"Beg pardon, Mr Wilkins, sir; here's the recruit. Is he to stand with me?"

d.i.c.k waited, curious to hear what followed, and incensed at what did; for, when the bandmaster entered, he had glanced sharply at the now bandsman, and then pa.s.sed on.

"Eh! what recruit?" said the little leader, looking up and giving a start as he made believe to see d.i.c.k for the first time. "Oh, that young man? Well, perhaps he had better stand by you, and then he may pick up what he can. This is a difficult piece."

"I know Gounod's work pretty well, sir," said d.i.c.k, quietly.

"Oh, do you!" said the bandmaster, with a little jerky laugh, like that of a spiteful woman. "Now, then; what's your name, sir?"

"Smithson," said d.i.c.k, feeling as if he would like to kick the mean-spirited little cad.

"Oh, Smithson, eh?--son of the great Smith!"

He looked round, twinkling, for a laugh to follow what he meant for a joke; and the obsequious bandsmen uttered a sn.i.g.g.e.ring kind of concreted grin, followed instantly by a loud-toned sonorous _Phoomp_! from the huge bell-mouth of the contra-ba.s.s.

"What do you mean by that, Banks?" cried the bandmaster, as soon as there was silence, for the men had burst into a loud and general roar.

"Beg pardon, sir; I was listening, sir," said the offender. "It was only one of those deep notes I was doubtful about."

"Then don't you let it occur again, sir! It was an excuse for a marked show of disrespect, and I won't have it! Here is the colonel complaining about the inefficiency of our band, and people are saying that the 310th is far better--which is a lie, a ridiculous lie--but I want to know how our band is to become efficient if there is not more discipline maintained?"

"Beg pardon, sir?"

"Silence, sir! Attend to what I say! I have long noted a want of attention among the men--a mutinous spirit--and I won't allow it! While I'm bandmaster, I'll be treated with proper respect; and, mark this, our band shall be efficient, and the members shall practise till they are!"

He tapped the music-stand sharply, raised his baton, and then went on talking.

"Here, you!" he cried. "Smithson, didn't you say?"

"Yes, sir."

"What did you say?"

"Smithson, sir."

"How dare you!" yelled the bandmaster, scarlet now with pa.s.sion, for the men burst out laughing again. "Don't you try to crack your miserable, contemptible jokes on me, sir!"

"That was no joke, sir," said d.i.c.k.

"No, sir, it was not!" said the bandmaster, sharply. "You'll find jokes dangerous things to crack here, sir!"

There was a murmur of acquiescence, and the little man smiled approval.

"Thought you were alluding to my name, sir," said d.i.c.k, apologetically.

"Indeed, sir?" said the bandmaster, sarcastically. "Not such an attractive name that I would care to allude to it."

"Oh, you meant about the music of _Faust_, sir?" said d.i.c.k, p.r.o.nouncing the name of the opera as a German would--something like _Fowst_.

"The music of what?" said the bandmaster, s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up his face as if the sound were unpleasant to his ears.

"Gounod's opera, sir, I said. I know it pretty well."

"Dear me! you seem to know everything 'pretty well;' perhaps you know how to conduct 'pretty well,' and would like to take my stick and lead?"

d.i.c.k looked down at the music, but made no reply, though the bandmaster waited for a few moments.

"Then I suppose I may go on. Of course, the colonel has a right to interfere, though I was not aware that he was a musician; and I think I have had some little experience in musical matters, and if I had proper material I could produce as good results as any man in the service; but, hampered as I am by incompetents, and interfered with in matters of which I ought to be the best judge, I don't know what can be expected, I'm sure.--The March from _Forst_."

There was a sharp tapping of the baton, and d.i.c.k drew back to go and sit down, when the spectacles glistened in his direction again.

"Keep your place, sir," shouted the little tyrant. "You can, as you are here, try the flute part. Be careful!"

d.i.c.k felt a singing in his ears, and his fellow-flautist scowled.

Then there was a flourish of the leader's stick in the air, and the bra.s.s instruments set off in the familiar march, every man blowing his loudest, and keeping very fair, well-marked time, to the end of the strain, to be followed by the _piano_ movement, in which the flutes took the lead, with hautbois and clarionet, of course properly supported by the ba.s.s.

There was a peculiar jarring in d.i.c.k's ears before the second bar was played; and, before they were half-way through eight, the conductor's stick was tapping the music-stand fiercely.

"Stop! stop! stop!" he yelled. "My good fellow, this won't do; you're flat--horribly flat!"

Richard stood with his eyes fixed upon his music, expecting to see his companion alter the tuning-slide of his flute; but the man waited, with a supercilious smile upon his face, and the leader went on--

"Do you hear, you Smithson? That's horribly flat. Now, then, blow A."

d.i.c.k raised his instrument and blew a pure, clear note in perfect tune.

"Not that one; harder; your upper A."

A note an octave higher rang out pure and clear.

"That's better! Now begin again: the soft movement, please."

Mr Wilkins waved his wand, and a fresh start was made, but it was more melancholy than the first. It sounded as if the women gathered in the marketplace to welcome the return of the German warriors had set up a howl of misery, which was ended by the crack of the conductor's stick.

"Stop! stop! stop!" he yelled. "You are blowing out of tune, sir! This is horrible! we cannot have a row like cats in the band!"

This was a legitimate occasion for mirth, so the men laughed, and Mr Wilkins looked pleased and the spectacles twinkled.

"Now, again; and be careful, sir, if you are to play with us. Now, then!"

Down came the baton, two bars were played, and the result was so much worse that the bandmaster banged his music-stand frantically.

"Stand back, sir!" he yelled. "This is ridiculous! What does the colonel mean? What do you mean, sir, by pretending you know the music?

What? What's that you say?"

"I said 'I beg pardon,' sir," began d.i.c.k.

"Beg pardon! Why, you are an impostor, sir; and if you are to stop here, I shall resign!--What?"