I'm resolved to have no
blunders this time."

"I don't laugh at you. It's excellent," said Mr. Direck.

"It's the right way," said Mr. Britling. "Care--oh damn! I've stopped
the engine again. Ugh!--ah!--_so!_--Care, I was saying--and calm."

"Don't think I want to hurry you," said Mr. Direck. "I don't...."

They passed through the tillage at a slow, agreeable pace, tooting
loudly at every corner, and whenever a pedestrian was approached. Mr.
Direck was reminded that he had still to broach the lecture project to
Mr. Britling. So much had happened--

The car halted abruptly and the engine stopped.

"I thought that confounded hen was thinking of crossing the road," said
Mr. Britling. "Instead of which she's gone through the hedge. She
certainly looked this way.... Perhaps I'm a little fussy this
morning.... I'll warm up to the work presently."

"I'm convinced you can't be too careful," said Mr. Direck. "And this
sort of thing enables one to see the country better...."

Beyond the village Mr. Britling seemed to gather confidence. The pace
quickened. But whenever other traffic or any indication of a side way
appeared discretion returned. Mr. Britling stalked his sign posts,
crawling towards them on the belly of the lowest gear; he drove all the
morning like a man who is flushing ambuscades. And yet accident overtook
him. For God demands more from us than mere righteousness.

He cut through the hills to Market Saffron along a lane-road with which
he was unfamiliar. It began to go up hill. He explained to Mr. Direck
how admirably his engine would climb hills on the top gear.

They took a curve and the hill grew steeper, and Mr. Direck opened the
throttle.

They rounded another corner, and still more steeply the hill rose before
them.

The engine began to make a chinking sound, and the car lost pace. And
then Mr. Britling saw a pleading little white board with the inscription
"Concealed Turning." For the moment he thought a turning might be
concealed anywhere. He threw out his clutch and clapped on his brake.
Then he repented of what he had done. But the engine, after three
Herculean throbs, ceased to work. Mr. Britling with a convulsive clutch
at his steering wheel set the electric hooter snarling, while one foot
released the clutch again and the other, on the accelerator, sought in
vain for help. Mr. Direck felt they were going back, back, in spite of
all this vocalisation. He clutched at the emergency brake. B