The alarmed tutor bundled his words in a heap the better to get them out and arrest the catastrophe that threatened.
"Catchabrakeandontbesilly! Catchabrakeabekilled!"
They whizzed!
Percival bawled: "We don't want the brake! I can't reach the brake! I like it! We're simply whizzing! Mind your legs!" His cap was gone. His hair fluttered in the rushing wind. His face was crimson with excited glee. His clear laughter on its strong note of "Ha! Ha! Ha!" rose high above the rattling of all the machine's vitals and the cries of the agonised bearer of the fly. He clung tightly to the podgy waist and shouted: "Ha! Ha! Ha! We're whizzing! We're whizzing!"
Mr. Purdie took another six hammers on his legs and struck a note of new alarm.
"I'm blind, you know! I can't see! I can't steer!"
"A straight road!" Percival bawled. "Look out, though! A corner coming!"
"How can I look out? Draggle your legs on the ground!"
"Twiddle to the left!" Percival bellowed. "Ha! Ha! Ha! Twiddle, Mr. Purdie, twiddle!"
Mr. Purdie twiddled frantically; the tricycle outraced his efforts. "Look out for yourself!" from Percival, and with a loud and exceeding bitter cry from Mr. Purdie, the machine plunged at the hedge, planted Mr. Purdie very firmly into the midst, shot Percival firmly on top of him, took a violent somersault across the ditch that skirted the hedge, and poised itself above them.