Mr. Britling Sees It Through | Page 5

looking at it--er. It's
my fence that's suffered most. And that's only strained the post a lil' bit.
Shall I put your bag in behind, sir?"
Mr. Direck assented, and then, after a momentary hesitation, rewarded
the station-master's services.
"Ready?" asked Mr. Britling.
"That's all right sir," the station-master reverberated.
With a rather wide curve Mr. Britling steered his way out of the station
into the highroad.
Section 4
And now it seemed was the time for Mr. Direck to make his meditated
speeches. But an unexpected complication was to defeat this intention.
Mr. Direck perceived almost at once that Mr. Britling was probably
driving an automobile for the first or second or at the extremest the
third time in his life.
The thing became evident when he struggled to get into the high
gear--an attempt that stopped the engine, and it was even more
startlingly so when Mr. Britling narrowly missed a collision with a
baker's cart at a corner. "I pressed the accelerator," he explained
afterwards, "instead of the brake. One does at first. I missed him by less
than a foot." The estimate was a generous one. And after that Mr.
Direck became too anxious not to distract his host's thoughts to persist
with his conversational openings. An attentive silence came upon both
gentlemen that was broken presently by a sudden outcry from Mr.
Britling and a great noise of tormented gears. "Damn!" cried Mr.
Britling, and "How the devil?"

Mr. Direck perceived that his host was trying to turn the car into a very
beautiful gateway, with gate-houses on either side. Then it was
manifest that Mr. Britling had abandoned this idea, and then they came
to a stop a dozen yards or so along the main road. "Missed it," said Mr.
Britling, and took his hands off the steering wheel and blew stormily,
and then whistled some bars of a fretful air, and became still.
"Do we go through these ancient gates?" asked Mr. Direck.
Mr. Britling looked over his right shoulder and considered problems of
curvature and distance. "I think," he said, "I will go round outside the
park. It will take us a little longer, but it will be simpler than backing
and manoeuvring here now.... These electric starters are remarkably
convenient things. Otherwise now I should have to get down and wind
up the engine."
After that came a corner, the rounding of which seemed to present few
difficulties until suddenly Mr. Britling cried out, "Eh! eh! EH! Oh,
damn!"
Then the two gentlemen were sitting side by side in a rather sloping car
that had ascended the bank and buried its nose in a hedge of dog-rose
and honeysuckle, from which two missel thrushes, a blackbird and a
number of sparrows had made a hurried escape....
Section 5
"Perhaps," said Mr. Britling without assurance, and after a little
peaceful pause, "I can reverse out of this."
He seemed to feel some explanation was due to Mr. Direck. "You see,
at first--it's perfectly simple--one steers round a corner and then one
doesn't put the wheels straight again, and so one keeps on going
round--more than one meant to. It's the bicycle habit; the bicycle rights
itself. One expects a car to do the same thing. It was my fault. The book
explains all this question clearly, but just at the moment I forgot."
He reflected and experimented in a way that made the engine scold and

fuss....
"You see, she won't budge for the reverse.... She's--embedded.... Do
you mind getting out and turning the wheel back? Then if I reverse,
perhaps we'll get a move on...."
Mr. Direck descended, and there were considerable efforts.
"If you'd just grip the spokes. Yes, so.... One, Two, Three!... No! Well,
let's just sit here until somebody comes along to help us. Oh!
Somebody will come all right. Won't you get up again?"
And after a reflective moment Mr. Direck resumed his seat beside Mr.
Britling....
Section 6
The two gentlemen smiled at each other to dispel any suspicion of
discontent.
"My driving leaves something to be desired," said Mr. Britling with an
air of frank impartiality. "But I have only just got this car for
myself--after some years of hired cars--the sort of lazy arrangement
where people supply car, driver, petrol, tyres, insurance and everything
at so much a month. It bored me abominably. I can't imagine now how
I stood it for so long. They sent me down a succession of compact,
scornful boys who used to go fast when I wanted to go slow, and slow
when I wanted to go fast, and who used to take every corner on the
wrong side at top speed, and charge dogs and hens for the sport of it,
and all sorts of things like that. They would