I shall here mention an incident which occurred to myself, illustrative of the maxim that in matters sporting you should not prophesy unless you know.
My third adventure, of which I spoke above, was an attempt to realise my prophecy about certain results of a competition in speed between the autocar and the South of London railways on the route to the Crystal Palace. A car engaged for the party came whirling round into Whitehall Court in great style, onto which the secretary, myself and my son, whom I wished to introduce to the joys of automobilism, mounted gaily. We started and rounded into the Embankment, driven by the principal engineer of a company that shall be nameless. A cautious driver evidently, as the pace showed. Too cautious apparently, as a further diminution of pace indicated. 'Give him the w'ip, Gov'ner,' from the delighted cabby. Engineer's face a study. Steers to near side; motion ceases. Crowd gathers; passengers try to look happy. 'Don't 'it 'im, sit on 'is 'ead! ' shouts the red-faced 'bus-driver. Passengers desert stranded wreck. End of experience No. 3. Yet, like Mr. Ellis, Mr. and Mrs. Koosen and my compatriot Mr. Elliot, I am as keen as ever.
I have this excellent little story from Mrs. Coleridge Kennard: