With a shriek of the horn, the white car made off like a wild thing. It rocked over the city streets, skimming through the traffic. As they flew along, lines of great trucks stopped for them, mechanicos dove out of their path, while mechanical police waved them on.
Raphael sat silent, terrified at the frightful speed.
‘Well, my boy,’ said the Sorcerer genially, ‘how do you like it?’
‘I hate it,’ said Raphael bitterly.
‘This is civilization,’ was the Sorcerer’s only comment.
‘Wait until I show you the town,’ he went on after a pause. ‘It is a beautiful sight. Avenues any city might be proud of, no waste, no silly parks cluttering up the place. I detest inefficiency.’
‘Why do you drive so fast?’ asked Raphael sullenly as they skidded round a corner.
‘To save time, of course. Time is money. Money is success. That is why we are successful.’
‘Then I don’t want to be successful,’ said Raphael.
‘Pshaw. Nerves. You suffer from nerves. Now my mechanicos have no nerves. It is one of my great inventions.’