'Dunno. I found it in the field between the Pavilion and the infirmary.'
'Oh! well, it doesn't matter much. They're just what I wanted, which is the great thing. Thanks. Shut the door, will you?' Whereupon Evans retired, the richer by many apples, and Morrison resumed his siesta at the point where he had left off.
'Got that poem done yet?' said Smith to Reynolds, pouring out a cup of tea for the invalid on the following Sunday.
'Two lumps, please. No, not quite.'
'Great Caesar, man, when'll it be ready, do you think? It's got to go in tomorrow.'
'Well, I'm really frightfully sorry, but I got hold of a grand book. Ever read—?'
'Isn't any of it done?' asked Smith.
'Only the first verse, I'm afraid. But, look here, you aren't keen on getting the prize. Why not send in only the one verse? It makes a fairly decent poem.'
'Hum! Think the Old 'Un'll pass it?'
'He'll have to. There's nothing in the rules about length. Here it is if you want it.'