He seemed to feel some explanation was due to Mr. Direck.  “You see, at first—­it’s perfectly simple—­one steers round a corner and then one doesn’t put the wheels straight again, and so one keeps on going round—­more than one meant to.  It’s the bicycle habit; the bicycle rights itself.  One expects a car to do the same thing.  It was my fault.  The book explains all this question clearly, but just at the moment I forgot.”

He reflected and experimented in a way that made the engine scold and fuss....

“You see, she won’t budge for the reverse....  She’s—­embedded....  Do you mind getting out and turning the wheel back?  Then if I reverse, perhaps we’ll get a move on....”

Mr. Direck descended, and there were considerable efforts.

“If you’d just grip the spokes.  Yes, so....  One, Two, Three!...  No!  Well, let’s just sit here until somebody comes along to help us.  Oh!  Somebody will come all right.  Won’t you get up again?”

And after a reflective moment Mr. Direck resumed his seat beside Mr. Britling....

Section 6

The two gentlemen smiled at each other to dispel any suspicion of discontent.

“My driving leaves something to be desired,” said Mr. Britling with an air of frank impartiality.  “But I have only just got this car for myself—­after some years of hired cars—­the sort of lazy arrangement where people supply car, driver, petrol, tyres, insurance and everything at so much a month.  It bored me abominably.  I can’t imagine now how I stood it for so long.  They sent me down a succession of compact, scornful boys who used to go fast when I wanted to go slow, and slow when I wanted to go fast, and who used to take every corner on the wrong side at top speed, and charge dogs and hens for the sport of it, and all sorts of things like that.  They would not even let me choose my roads.  I should have got myself a car long ago, and driven it, if it wasn’t for that infernal business with a handle one had to do when the engine stopped.  But here, you see, is a reasonably cheap car with an electric starter—­American, I need scarcely say.  And here I am—­going at my own pace.”

Mr. Direck glanced for a moment at the pretty disorder of the hedge in which they were embedded, and smiled and admitted that it was certainly much more agreeable.

Before he had finished saying as much Mr. Britling was talking again.

He had a quick and rather jerky way of speaking; he seemed to fire out a thought directly it came into his mind, and he seemed to have a loaded magazine of thoughts in his head.  He spoke almost exactly twice as fast as Mr. Direck, clipping his words much more, using much compacter sentences, and generally cutting his corners, and this put Mr. Direck off his game.