“We’ll be there by night,” I snarled. “Say, we’ll just call it a ’possum hunt, eh?”
This made him mad, and he did not speak till he got to the big hill.
Here at the foot we stopped and sat, throbbing.
Horatius fumbled with a side brake a moment, touched a pedal and looked wise.
“What’s all this for?” I asked.
“I’m resting for a little headway before taking that steep hill. And say, while we’re at it, you ought to know something about a machine—you might be called on to help me in an emergency.”
I turned pale. Up to this time I had felt secure. Now I understood something of the feelings of that pair of mules that never saw danger until they had passed it.
“Why, I thought you knew all about it,” I began.
“Of course I do, but something might happen to me. You might be thrown on your own resources. Now here,” he went on, “this little lever at your foot is the sparker—it quickens things—the next one is the throttle; that means more power. This is the switch-plug here; this is the starting crank and this the brake. Now remember and watch me start.”
He did, the thing starting slowly up the hill and then beginning to go in little jumps, exactly like a horse galloping.