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Updated: July 13, 2025
I wonder how many nowadays remember that pretty bit of goods, Maisa Hubbard, who used to drive the racing cars in France, and was the particular fancy of half the motormen who drive on the other side of the blue water. I first met her at the Gordon Bennett of 1901, and I must say I thought her "sample goods."
Before that could be given, however, and while the car was still in the "control," who should come up to us but Maisa Hubbard herself; and, will you believe it, I felt all my confidence, both in man and car, oozing out of my finger-tips, just like water running out of a tap.
It was just cussedness, I suppose, which kept me back, for, as I went across the corridor of the first floor of our hotel I heard a woman with a laugh which struck sparks off you; and turning round, there was Maisa Hubbard herself in a fine Paris gown and a great straw hat, with a pink feather in it large enough to decorate the Shah.
We had gone a mile, I suppose, when we met a girl driving one of the De Dion motor tricycles, and no sooner had I seen her than she went by with a flash and a nod; and I knew her for little Maisa Hubbard, of whom the town had been talking for three days past.
Why, I saw you drive your car over the side of the mountain, just as plainly as ever I saw anything in my life." He laughed quietly, looking at me with a look I shall never forget. "You're quite a wonder at dreaming, Maisa. Suppose I disappoint you this time?" "Don't be foolish, Ferdy you shouldn't have asked me to tell you. Why, you're too clever to be such a silly, and you know it.
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