"We sent you the time mid-day."
"Well, we haven't had it. C-can you give me any indication, w-without actually s-saying it, you know?"
"Well now," said the mosquito, "You know how many years' service I've got? Multiply by two and add the map square of this headquarters."
"Well, look here," it sang again, "you remember the number of the billet where I had dinner with you three weeks ago? Well, halve that and add two."
"Half nine and add two" (aside: "These midnight mathematics will be the death of me—ah! that's between six and seven?"). Aloud: "But that's daylight."
"No, it isn't. Which dinner are you thinking of?"
With the sweat pouring down his face, both hands now clasping the telephone—his right being completely numbed—he called upon the gods to witness the foolishness of mortals. Suddenly a hideous cackle of mosquito-laughter filtered through and, by some diabolical contrivance of the signals, the tiny voice swelled into a bellow close to his ear.
"If you really want to know, old Possum," it said, "the raid took place two hours ago!"
"I hope," said Possum, much relieved, but speaking with concentrated venom, "I h-hope you may be strafed with boiling— Are you there?" Being assured that he was he slapped his receiver twice, and, much gratified at the unprintable expression of the twice-stunned-one at the other end, went to tell the General—who, he found, had gone to bed and was fast asleep.