* * * * *
La Haute Cuisine.
"Cook; French; age 38; wages L25-L30 week."--_Morning Post._
* * * * *
TO THE DEATH.
[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.
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