"Ten days from now."
"Good!"
Once more the telegrams began to fly. A week later Slingsby told me
the result.
"Owing to unforeseen difficulties, the Festival committee at Villa
Real has reorganised its arrangements, and there will be no aviation
race. Oh, they'll do what they like in neutral countries, will they?
But Peiffer shan't know," he added, with a grin. "Peiffer shall eat of
his own frightfulness."