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.
“One day Henery and the old man were going out a long trip over the mountain, and down the Kangaroo Valley Road that's all cut out of the side of the 'ill. And after they's gone a mile or two, Henery sees a track in the road—the track of the biggest car he ever seen or 'eard of. An' the more he looks at it, the more he reckons he must ketch that car and see what she's made of. So he slows down passin' two yokels on the road, and he says, 'Did you see a big car along 'ere?'
“'Yes, we did,' they says.
“'How big is she?' says Henery.
“'Biggest car ever we see,' says the yokels, and they laughed that silly way these yokels always does.
“'How many horse-power do you think she was?' says Henery.
“'Horse-power,' they says; 'elephant-power, you mean! She was three elephant-power,' they says; and they goes 'Haw, haw!' and Henery drops his clutch in, and off he goes after that car.”
Alfred lit another cigarette as a preliminary to the climax.