_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."