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"Trevington up yonder is a fairly isolated little dorp," I said, for I was beginning to feel hungry. "No," said Kysh. "He'd get a lift to the railway in no time.... Besides, I'm enjoying myself.... Three pounds eighteen and sixpence. Infernal swindle!" I take it one of his more recent fines was rankling in Kysh's brain; but he drove like the Archangel of the Twilight.
His bright eyes were glued on Kysh's hands juggling with levers behind the discreet backward sloping dash. "An' what sort of a brake might you use?" he said politely. "This," Kysh replied, as the last of the hill shot up to one in eight. He let the car run back a few feet and caught her deftly on the brake, repeating the performance cup and ball fashion.
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