I was about to take him by the throat and teach him a little better manners when he arose and walked over to the machine again. He got in and started the motor, and listened intently while I ran alongside. Then, with a great effort he controlled his feelings and spoke.
“Ladies,” he said between his teeth, “we shall have to postpone going to Port Lafayette. I am afraid to drive this car any farther. There is something very, very serious the matter with it.”
Then, when the women had disappeared, my wife walking rapidly so as to arrive at home before her cake was scorched, Millington turned to me.
“John,” he said with emotion, “you must excuse the feeling I showed. I was upset; I admit that I was overcome. I have owned this car four years, but in all that time, although I have started for Port Lafayette nearly every day, the car has never behaved as it has just behaved. I am a brave man, John, and I have never been afraid of a motor-car before, but when my car acts as this car has just acted, I am afraid!”
I could see he was speaking the truth. His face was white about the mouth, and the tense lines showed he was nerving himself to do his duty. His voice trembled with the intensity of his self-control.
“John,” he said, taking my hand, “were you listening to the car?”
“No,” I had to admit. “No, Millington, I was not. I am ashamed to say it, but at the moment my mind was elsewhere. But,” I added, as if in self defence, “I am pretty sure I did not hear that knocking. I remember quite distinctly that I was not holding on to anything, and when the engine knocks—But what did you hear?”
A shiver of involuntary fear passed over Millington, and he lowered his voice to a frightened whisper. He glanced fearfully at the automobile.
“Nothing!” he said.
“What?” I cried. I could not hide my astonishment and, I am afraid, my disbelief. I would not, for the world, have had Millington think I thought he was prevaricating.