Appetite For Food."

                                   --C.S. Calverley.

           *       *       *       *       *

    "A Little Buttery, And Therein

       A Little Bin,

     Which Keeps My Little Loaf Of Bread

       Unchipt, Unflead;

     Some Little Sticks Of Thorn Or Brier

       Make Me A Fire."

                           --Robert Herrick.

If Any Man Had Told Me Before I Started, That In Two Days I Should

Find It A Genuine Sacrifice To Stop Driving A Motor Car, I Should Have

Looked Upon Him As A Polite Lunatic. It Was Only Because Jack Could

Drive Faster Than He Dared To Let Me, And Because I Was Ashamed To

Tell Molly That After All I Was Not In A Desperate Hurry To Reach

Paris Or Anywhere Else, That I Finally Tore Myself From The Driver's

Seat Of The Mercédès. Afterwards, Though I Had Not Reached The Stage

When Confession Is Good For The Soul, I Sat Wondering What There Was

Expensive And At The Same Time Disagreeable Which I Could Give Up For

The Sake Of Possessing A Motor Of My Own. In Various Phases Of My

Mental And Spiritual Development, I Had Framed Different Conceptions

Of A Future State Beyond This Life. Never, Even In My Earliest Years,

Had I Sincerely Wished To Be An Angel With An Undeserved Crown

Weighing Down My Forehead, And A Harp, Which I Should Be Totally

Incompetent To Play, Within My Hand; But Now It Struck Me That There

Might Be A Worse Sort Of Nirvana Than Driving A 10,000 Horsepower Car

Along A Broad, Straight Road Free From Dogs, Chickens, Or Any Other

Animals (Except, Perhaps, Rich, Knighted Grocers), And Reaching All

Round Saturn's Ring.

Dogs Had Been The One "Little Speck In Garnered Fruit" For Me When

Driving, For I Love Dogs And Would Not Willingly Injure So Much As The

End Hair Of The Most Moth-Eaten Mongrel's Tail; Therefore My Brain

Searched A Remedy Against Their Onslaught, As I Sat Mute, Inglorious,

In The Tonneau, After My Late Triumphs.

We Flashed On, Passing The Kilometre Stones In Quick Succession. At

Pretty Little Mantes We Crossed The Seine, And Presently Came Into The

France I