"You never told me," Robert Cohn said.
"I'll not tell that story. It reflects discredit on me."
"Tell them about your medals."
"I'll not. That story reflects great discredit on me."
"What story's that?"
"Brett will tell you. She tells all the stories that reflect discredit on me."
"Go on. Tell it, Brett."
"Should I?"
"I'll tell it myself."
"What medals have you got, Mike?"
"I haven't got any medals."
"You must have some."
"I suppose I've the usual medals. But I never sent in for them. One time there was this wopping big dinner and the Prince of Wales was to be there, and the cards said medals will be worn. So naturally I had no medals, and I stopped at my tailor's and he was impressed by the invitation, and I thought that's a good piece of business, and I said to him: 'You've got to fix me up with some medals.' He said: 'What medals, sir?' And I said: 'Oh, any medals. Just give me a few medals.' So he said: 'What medals have you, sir?' And I said: 'How should I know?' Did he think I spent all my time reading the bloody gazette? 'Just give me a good lot. Pick them out yourself.' So he got me some medals, you know, miniature medals, and handed me the box, and I put it in my pocket and forgot it. Well, I went to the dinner, and it was the night they'd shot Henry Wilson, so the Prince didn't come and the King didn't come, and no one wore any medals, and all these coves were busy taking off their medals, and I had mine in my pocket."
He stopped for us to laugh.
"Is that all?"
"That's all. Perhaps I didn't tell it right."
