The man in the corner had been trying to worry me into a conversation
for some time. He had asked me if I objected to having the window open.
He had said something rather bitter about the War Office, and had hoped
I did not object to smoking. Then, finding that I stuck to my book
through everything, he made a fresh attack.
'I see you are reading _Tom Brown's Schooldays_,' he said.
This was a plain and uninteresting statement of fact, and appeared to
me to require no answer. I read on.
'Fine book, sir.'
'Very.'
'I suppose you have heard of the Tom Brown Question?'