In the aggregate I must have spent months of my life doing physical culture exercises underneath it.

You got into it at the back; it was about ten feet high, and you started it at the side by a handle in its midriff.
But I loved it.

It still went, if treated kindly.

Barbara loathed it and insulted it, so that with her as passenger, it sulked and refused to go.
But Susan's adoration surpassed even mine.

Its demoniac groans and rattles and convulsive quakings appealed to her unspoiled sense of adventure.
"Barbara has gone away with the Daimler," said I, "and as I don't keep a fleet of cars, I had to choose between this and the donkey-cart.