ace of exposure. As for the Cigarette, who has rowed races in the
heat of his blood, but now disowns these slips of his wanton youth,
his case was still more desperate; for the Royal Nautical proposed
that he should take an oar in one of their eights on the morrow, to
compare the English with the Belgian stroke. I could see my friend
perspiring in his chair whenever that particular topic came up.
And there was yet another proposal which had the same effect on
both of us. It appeared that the champion canoeist of Europe (as
well as most other champions) was a Royal Nautical Sportsman. And
if we would only wait until the Sunday, this infernal paddler would
be so condescending as to accompany us on our next stage. Neither
of us had the least desire to drive the coursers of the sun against
Apollo.

When the young man was gone, we countermanded our candles, and
ordered some brandy and water. The great billows had gone over our
head. The Royal Nautical Sportsmen were as nice young fellows as a
man would wish to see, but they were a trifle too young and a
thought too nautical for us. We began to see that we were old and
cynical; we liked ease and the agreeable rambling of the human mind
about this and the other subject; we did not want to disgrace our
native land by messing an eight, or toiling pitifully in the wake
of the champion canoeist. In short, we had recourse to flight. It
seemed ungrateful, but we tried to make that good on a card loaded
with sincere compliments. And indeed it was no time for scruples;
we seemed to feel the hot breath of the champion on our necks.



AT MAUBEUGE