“Yes,” said Mr. James reflectively. “I’d thought of that. There’s something in it, perhaps.”
He seemed to be debating the matter with himself in silence for a few moments, then he said, “Look here. I’ve got a man coming up to-morrow. He may buy a Pegasus, or he may buy some other car. Anyhow, he’s going to buy a car, and we should prefer that he bought a Pegasus. He’s a nervous kind of man, and my first idea was that in order to make him feel quite secure I would drive him myself. Now I’ll change my mind. He’d be more impressed if I sent the car out with a girl. If you sell the car to him we will pay you a small commission. Remember, he’s a nervous man. You don’t want to show him how fast the car can go. Show him how handy it is in a block or very slow traffic; the ease with which it is steered; the quietness of the engines; the impossibility of a skid.”
“Yes, yes,” I said. “I see all that. I shall sell him that car.”
I was round next morning at eleven. The possible purchaser was an elderly solicitor, retired from practice, who after long searchings of heart had decided that he would have a motor car. He looked dubiously at the big Pegasus waiting to take him his trial trip as if he expected that it might go off any moment. He was a good deal startled when he was told that I should drive him.
“Is that all right?” I heard him ask Mr. James.
“I am sending you out,” said Mr. James, “with one of the best drivers we’ve got.”
I got up, switched on the spark, and the engines started.
“Dear me,” said Mr. Hoskins, “I was always under the impression that it was necessary to wind it up—to turn a handle.”
“So it would be,” I said, “if the car had been standing for a long time, or on a very cold day, but a good four-cylinder car will generally start with switching on the spark.”
“You are a careful driver, I hope,” he said, as I took him through Piccadilly Circus.