In “How it Happened,” the narrator’s privileged arrogance endangers both his own life and that of his chauffeur, Perkins. Despite having no experience driving his new car, the narrator insists on driving himself, knowing full well that this might put his and Perkins’s lives in jeopardy. As a person of wealth and status who does not “often have to pay the full price” for his “foolish” actions, the narrator disregards the danger and ignores Perkins’s warning, believing himself to be exempt from any consequences. Later, when they reach Claystall Hill, the narrator does not hand control of the car over to Perkins, despite knowing that the hill is one of the most dangerous in London. This arrogance ultimately results in the car crashing, killing the narrator and injuring Perkins. The fact that the narrator dies but Perkins survives, however, suggests that, while privileged people often escape the consequences of their actions, their actions will ultimately catch up with them. The world of “How It Happened,” in other words, is a world governed by moral principles in which even wealthy, high-status people eventually get what is coming to them, and the narrator is no exception. Despite the narrator’s arrogant belief that he is exempt from the consequences of his actions, he ultimately pays the full price for his reckless behavior.
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Privilege, Arrogance, and Consequences Quotes in How It Happened
“I’ll try her myself,” said I, and I climbed into the driver’s seat.
“The gears are not the same,” said he. “Perhaps, sir, I had better drive.”
“No; I should like to try her,” said I.
It was foolish, no doubt, to begin to learn a new system in the dark, but one often does foolish things, and one has not always to pay the full price for them.
“I’ll keep her steady,” said he, “if you care to jump and chance it. We can never get round that curve. Better jump, sir.”
“No,” said I; “I’ll stick it out. You can jump if you like.”
“I’ll stick it out with you, sir,” said he.
I remember thinking what an awful and yet majestic sight we should appear to any one who met us. It was a narrow road, and we were just a great, roaring, golden death to any one who came in our path.
“Here I am,” I answered, but they did not seem to hear me. They were all bending over something which lay in front of the car.
“Stanley! I cried, and the words seemed to choke my throat – “Stanley you are dead.”
He looked at me with the same old gentle, wistful smile.
“So are you,” he answered.
