"Well, sometimes he's a regular devil at driving. Once he had a big
Rilat car in here for repairs. He had to tell me what was wrong with
it, as I couldn't dope it out. Then when we got it running for him,
he took it out for a trial run on the road. Drive! Say, it's a wonder
I have any hair on my head!"

"Did he go fast?"

"Fast? Say, a racing man had nothing on that Forette. And yet the next
day, when he came to take the car away, after we'd charged the storage
battery, he drove like a snail. One of my men went with him a little
way, to see that everything was all right, for Mr. Carwell is very
particular - I mean he was - and Forette didn't let her out for a cent
My man was disappointed, for he's a fast devil, too, and he asked the
Frenchman why he didn't kick her along."

"What did the chauffeur say?"

"Well, it wasn't so much what he said as how he acted. He was as nervous
as a cat. Kept looking behind to see that no other machine was coming,
and when he passed anything on the road he almost went in the ditch
himself to make sure there was room enough to pass."

"Seemed afraid, did he?"

"That's it. And considering how bold he was the day I was out with him,
I put it down that he must have had a few drinks when he took me for a
"Well, I never saw him, but how else can you account for it? Drink will
make a man drive like old Nick, and get away with it, too, sometimes,