Granny knew I’d been in the train for two nights, and she had a huge breakfast ready for me. Later she told me there’d been a letter from Uncle Ken. "He says he’s the manager in Firpo’s hotel in Simla," she said. "The salary is very good. It’s a steady job and I hope he keeps it." Three days later Uncle Ken was on the veranda steps with his bedding roll and battered suitcase. "Have you given up the hotel job?" asked Granny. "No," said Uncle Ken. "They have closed down." "I hope it wasn’t because of you." "No, Aunt Ellen. The bigger hotels in the hill stations are closing down." "Well, never mind. Come along and have your lunch." Over lunch, Uncle Ken talked very seriously about ways and means of earning a living. "There is only one taxi in the whole of Dehra," he mused. "Surely there is business for another?" "I’m sure there is," said Granny. "But where does it get you? In the first place, you don’t have a taxi. And in the second place, you can’t drive." "I can soon learn. There’s a driving school in town. And I can use Uncle’s old car." "I don’t think it will run now," said Granny. "Of course, it will. It just needs some oiling and greasing and a spot of paint." "All right, learn to drive." So, Uncle Ken joined the driving school. After a month Uncle Ken announced that he could drive and that he was taking the car out for a trial run. "You haven’t got your license yet," said Granny. "Oh, I won’t take it far," said Uncle Ken. "Just down the road and back again." He spent all morning cleaning up the car. Granny gave him money for a can of petrol. After tea, Uncle Ken said, "Come along, Ruskin, hop in and I will give you a ride. Bring Mohan along too." Mohan and I needed no urging. We got into the car beside Uncle Ken. "Now don’t go too fast, Ken," said Granny anxiously. "You are not used to the car as yet." Uncle Ken nodded and smiled and gave two sharp toots on the horn. He was feeling pleased with himself. Driving through the gate, he nearly ran over a cat. Miss Kellner, coming out for her evening rickshaw ride, saw Uncle Ken at the wheel of the car and ran indoors again. Uncle Ken drove straight and fast, tootling the horn without a break. At the end of the road there was a roundabout. "We’ll turn here," said Uncle Ken, "and then drive back again." He turned the steering wheel, we began going round the roundabout, but the steering wheel wouldn’t turn all the way, not as much as Uncle Ken would have liked it to... So, instead he went on and straight through the Maharaja of Jetpur’s garden wall. It was a single-brick wall, and the car knocked it down and emerged on the other side without any damage to the car or any of its occupants. Uncle Ken brought it to a halt in the middle of the Maharaja’s lawn. Running across the grass came the Maharaja himself. When he saw that it was Uncle Ken at the wheel, the Maharaja beamed with pleasure. "Delighted to see you, old chap!" he exclaimed. "Jolly decent of you to drop in again. How about a game of tennis?"