tim of an
experiment." Rattray drove for a long way, but when we got beyond the
traffic, towards Richmond, I took his place, and my lesson began. It's
harder than I thought it would be, because you have to do so many things
at once. You really ought to have three or four hands with this car,
Rattray says. When I asked him if it was different with other cars, he
didn't seem to hear. Already I've noticed that he's subject to a sort of
spasmodic deafness, but I suppose I must put up with that, as he is such
a fine mechanic. One can't have everything.

With your left hand you have to steer the car by means of a kind of
tiller, and to this is attached the horn to warn creatures of all sorts
that you're coming. I blow this with my right hand, but Rattray says I
ought to learn to do it while steering with the left, as there are
quantities of other things to be done with the right hand. First there
is a funny little handle with which you change speeds whenever you come
to a hill; then there is the "jockey-pulley-lever," which gives the
right tension to the belts (this is _very_ important); the
"throttle-valve-lever," on which you must always keep your hand to
control the speed of the car; and the brake which you jam on when you
want to stop. So there are two things to do with the left hand, and four
things with the right, and often most of these things must be done at
the same time. No wonder I was confused and got my hands a little mixed,
so that I forgot which was which, and things went wrong for a second!
Just then a cart was rude enough to come round a corner. I tried to
steer to the right, but went to the left--and you can't _think_ how many
things can happen with a motor-car in one second.

Now, don't be worried! I wasn't hurt a bit; only we charged on to the
side-walk, and butted into a shop. It was my fault, not a bit the car's.
If it weren't a _splendid_ car it would have been smashed to pieces,
and perhaps we with it, instead of just breaking the front--oh, and the
shop too, a little. I shall have to pay the man something. He's a
"haberdasher," whatever that is, but it _sounds_ like the sort of name
he might have called me if he'd been very angry when I broke his window.

The one bad consequence of my stupidity is that the poor, innocent,
sinned-against car must lie up for repairs. Rattray says they may take
some days. In that case Aunt Mary and I must do our shopping in a hired
brougham--such an anti-climax; but Ra