"OO!" An earsplitting crack was followed by a mosquito-like voice
singing in the wilderness.
"Hullo!"
"Hullo!"
"This is Pike."
"This is Possum. H-hullo, Pike!"
"Hullo, Possum!"
"I say, look here, the General w-wants to know" (here he paused to
throw a dark hidden meaning into the word) "what time--_it_--is."
"What time it is?"
"Yes, what time _it_ is! _It_. Yes, what time it is"--repeated
_fortissimo ad lib_.
"Eleven thirty-five."
"Eleven thirty-five? Why, it's on now. I don't hear anything on the
Front?"
"No, you wouldn't."
"Why not?"
"Because it's all quiet."
"But you said s-something was on?"
"No, I didn't. You asked me what time it was and I told you."
Swallowing hard several times, Possum girded up his loins, so to
speak, gripped the telephone firmly in the right hand this time, and
jumped off again. His "Hullo" sent a thrill through even the Bosch
listening apparatus in the next sector.
"Hullo! L-look here, Pike, we--want--to--know--what time _it_ is."
"Eleven thir--"
"No, no, _it_--_it_"
"What?"
"It! You _know_ what I mean. Damit, what can I call it? Oh--er,
_sports_; what time is your _high jump_?" he added, nodding and
winking knowingly. "Well, what time's the circus? When do you start
for Berlin?"
"I say, Possum, are you all right, old chap?" said a voice full of
concern.
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