Three o'clock in the morning
A forest maiden wi'oot the forest or a hard-workin ' factory lass wi'oot a chimney-stalk , is no more convincin ' than a seegair band wi'oot the seegair , or an empty pay envelope . '' `` Why this disquisition on the arts , Tam ? '' asked Captain Blackie testily . Three o'clock in the morning , and freezing at that , a dark aerodrome and the ceaseless drum of guns -- neither the time , the place nor the ideal accompaniment to philosophy , you might think . Blackie was as nervous as a squadron commander may well be who has sent a party on a midnight stunt , and finds three o'clock marked on the phosphorescent dial of his watch and not so much as a single machine in sight . `` Literature , '' said Tam easily , `` is a science or a disease very much like airmanship . 'T is all notes of excl ` mation an ' question mairks , with one full stop an ' several semi-comatose crashes -- ! ''