"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.
A crop of full-bodied beads appeared on the Brigade Major's brow. His right hand was paralysed by the unceasing grip of the receiver. There was a strained look in his eyes as of a man watching for the ration-party.
"S-something," he said, calmly and surely mastering his fate—"s-something is happening to-night."
"You're a cheery sort of bloke, aren't you?"
"Good God, are you cracked or what? There's a—"
"Careful, careful!" called the General from his comfortable chair in the other room.
"O-oh!" sang the mosquito voice, "now I know what you mean. You want to know what time our—er—ha! ha! you know—the—er—don't you?"
"The—ha! ha! yes"—they leered frightfully at each other; it was a horrible spectacle. No one would think that Possum had so much latent evil in him.