He offered no remark as to the car, and Mr. Prohack offered no remark.
But Mr. Prohack was very interested in the car--he who had never been
interested in cars. And he was interested in the clothes and in the
deportment of the chauffeur. He was indeed interested in all sorts of
new things. The window of a firm of house-agents who specialised in
country houses, the jewellers' shops, the big hotels, the advertisements
of theatres and concerts, the establishments of trunk-makers and of
historic second-hand booksellers and of equally historic wine-merchants.
He saw them all with a fresh eye. London suddenly opened to him its
possibilities as a bud opens its petals.

"Not a bad car they; hired out to me," said Bishop at length, with
casual approval.

"You've hired it?"

"Oh, yes!"

And shortly afterwards Bishop said:

"It's fantastic the number of cars there are in use in America. You know
it's a literal fact that almost every American family has a car. For
instance, whenever there's a big meeting of strikers in New York, all
the streets near the hall are blocked with cars."

Mr. Prohack had food for reflection. His outlook upon life was changed.

And later Bishop said, again apropos of nothing: