Touchy Fellow

Young Boris Tchetveroukine, the proud son of a proud White Russian emigre naval officer, was always a touchy fellow. His colleagues at Brabant's food research institute, where he was a teacher, found that he felt insulted at the drop of a word and always insisted on his own way. Last week, after eleven years at the school, he went on trial before a governmental disciplinary committee for insubordination. For one day, with ominous patience, Boris listened to the charges laid against him. On the second day, he faced his detractors with an ultimatum: "I'll give you just five seconds to retract these charges. Otherwise, I will present you with some overwhelming evidence."

With that, Boris Tchetveroukine, student, sportsman and crack sharpshooter, sat down. There was silence in the court. For five seconds, Boris rummaged in a briefcase, then stood up again. "Here," he announced, "are two documents with which I will convince you." Thereupon, he began blazing away with an automatic in one hand and a revolver in the other.

One man fell dead, another lay mortally wounded, a third was stretched on the floor seriously hurt, while a fourth bullet snapped a waistcoat button off a key witness. Spectators dived under benches and hid behind chairs as Boris scattered 20 more shots about the courtroom. When both guns were empty, he paused for a moment to reload. He fired two more shots. Then the touchy fellow aimed a third at his own temple and pulled the trigger.

"I disapprove of my son," said Boris' father when he heard the news in Brussels, "but I do not disapprove of him for having killed these people. I disapprove only because he killed himself."

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