Three kilometres out, there was a bend, and the needle of the speedometer, which, after rising steadily, had come to rest against the stop, retreated momentarily to record fifty-five.... We sang past a wayside farm, dropped into a valley, soared up the opposite side, flashed in and out of an apparently deserted village, shot up a long incline, and slowed up for a curve.... Then some poultry demanded consideration. As we left them behind, the agitation of two led horses necessitated a still further reduction of speed. We lost such time as I had made, and more also. Still, we were going downhill, and, as if impatient of the check, the car sprang forward.... We rose from the bottom with the smooth rush of a non-stop elevator. As we breasted the rise, I saw another and steeper dale before us. The road was becoming a switchback.... At the top of the opposite hill was a big grey cabriolet coming towards us. At the foot was a panting lorry going our way. An approaching Ford was about to pass it. The cabriolet and Pong fell down their respective slopes.... The Ford was abreast of the lorry, and the cabriolet was prepared to pass the two when we arrived. It was a question of giving way--at least, it ought to have been. It was, however, too late. Happily, there was more room than time at our disposal--a very little more. There was no time at all.... For one never-to-be-forgotten instant there were four vehicles in a row. I doubt if an ordinary matchbox could have been passed between our near-side running-board and that of the cabriolet. I could certainly have touched the lorry, had I put out my hand.... Then we swept on and up and over the crest. Thereafter all was plain sailing. As we ran into Peyrehorade, I glanced at my watch. I had lost my bet by about a quarter of a minute. But for the led horses, we should have run to time.... Upon one matter we were all agreed, and that was that the driver of the grey cabriolet was going much too fast. So soon as we had passed through the town, Berry and I changed places. Almost immediately the road deteriorated. Its fine straightforward rolling nature was maintained: the surface, however, was in tatters.... After ten kilometres of misery, my brother-in-law slowed up and stopped. Then he turned to me. "Have you ever driven upon this road (sic) before?" I shook my head. "Well, you can start now," was the reply. "I'm fed up, I am. I'd rather drive on the beach." With that he opened his door. "Oh, and give me back that cigar." "Courage," I said, detaining him. "It can't last." "Pardon me," said Berry, "but it can last for blistering leagues. I know these roads. Besides, my right knee's getting tremulous." "It's quite good practice," I ventured.