[According to the papers, two Frenchmen have agreed to fight a
duel in aeroplanes.]
"Cauliflower!" shrieked Gaspard Volauvent across the little table in
the _estaminet_. His face bristled with rage.
"Serpent!" replied Jacques Rissolo, bristling with equal dexterity.
The two stout little men glared ferociously at each other. Then
Jacques picked up his glass and poured the wine of the country over
his friend's head.
"Drown, serpent!" he said magnificently. He beckoned to the waiter.
"Another bottle," he said. "My friend has drunk all this."
Gaspard removed the wine from his whiskers with the local paper and
leant over the table towards Jacques.
"This must be wiped out in blood," he said slowly. "You understand?"
"Perfectly," replied the other. "The only question is whose."
"Name your weapons," said Gaspard Volauvent grandly.
"Aeroplanes," replied Jacques Rissole after a moment's thought.
"Bah! I cannot fly."
"Then I win," said Jacques simply.
The other looked at him in astonishment.
"What! You fly?"
"No; but I can learn."
"Then I will learn too," said Gaspard with dignity. "We meet--in six
months?"
"Good." Jacques pointed to the ceiling. "Say three thousand feet up."
"Three thousand four hundred," said Gaspard for the sake of
disagreeing.
"After all, that is for our seconds to arrange. My friend Épinard of
the Roullens Aerodrome will act for me. He will also instruct me how
to bring serpents to the ground."
"With the idea of cleansing the sky of cauliflowers," said Gaspard, "I
shall proceed to the flying-ground at Dormancourt; Blanchaille, the
instructor there, will receive your friend."
He bowed and walked out.
Details were soon settled. On a date six months ahead the two
combatants would meet three thousand two hundred feet above the little
town in which they lived, and fight to the death. In the event of both
crashing, the one who crashed last would be deemed the victor. It was
Gaspard's second who insisted on this clause; Gaspard himself felt
that it did not matter.
The first month of instruction went by. At the end of it Jacques
Rissole had only one hope. It was that when he crashed he should crash
on some of Gaspard's family. Gaspard had no hope, but one consolation.
It was that no crash could involve his stomach, which he invariably
left behind him as soon as the aeroplane rose.
At the end of the second month Gaspard wrote to Jacques.
"My friend," he wrote, "the hatred of you which I nurse in my bosom,
and which fills me with the desire to purge you from the sky, is in
danger of being transferred to my instructor. Let us therefore meet
and renew our enmity."
Jacques Rissole wrote back to Gaspard.
"My enemy," he wrote, "there is nobody in the whole of the Roullens
aerodrome whom I do not detest with a detestation beside which my
hatred for you seems as maudlin adoration. This is notwithstanding the
fact that I make the most marvellous progress in the art of flying. It
is merely something in their faces which annoys me. Let me therefore
see yours again, in the hope that it will make me think more kindly of
theirs."
They met, poured wine over each other and parted. After another month
the need of a further stimulant was felt. They met again, and agreed
to insult each other weekly.
On the last day of his training Gaspard spoke seriously to his
instructor.
"You see that I make nothing of it," he said. "My thoughts are ever
with the stomach that I leave behind. Not once have I been in a
position to take control. How then can I fight? My friend, I arrange
it all. You shall take my place."
"Is that quite fair to Rissole?" asked Blanchaille doubtfully.
"Do not think that I want you to hurt him. That is not necessary. He
will hurt himself. Keep out of his way until he has finished with
himself, and then fly back here. It is easy."
It seemed the best way; indeed the only way. Gaspard Volauvent could
never get to the _rendezvous_ alone, and it would be fatal to his
honour if Jacques arrived there and found nobody to meet him.
Reluctantly Blanchaille agreed.
At the appointed hour Gaspard put his head cautiously out of his
bedroom window and gazed up into the heavens. He saw two aeroplanes
straight above him. At the thought that he might have been in one of
them he shuddered violently. Indeed he felt so unwell that the need
for some slight restorative became pressing. He tripped off to the
_estaminet_.
It was empty save for one table. Gaspard walked towards it, hoping
for a little conversation. The occupant lowered the newspaper from in
front of his face and looked up.
It was too much for Gaspard.
"Coward!" he shrieked.
Jacques, who had been just going to say the same thing, hastily
substituted "Serpent!"
"I know you," cried Gaspard. "You send your instructor up in your
place. Poltroon!"
Jacques picked up his glass and poured the wine of the country over
his friend's head.
"Drown, serpent," he said magnificently. He beckoned to the waiter.
"Another bottle," he said. "My friend has drunk all this."
Gaspard removed the wine from his whiskers with Jacques' paper and
leant over him.
"This must be wiped out in blood," he said slowly. "Name your
weapons."
"Submarines," said Jacques after a moment's thought.