Sir Richmond thought aloud, unpleasing thoughts.
He addressed the little car as a person; he referred to ancient disputes
and temperamental incompatibilities. His anger betrayed him a coarse,
ill-bred man. The little car quickened under his reproaches. There were
some moments of hope, dashed by the necessity of going dead slow behind
an interloping van. Sir Richmond did not notice the outstretched arm
of the driver of the van, and stalled his engine for a second time. The
electric starter refused its office altogether.
For some moments Sir Richmond sat like a man of stone.
"I must wind it up," he said at last in a profound and awful voice. "I
must wind it up."
"I get out, don't I?" asked the doctor, unanswered, and did so. Sir
Richmond, after a grim search and the displacement and replacement of
the luggage, produced a handle from the locker at the back of the car
and prepared to wind.
There was a little difficulty. "Come UP!" he said, and the small engine
roared out like a stage lion.
The two gentlemen resumed their seats. The car started and then by an
unfortunate inadvertency Sir Richmond pulled the gear lever over from
the first speed to the reverse. There was a metallic clangour beneath
the two gentlemen, and the car slowed down and stopped although the
engine was still throbbing wildly, and the dainty veil of blue smoke
still streamed forward from the back of the car before a gentle breeze.
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