"Put on the brakes!" I shouted.

The child did some kicking and hauling with his feet and hands which
made no impression whatever on the car.

"Put on the brakes, damme!" I yelled.

The child rolled the whites of his eyes towards me and announced
briefly, "Brake's broke."

I looked about for a soft place to jump. There was none; only
rock-plated highway whizzing past.

We took the first bend with the nearside wheels in the gutter, the
off-side wheels on the bank, the car tilted at an angle of forty-five
degrees. The second bend we navigated at an angle of sixty degrees,
the off-side wheels on the bank, the near-side wheels pawing thin air.

Had there been another bend we should have accomplished it upside
down. Fortunately there were no more; but there remained the village
street. We pounced on it like a tiger upon its prey.

"Blow your horn!" I screamed to the child.

"Bulb's bust," said he shortly, and exhibited the instrument, its
squeeze missing.

I have one accomplishment--only one--acquired at the tender age of
eleven at the price of relentless practice and a half-share in a