Well, when my nerves were all on edge with trying to dodge the posts, I was ordered to pass a car just ahead of me. This I did triumphantly, and cut in ahead. Unfortunately, at that moment its speed must suddenly have increased, for the rear hub of our car nicked a piece out of the front tire of the other car. What the driver of that car said I decline to repeat. It is not well you should know such things! But I am now sure that the clerical essayist already alluded to knows more about Pelagianism than he does of the vernacular of New York. I confess I had a momentary unholy hope that my "Boss" would answer him in a way it would be sinful for me to imitate, but instead he asked me if I had a "pull" with the police. When I replied I had not he sarcastically remarked that he supposed I must have, seeing how hard I was trying to "get run in." A few minutes later he directed me to run up to the Concourse. You may remember there is a sharp rise from Jerome Avenue, so thinking he wished to find out if I remembered his lecture "On the Art of Driving," in which he had emphasized the importance of "giving her gas" at the foot of a hill, and then "watch her pick up," I gave her gas and watched her pick up. Indeed the speed soon became alarming. At the top of the hill there is a sharp turn into the Concourse leading onto a bridge which spans the road on which a trolley line passes beneath. Onto this bridge, then, we whirled, the hub of the off rear wheel striking the corner of the buttress of the bridge and slewing us half-way round, so that the car was now headed toward the frail railing which marks rather than guards the roadway. I was still "giving her gas"--not knowing longer what I was doing--and have no doubt but that in another second we should have plunged below, had not the man wrenched the wheel from my hands and straightened the car out. I was fully prepared for profanity but not for the wailing prayer which issued from his frightened lips. I call it a prayer, for such it was in form, though the bitterness of his tone made it more dreadful than any oath. This is what he said: "O my G--d, if ever I live to get home, I'll never do anything riskier than drivin' in a Vanderbilt Cup race." After this we changed places by mutual consent.