EXT. A VERANDAH, SOMEWHERE IN THE BRITISH EMPIRE. A SENIOR OFFICER IS LEANING AGAINST THE RAIL, CRADLING A BRANDY. A SUBALTERN STANDS DUTIFULLY BEHIND HIM.
SIR
It's damned quiet. Too quiet, I don't like it, Wilson.
SUBALTERN (CHEERFULLY)
Oh, I don't know, sir, I always think the jungle is rather romantic at night: the breeze rustling the acacias, the chirr of the...
SIR (POINTEDLY)
Damnably quiet.
SUBALTERN
And listen, sir, there is the peewit of the bush nightingale (IMITATES SOUND): peewit, peewit, peewit!
SIR (FIXING THE SUBALTERN WITH A STARE)
Too damned quiet.
THE SUBALTERN SHUTS UP. BRIEFLY.
SUBALTERN
Those frogs make a noise don't they? (IMITATES SOUNDS, MORE LOUDLY THIS TIME) Ribbit, ribbit, ribbit, ribbit!
SIR
Wilson.
SUBALTERN
Yes, sir?
SIR (POINTEDLY)
Damned quiet, don't' ye think?
SUBALTERN (TAKING THE HINT)
What? Oh yes, sir.
A BRIEF SILENCE.
SUBALTERN
There, sir! The soulful screech of the three-toed rufous jungle owl (IMITATES SOUND, VERY LOUD AND PIERCING): KEEAAWW, KEEAAWW, KEEAAWW, KEEAAWW, KEEAAW...
THE SUBALTERN IS STRUCK IN THE CHEST WITH AN ASSAGI AND FALLS, DEAD.
SIR SETTLES AGAINST THE RAIL AND TAKES A SWIG OF HIS BRANDY.
SIR
Damned quiet.