think of anything, I should have supposed Molly to be swooning.

"Why don't you curse me, and put me out of my misery?" I gasped, when
I had by a miracle avoided a tree as large as a house, which I had
seen deliberately step out of its proper place to get in my way.

"'Curse you,' my dear fellow? You're doing splendidly," said Jack.
"You deserve praise, not blows. I did a lot worse when I began."

Thus encouraged, I gained confidence in myself and the machine. Almost
at once, I was conscious of improvement in mastering the touch of the
wheel. Soon, I was imitating a straight line with fair success,
subject to a few graceful deviations. I realised that, after all, we
were not going very fast, though my sensation at starting had been
that of hanging on to a streak of greased lightning.

I began to sigh for more worlds to conquer, and when Jack reminded me
that we were on the first speed, I pronounced myself equal to an
experiment with the second. He made me practice taking one hand from
the wheel, looking about me a little, and trying to keep the car
straight by feeling rather than sight. When I had accomplished these
feats, and had not brought the car to grief (even though we passed
several vehicles, and I was drawn by a demoniac influence to swerve
towards each one as if it had been the loadstone to my magnet, or the
candle to my moth), Jack finally consented to grant my request. He
told me clearly what to do, and I did it, or some inward servant of
myself did, whenever the master was within an ace of losing his head.
I pressed down the clutch-pedal, pulled the lever affectionately
towards me, and very gradually opened the throttle, so as not to
startle it. In spite of my caution, however, I thought for an instant