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_.