It came as a shock to the Brigade Major that the brigade on his left
had omitted to let him know the time of their projected raid that
night. It came as a shock all the more because it was the General
himself who first noticed the omission, and it is a golden rule for
Brigade Majors that they should always be the first to think of
things.
"Ring 'em up and ask," said the General. "Don't, of course, mention
the word 'raid' on the telephone. Call it--um--ah, oh, call it
anything you like so long as they understand what you mean."
At times, to the casual eavesdropper, strange things must appear to
be going on in the British lines. It must be a matter of surprise, to
such a one, that the British troops can think it worth their while to
inform each other at midnight that "Two Emperors of Pongo have become
attached to Annie Laurie." Nor would it appear that any military
object would be served in passing on the chatty piece of information
that "there will be no party for Windsor to-morrow." This habit of
calling things and places as they most emphatically are not is but a
concession, of course, to the habits of the infamous Hun, who rightly
or wrongly is supposed to overhear everything one says within a mile
of the line.
Thinking in the vernacular proper to people who keep the little
knowledge they have to themselves, the Brigade Major grasped the hated
telephone in the left hand and prepared to say a few words (also in
the vernacular) to his fellow Staff Officer a mile away.
"Hullo!" Br-rr--Crick-crick. "Hullo, Signals! Give me S-Salmon."
"Salmon? You're through, Sir," boomed a voice apparently within a foot
of his ear.
"OO!" An earsplitting crack was followed by a mosquito-like voice
singing in the wilderness.
"Hullo!"
"Hullo!"
"This is Pike."
"This is Possum. H-hullo, Pike!"
"Hullo, Possum!"
"I say, look here, the General w-wants to know" (here he paused to
throw a dark hidden meaning into the word) "what time--_it_--is."
"What time it is?"
"Yes, what time _it_ is! _It_. Yes, what time it is"--repeated
_fortissimo ad lib_.
"Eleven thirty-five."
"Eleven thirty-five? Why, it's on now. I don't hear anything on the
Front?"
"No, you wouldn't."
"Why not?"
"Because it's all quiet."
"But you said s-something was on?"
"No, I didn't. You asked me what time it was and I told you."
Swallowing hard several times, Possum girded up his loins, so to
speak, gripped the telephone firmly in the right hand this time, and
jumped off again. His "Hullo" sent a thrill through even the Bosch
listening apparatus in the next sector.
"Hullo! L-look here, Pike, we--want--to--know--what time _it_ is."
"Eleven thir--"
"No, no, _it_--_it_"
"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.
"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.
* * * * *
"The customary oats were administered to the new
Judge."--_Perthshire Constitutional_.
There had been some fear, we understand, that owing to the food
shortage he would have to be content with thistles.
* * * * *
[Illustration: Stout Lady (_discussing the best thing to do in an
air-raid_). "WELL, I ALWAYS RUNS ABOUT MESELF. YOU SEE, AS MY 'USBAND
SEZ, AN' VERY REASONABLE TOO, A MOVIN' TARGIT IS MORE DIFFICULT TO
'IT."]
* * * * *