g, it's only to do as others do."

Monsieur Patissot, on the other hand, did not feel at all well. His
discomfort, at first vague, kept increasing, and finally took on a
definite form. He felt, indeed, as though he were being tossed by the
sea, and he was suffering from seasickness. After the first attack had
calmed down, he proposed leaving, but Boivin grew so furious that they
almost came to blows. The fat man, moved by pity, rowed the boat back,
and, as soon as Patissot had recovered from his seasickness, they
bethought themselves of luncheon.

Two restaurants presented themselves. One of them, very small, looked
like a beer garden, and was patronized by the poorer fishermen. The other
one, which bore the imposing name of "Linden Cottage," looked like a
middle-class residence and was frequented by the aristocracy of the rod.
The two owners, born enemies, watched each other with hatred across a
large field, which separated them, and where the white house of the dam
keeper and of the inspector of the life-saving department stood out
against the green grass. Moreover, these two officials disagreed, one of
them upholding the beer garden and the other one defending the Elms, and
the internal feuds which arose in these three houses reproduced the whole
history of mankind.

Boivin, who knew the beer garden, wished to go there, exclaiming: "The
food is very good, and it isn't expensive; you'll see. Anyhow, Monsieur
Patissot, you needn't expect to get me tipsy the way you did last Sunday.
My wife was furious, you know; and she has sworn never to forgive you!"

The fat gentleman declared that he would only eat at the Elms, because it
was an excellent place and the cooking was as good as in the best
restaurants in Paris.

"Do as you wish," declared Boivin; "I am going where I am accustomed to
go." He left. Patissot, displeased at his friend's actions, followed the
fat gentleman.

They ate together, exchanged ideas, discussed opinions and found that
they were made for each other.

After the meal everyone started to fish again, but the two new friends
left together. Following along the banks, they stopped near the railroad
bridge and, still talking, they threw their lines in the water. The fish
still refused to bite, but Patissot was now making the best of it.

A family was approaching. The father, whose whiskers stamped him as a
judge, was holding an extraordinarily long rod; three boys of different
sizes were carrying