From the moment when the car breaks down—and how frequently it does so our own eyes assure us—the payment of its driver and conductor cease. They must remain by the disabled vehicle until a trolley comes to drag it away; their period of waiting may stretch into several hours—it may even extend through the night, but for that part of their time in which they were not actually conveying passengers they will not receive a penny. Some companies have indeed a rule upon their code that payment will be made if the road engineer employed by the firm certifies that the driver is not responsible for the accident. One can understand that certificates, the granting of which means money out of pocket to the company, are not likely to be very lavishly issued by an engineer in the company’s employ; and there are men who declare that this rule is a dead letter and that broken journeys are never paid for. Industrially speaking, the history of the motor omnibus industry in London has been unfortunate. One, at least, of the firms that appeared early in the field followed the tactics rendered familiar by the example of American trusts. It began, as the trust does, by underselling competitors, and offered the passenger a longer journey for a penny. A hope was probably entertained that these low fares would deter the older companies from setting up motor conveyances. The older companies were not deterred; but they found themselves compelled to compete on their rival’s terms; so that, for a time, the curious alternative was offered to the Londoner, of travelling from the Marble Arch to Victoria, either in a slow horse omnibus, for 2d., or in a quick motor omnibus for 1d. To travel for 1d. instead of for 2d. is the desire of every passenger; but the gratification may be bought too dear, and danger is a high price to pay. How much danger the passenger incurs, who travels in the motor omnibuses of certain companies may be guessed by persons who have heard—as I have—the drivers of these vehicles talking among themselves of the accidents and of the hairbreadth escapes that have formed part of their own experience. The running into the river of the Barnes omnibus was foretold, less than a week before its occurrence, as a thing that must, sooner or later, come to pass. The trained men who face them are fully aware what risks they are running; and to some of them, no doubt, the very risk is an attraction. No motor man need complain that modern life lacks incident and adventure. The passenger, on the other hand, who, when he sits behind a horse, can see for himself its weakness or its restiveness, cannot possibly judge the strength or the weakness of machinery that is not even open to his view. Some omnibuses, no doubt, are in excellent condition; but it is equally certain that there are others, the essential parts of which are perilously near to being worn out. Accumulated experience has convinced even so technically unskilled