It skidded all over the place, as if it were drunk, and, aided by Marigold, described a series of ghastly half-circles.

At last he performed various convulsive feats of jugglery, with the result that the car, which was nosing steadily for the ditch, came to a stand-still.

Then Marigold informed me in unemotional tones that the steering gear had gone.
"It's all the fault of that there dog," said he, twisting his head so as to glare at the little beast, who, after a yelp and a bound, had calmly recaptured his position and resumed his interrupted occupation.
"It's all the fault of that there Marigold," I retorted, "who can't see the sense of using studded tyres on a greasy surface.

What's to be done now ?" Marigold thrust his hand beneath his wig and scratched his head.

He didn't exactly know.