"And Henery sees a mate of his comin', so he lets out a notch or two,
and the two cars flew by each other like chain lightnin'. They were each
doin' about forty, and the old man, he says, `There's a driver
must be travellin' a hundred miles an hour,' he says. `I never see a car
go by so fast in my life,' he says. `If I could find out who he is,
I'd report him,' he says. `Did you know the car, Henery?'
But of course Henery, he doesn't know, so on they goes.

"The owner of the big French car thinks he has the fastest car
in Australia, and when he sees Henery and the old man coming, he tells
his driver to let her out a little; but Henery gives the ninety-horse
the full of the lever, and whips up alongside in one jump. And then
he keeps there just half a length ahead of him, tormentin' him like.
And the owner of the French car he yells out to old John Bull,
`You're going a nice pace for an old 'un,' he says. Old John has a blink
down at the indicator. `We're doing twenty-five,' he yells out.
`Twenty-five grandmothers,' says the bloke; but Henery he put on
his accelerator, and left him. It wouldn't do to let the old man
get wise to it, you know."

We topped a big hill, and Alfred cut off the engine and let the car swoop,
as swiftly and noiselessly as an eagle, down to the flat country below.

"You're a long while coming to the elephant, Alfred," I said.

"Well, now, I'll tell you about the elephant," said Alfred,
letting his clutch in again, and taking up the story to the accompaniment
of the rhythmic throb of the engine.