We knew that—for we had just drained our trench into theirs.
I took my time and when not picking fish bones gazed, reflectively, at the miserable weather outside. I chatted in English with British Tommies and exchanged a few remarks in French with the little waitress. At the cashier’s counter, a stranger, dressed as an English private soldier, rasped out, in an aggressive, authoritative voice.
“Here! You speak very good English.”
In spite of not liking his tone, I responded, “Oh, I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? Well, I know. You speak as good English as I do.”
“I don’t know that you have any monopoly on the English language.”
“You don’t know, eh, you don’t know? I would like to know what you do know.”
”Well, I know something you don’t.”
“What’s that?”
“I know enough to mind my own business.”