On the day we were to travel south, Doc piled us all into the largest of the family's cars and we set off in fine fettle, first calling on his elder son at college. Doc's son greeted him from the steps of a building from amongst a group of friends and came over to be introduced. During a school play a short time before, the students had fixed up a magic trick which involved having fumes rise in the background and for the purpose they had used a jar of acid which gave off suitable fumes. When the props were being dismantled one lad at the top of a ladder clumsily dislodged the jar of acid and shouted a warning. Doc's son looked up and got the lot in his face.
Comment here is superfluous.
Driving down to Savannah, from where Doc was going on to Florida, was an experience. At one point somewhere along the route we stopped for gas and a Coke, they had jugs of cider for sale too. These were bought but turned out to be apple-juice rather than cider. So much for the English speaking union. Yet, in Kentucky it is claimed, the natives still speak Elizabethan English, although this claim has recently been shown to be a wishful-thinking daydream, the moral is clear.