There were two machines. I gripped Ferd's arm and held him back desperately.
"The chauffeurs?" I gasped.
"We'll kill 'em, if necessary," he said between clenched teeth.
We were loping down the road toward the machines—Ferd sloshing, rather, with each step; and we could hear loud calling from the islands and the banging of oars in oarlocks.
"F-Ferd," I managed to say, "c-can—you—drive—a—car?"
"Why, you can, can't you?"
"I—can—d-drive—my—own car. I d-don't—know about—any other."
"They're all alike. The principle's the same."
"I don't know anything about the principles," I said despairingly. "And I won't touch a strange machine."
"Oh, very well!" said Ferd sulkily. "We'll make a deuce of a stir—arrested here for stealing a case of champagne; but never mind. It'll blow over."