The system suits the English mind, but it is highly confusing to
an American who gets into the swirl of traffic at a crossing--and
every London crossing is a swirl of traffic most of the time--and
looks left when he should look right, and looks right when he
should be looking left until the very best he can expect, if he
survive at all, is cross-eyes and nervous prostration.
I lost count of the number of close calls from utter and mussy
destruction I had while in London. Sometimes a policeman took
pity on me and saved me, and again, by quick and frenzied leaping,
I saved myself; but then the London cabmen were poor marksmen at
best. In front of the Savoy one night the same cabman in rapid
succession had two beautiful shots at me and each time missed the
bull's-eye by a disqualifying margin of inches. A New York chauffeur
who had failed to splatter me all over the vicinage at the first
chance would have been ashamed to go home afterward and look his
innocent little ones in the face.
Even now I cannot decide in my own mind which is the more fearsome
and perilous thing--to be afoot in Paris at the mercy of all the
maniacs who drive French motor cars or to be in one of the motor
cars at the mercy of one of the maniacs. Motoring in Paris is the
most dangerous sport known--just as dueling is the safest. There
are some arguments to be advanced in favor of dueling.
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