Each time we called on friends; sometimes they were in, sometimes out; it was all so casual,--a cup of tea, a little chat, sometimes without shutting down the motor,--the briefest of calls, all the more charming because brief,--really, it was strange.
We see a town ahead; calling to a man by the roadside,-- "What place is that ?" "L--" is the long drawn shout as we go flying by.
"Why, the S___s live there.

I have not seen her since we were at school.

I would like to stop." "Well, just for a moment." In a trice the machine is at the door; Mrs.S___ is out--will return in a moment; so sorry, cannot wait, leave cards; call again some other day; and we turn ten or fifteen or twenty miles to one side to see another old school-friend for five or ten minutes -- just long enough for the chauffeur to oil-up while the school-mates chat.
The automobile annihilates time; it dispenses with watch and clock; it vaguely notes the coming up and the going down of the sun; but it goes right on by sunlight, by moonlight, by lamplight, by no light at all, until it is brought to a stand-still or capriciously stops of its own accord..