“Oh, yes! I know how already. You just stick in a key and turn it, and grab the brake-handle, and take hold of the steering bar, and push and pull whenever you think you ought to.”
“Not very technical language,” said Mr. Fairfield, smiling, “but I think you understand the operation. Jump in, Puss; I’m going with you for your first spin.”
But, though Mr. Fairfield was an interested spectator, Patty manipulated the car all by herself, and seemed to know intuitively a great many of the minor details.
“There’s only one trouble, dad,” she said, as they went spinning along the smooth, hard road, “I can’t take you and Nan with me both at once.”
“Never mind, girlie; when we feel as sociable as that, we’ll go in the big car. Now, Patty, let me see you change the speed.”
Then followed a careful lesson, in speed changing, stopping suddenly, turning, going backward, and all the various emergencies that occur in driving.
“You certainly are a born motorist, Patty,” said her father, at last. “You are unusually clever and quick-witted about knowing what to do, and doing it swiftly and cleanly. Hesitation in motoring often means trouble.”
“It’s because I love it, father. I’d rather motor than go driving or boating or even flying. Aren’t you glad I don’t want an aëroplane, daddy?”
“You wouldn’t get it, if you did. Not even if you earned it yourself, as you did this car. Now, Patty, turn around and let’s go home.”
Skilfully, Patty turned around, and they sped on their homeward way.