"The Lightning Conductor: The Strange Adventures of a Motor-Car" by C. N. Williamson, A. M. Williamson. Published by Good Press. Good Press publishes a wide range of titles that encompasses every genre. From well-known classics & literary fiction and non-fiction to forgotten−or yet undiscovered gems−of world literature, we issue the books that need to be read. Each Good Press edition has been meticulously edited and formatted to boost readability for all e-readers and devices. Our goal is to produce eBooks that are user-friendly and accessible to everyone in a high-quality digital format.
Оглавление
C. N. Williamson. The Lightning Conductor: The Strange Adventures of a Motor-Car
The Lightning Conductor: The Strange Adventures of a Motor-Car
Table of Contents
LIGHTNING CONDUCTOR
HENRY HOLT & CO
THE LIGHTNING CONDUCTOR
The Horrible Restaurant of the Boule d'Or, Suresnes, Near Paris,
FROM JACK WINSTON TO LORD LANE
MOLLY RANDOLPH TO HER FATHER
MOLLY RANDOLPH TO HER FATHER
JACK WINSTON TO LORD LANE
MOLLY RANDOLPH TO HER FATHER
FROM JACK WINSTON TO LORD LANE
FROM JACK WINSTON TO LORD LANE
JACK WINSTON TO LORD LANE
MOLLY RANDOLPH TO HER FATHER
FROM JACK WINSTON TO LORD LANE
MOLLY RANDOLPH TO HER FATHER
JIMMY PAYNE TO CHAUNCEY RANDOLPH
MOLLY RANDOLPH TO HER FATHER
FROM MOLLY RANDOLPH TO HER FATHER
FROM JACK WINSTON TO LORD LANE
MISS SYBIL BARROW TO HER SCHOOL FRIEND, MISS MINNIE HOBSON, OF EDGBASTON, BIRMINGHAM
MOLLY RANDOLPH TO HERSELF
Отрывок из книги
C. N. Williamson, A. M. Williamson
Published by Good Press, 2019
.....
You'll think I'm exaggerating, but I vow we had not gone more than ten miles further before that chain broke again. This time I believe Rattray shed tears. As for Aunt Mary, her attitude was that of cold, Christian resignation. She had sacrificed herself to me, and would continue to do so, since such was her Duty, with a capital D; indeed, she had expected this, and from the first she had told me, etc., etc. At last the chain was forced on again and fastened with a new bolt. We sped forward for a few deceitful moments, but-detail is growing monotonous. After that something happened to the car, on the average, every hour. Chains snapped or came off; if belts didn't break, they were too short or too long. Mysterious squeaks made themselves heard; the crank-head got hot (what head wouldn't?), and we had to wait until it thought fit to cool, a process which could scarcely be accelerated by Rattray's language. He now announced that this make of car, and my specimen in particular, was the vilest in the automobile world. If a worse could be made, it did not yet exist! When I ventured to inquire why he had not expressed this opinion before leaving London, he announced that it was not his business to express opinions, but to drive such vehicles as he was engaged to drive. I hoped that there must be something wrong with the automobile which Rattray didn't understand; that in Paris I could have it put right, and that even yet all might go well. For a few miles we went with reasonable speed, and no mishaps; but half-way up a long, long hill the mystic "power" vanished once more, and there we were stranded nearly opposite a forge, from which strolled three huge, black-faced men, adorned with pitying smiles.
"Hire them to push," I said despairingly to Rattray, and as he turned a sulky back to obey, I heard a whirring sound, and an automobile flew past us up the steep hill, going about fifteen miles an hour. That did seem the last straw; and with hatred, malice, and all uncharitableness in my breast, I was shaking my fist after the thing, when it stopped politely.
