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Todd would steal into the barn and, after performing the motions of winding me up, would sit at the wheel and make believe to drive. "I advance the spark," he would mutter, "I release the brake, I set the gear, and ever so gently I let in the clutch. Ha! We move, we are off! As we gather speed I pull the gear-lever back, then over, then forward. Now, was that right?
"The gears are not the same," said he. "Perhaps, sir, I had better drive." "No; I should like to try her," said I. And so we started on the five-mile drive for home. My old car had the gears as they used always to be in notches on a bar. In this car you passed the gear-lever through a gate to get on the higher ones. It was not difficult to master, and soon I thought that I understood it.
He laid his hands on the wheel. "I'll keep her steady," said he, "if you care to jump and chance it. We can never get round that curve. Better jump, sir." "No," said I; "I'll stick it out. You can jump if you like." "I'll stick it with you, sir," said he. If it had been the old car I should have jammed the gear-lever into the reverse, and seen what would happen.
Then, twitching his hat down lower than ever, he released his clutch and slid downward his gear-lever. With a chuckle and shudder the long, black machine sprang forward, and shot with a soft sigh from her powerful engines down the sloping gradient. The driver stooped and switched off his electric head-lights. Only a dim grey swathe cut through the black heath indicated the line of his road.
"Cut that out and pile in here!" While the last man was clawing in through the door, Jack let in the clutch, slamming the gear-lever from low to high and skipping altogether the intermediate. The big car leaped forward and Hen bit his tongue so that it bled. Behind them was confused shouting. "Better go back and help what?
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