A Footnote

Gaius and Le Bon David were halfway to Goolwa. They walked along the river path beside the dilapidated wooden jetties and the empty houseboats. The river was a bilious shade of green and the wind whipped up small spitting waves.

I must buy myself some new shoes, said Le Bon David. My feet are hurting. It's a long walk into Goolwa. Your shoes look comfortable.

Mmm, said Gaius, who was thinking about biscuits, and birds.

Yes, continued Le Bon David. I'm thinking of getting some Crocs.

Crocs? said Gaius. There are crocodiles here?

No, no! said Le Bon David. Crocs are shoes. But you weren't to know. I suppose you're more interested in wildlife than I am.

I am, agreed Gaius. Birds, worms, anything of a natural description. By the way, I've finished my article for Velosophy.

Oh jolly good! said Le Bon David. Have you given it to Marie?

Not yet, said Gaius. Would you like to have a look at it first and tell me what you think?

He took the notebook out of his pocket and handed it to Le Bon David.

Le Bon David skimmed through the notes of A Bicyclists Guide.

Pheww! he whistled, when he'd finished. This is awfully good. Has Margaret read it?

No, said Gaius, although she did help me with the title.

She may have a few words to say, said Le Bon David. She comes out of it rather badly. By the way, what was the interesting thing you learned about sandworms?

They have serrated jaws, said Gaius, made of sclerotised collagen.

Imagine! said Le Bon David. Well, I think you should put that in as a footnote.

If you think so, said Gaius. I will.

It will be somewhat comical, said Le Bon David.

Comical! Why? asked Gaius.

Information gained by foot, said Le Bon David. Margaret's foot. When she got bitten. A footnote.

Oh yes, said Gaius. I see.