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 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. THE HANDICAP OF SEX I found myself in the same drawing-room with Anne the other day, so I offered her one of my favourite sandwiches. (I hadn't seen her for some time, and there were plenty in the plate.) "If you are coming to talk to me," she said, "I think I had better warn you that I am a Bolshevist." "Then you won't want a sandwich," I said gladly, and I withdrew the plate. "I suppose," said Anne, "that what I really want is a vote." "Haven't you got one? Sorry; I mean, of course you haven't got one." "But it isn't only that. I want to see the whole position of women altered. I want to see--" I looked round for her mother. "Tell me," I said gently; "when did this come over you?" "In the last few weeks," said Anne. "And I don't wonder." I settled down with the sandwiches to listen. Anne first noted symptoms of it at a luncheon-party at the beginning of the month. She had asked the young man on her right if she could have some of his salt, and as he passed it to her he covered up any embarrassment she might be feeling by saying genially, "Well, and how long is this coal strike going to last?" "I don't know," said Anne truthfully. "I suppose you're ready for the Revolution? The billiard-room and all the spare bedrooms well stocked?" Anne saw that this was meant humorously, and she laughed. "I expect we shall be all right," she said. "You'll have to give a coal-party, and invite all your friends. 'Fire, 9--12.'" "What a lovely idea!" said Anne, smiling from sheer habit. "Mind you come." She got her face straight again with a jerk and turned to the solemn old gentleman on her other side. He was ready for her. "This is a terrible disaster for the country, this coal strike," he said. "Isn't it?" said Anne; and feeling that that was inadequate, added, "Terrible!"