This reminds me of a dark night in Shanghai once when this writer went through a very horrible two minutes. The electricity had gone off, leaving practically the whole of the Central District in blackness, was a heavy, wet February night,—wet, bitterly cold, slippery' and generally miserable. I had worked Into at my office. "I had not been to the Club, and was driving home in anticipation of a com fortable fireside. When I passed the Racecourse the "juice" went off, and all that I had to light my way were my own headlights, which were of little value against the driv. ing rain and sleet. All went well, with the exception of a skid oF two, until I got to the corner at! St.' George's Farm, about ten or 20 yards this Side of the Well. Everything was in darkness. 1 could faintly hear the yelling of the Chinese at the corner who drove a thriving trade in dirty shakedown places, but could see nothing, and contented myself with drive along at possibly less then ten miles an hour in my little coupe.
Suddenly T felt the car lurch a little, and it was clear that I hit" something. Instinctively in went the clutch and on went the brakes, and, stepping out in the rain, T asked in Chinese whether I had hit anybody. Groping down almost on my hands und knees felt around the front wheels, but could find nothing.. To my enquiry ies no response came, so 1 doci¢ed that I had imagined' that I had hit something. Possibly I had a puncture. I kicked the four tyres in the rain, but they were all standing up. It'was futile standing there getting wet through, so I started most uneuphemistic sound which has a much more urcuphemistiue meaning and is spelt... "Tw-ce-¢ eclll1!" Tt is the quintessence of anathema. I could not see this man—merely felt him brush past me, probably as much surprised as T was. called in the direction where the dull vibrations of this unpro-nouriceable word came from, rho one answered, and having assui ed myself that I could do no more, got in and drove off, assured that if anything were really wrong I could find it out in the morning as T drove down to office again, But I have not heard anything ree. Whether I ran over this man—whether I had hit a big sto or a log of wood—whether he had just come wandering by and run in terror—whether Iwas or, without, as T have going to the Club T had developed a jumpy imagination, I cannot tall to "this day. Anyway, this was an occasion upon which there was excuse for the driver. For had I wished [might have foe en sitting down on the Bubbling Well right down to the pro-sent moment trying to discover what damage to life or property I had done. As it was, I went back home hoping hard that T had not hurt anyone. Here in America, however, there is little excuse, for, you see, the electricity rarely' goes off and leaves us in outer dark:
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.