With a dexterous twist of his wrist he sounds a deafening peal in the
bell at my ear, and says, "Hullo!"
I retaliate. When the score is vantage out, I put all the red tabs I
can into my voice, and his tone changes. He is at once the cheerful
and willing artisan, eager to please.
"Yes, Sir ... Yes, Sir ... Who do you want, Sir? This is Zed Esses Pip
Ack five, Sir ..."
"You called me," I say.
He is more hurt than angry at that. "Oh, no, Sir. You rang me up, Sir.
This is Zed Esses ..."
I nip that in the bud by saying "Hullo!" very loud. He realizes that
the game is up.
"Speak to Division, Sir," he says curtly, and clicks before I can
answer. A faint far gnat-voice says, "Is that Zed Ess?"
"No," I shout. "What the ..."
"Through to Division," says gnat-voice and clicks me off. Another
voice carries on the good work. Upstairs the shells burst playfully
on the parapet, and under the starlit sky a gas cloud drifts slowly
across the fields, almost hiding the cattle who are grazing peacefully
there in the long wet grass.
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