“Some speed in her,” answered Björn with a similar oath as the car began to lurch.
“Open the other porthole,” cried Björn, after a while. “I’ll suffocate in this box. This is a new sort of sailing on dry land.” The stout man coughed still more.
“Does it trouble you, sir?” asked Björn, politely.
“Yes.”
Björn gave orders for Anders to close the porthole. The stout gentleman eyed him sharply.
They came to a sharp curve in the road, the car swung round, and Björn nearly fell off his seat.
“Well, I’ll be blasted eternally,” he cried, half surprised and half in sly cunning. “Do you think they’ll send us to hell in this hurry, Anders?”
“Do you always swear like this, my man?” asked the stout gentleman. Björn looked at him with a wink.
“That’s as it happens, my good sir, but I generally do when on shore. Meat goes with bread, as the baker’s dog said when he stole the steak.”
“I do not think it is quite necessary,” said the stout gentleman. “I know, for I am a clergyman.”