The Lightning Conductor | Page 5

of her thirty-second sigh.
All went well for a couple of hours. We were out in the country--lovely
undulating English country. The car, which Mr. Cecil-Lanstown had
said was beyond all others as a hill-climber, was justifying its
reputation, as I had confidently expected it would. The air was cold, but
instead of making one shiver, our blood tingled with exhilaration as we
flew along. You know what a chilly body Aunt Mary is? Even she
didn't complain of the weather, and hardly needed her foot-warmer
"This is life!" said I to myself. It seemed to me that I'd never known the
height of physical pleasure until I'd driven in a motor-car. It was better

than dancing on a perfect floor with a perfect partner to pluperfect
music; better than eating when you're awfully hungry; better than
holding out your hands to a fire when they're numb with cold; better
than a bath after a hot, dusty railway journey. I can't give it higher
praise, can I?--and I did wish for you. I thought you would be
converted. Oh, my unprophetic soul!
Suddenly, sailing up a steep hill at about ten miles an hour, the car
stopped, and would have run back if Rattray hadn't put on the brakes.
"What's the matter?" said I, while Aunt Mary convulsively clutched my
arm.
"Only a belt broken, miss," he returned gloomily. "Means twenty
minutes' delay, that's all. Sorry I must trouble you ladies to get up. New
belts and belt-fasteners under your seat. Tools under the floor."
We were relieved to think it was no worse, and reminded ourselves that
we had much to be thankful for, while we disarranged our comfortably
established selves. There were the tea-basket and the footwarmers to be
lifted from the floor and deposited on Rattray's vacant front seat, the
big rug to be got rid of, our feet to be put up while the floor-board was
lifted, then we had to stand while the cushions were pulled off the seat
and the lid of the box raised. We, or at least I, tried to think it was part
of the fun; but it was a little depressing to hear Rattray grunting and
grumbling to himself as he unstrapped the luggage, hoisted it off the
back of the car so hat he could get at the broken belt inside, and
plumped it down viciously on the dusty road.
The delay was nearer half an hour than twenty minutes, and it seemed
extra long because it was a strain entertaining Aunt Mary to keep her
from saying "I told you so!" But we had not gone two miles before our
little annoyance was forgotten. That is the queer part about
automobiling. You're so happy when all's going well that you forget
past misadventures, and feel joyously hopeful that you will never have
any more.
We got on all right until after lunch, which we ate at a lovely inn close
to George Meredith's house. Then it took half an hour to start the car

again. Rattray looked as if he were going to burst just to watch him
turning that handle in vain made me feel as if elephants had walked
over me. He said the trouble was that "the compression was too
strong," and that there was "back-firing"--whatever that means. Just as I
was giving up hope the engine started off with a rush, and we were on
the way again through the most soothingly pretty country. About four
o'clock, in the midst of a glorious spin, there was a "r-r-r-tch," the car
swerved to one side, Aunt Mary screamed, and we stopped dead.
"Chain broken," snarled Rattray.
Up we had to jump once more: tea-basket, footwarmers, rugs, ourselves,
everything had to be hustled out of the way for Rattray to get at the
tools and spare chains which we carried in the box under our seats. I
began to think perhaps the car wasn't quite so conveniently arranged for
touring as I had fancied, but I'd have died sooner than say so--then. I
pretended that this was a capital opportunity for tea, so opened the
tea-basket, and we had quite a picnic by the roadside while Rattray
fussed with the chain. It wasn't very cold, and I looked forward to many
similar delightful halts in a warmer climate "by the banks of the
brimming Loire," as I put it jauntily to Aunt Mary. But she only said,
"I'm sure I hope so, my dear," in a tone more chilling than the weather.
It was at least half an hour before Rattray had the chain properly fixed,
and then there was the usual difficulty in starting. Once the handle flew
round and struck him on the back of the hand. He yelled, kicked one of
the wheels, and went