"Yes, Sir."
"How did you do it?"
"Well, Sir, to mention only the internal evidence—an 'Artist'"—Williams waved his hand expressively towards the manure-heap; "'thirty-three'—one of the youngest C.O.'s in the Army, I believe?" He bowed politely.
"Ha!" said the Colonel.
"'Literary'—I remember your stopping Captain Jones's leave for a split infinitive in a ration return. 'Travelled'—you have travelled in Turkey, I think, Sir?"
The Colonel, who had been blown out of a trench at Krithia, nodded shortly.
"'Mentally isolated'—I'm afraid, Sir, our Mess doesn't afford very much for a mind like yours to bite on. I'm afraid, too, that such correspondence as—as mine, for instance—can hardly be called either brilliant or interesting."
"I don't know," said the Colonel. "That was a very good bit about the destruction of Ypres. What was it?—Ha, yes—A Brobdingnagian act—"
"—of brachycephalic brutality, Sir. But that was not original."
"If you can't be original yourself," said the Colonel kindly, "the next best thing is to quote from those who can."