"No; and I don't mean for there to be! Just consider yourselves ketched! No gammon, or I whistles, and there'll be dozens of our chaps here in no time; and, if they comes and finds you're nasty, there won't be no mercy--and so I tell yer!"

"Don't be absurd," said d.i.c.k, thinking it better to out with the truth; "we've only come to play a tune or two in front of the house."

"Yes, yes!" said the lieutenant, feebly.

"Yes, yes!" cried the constable, mockingly. "I know--one on yer's going to play a toon on the centre-bit while t'other sings the pop'lar and original air o' 'Gentle Jemmy in the 'ouse.' Now, then, no gammon!

Come on!"

"Hadn't we better walk to the station with him, and explain to his officer?" said the lieutenant, mildly.

"No!" cried d.i.c.k, angrily; "we'll make him understand here! Don't be absurd, constable; this is a gentleman--"

"From London. I know!"

"Nonsense! he lives in Ratcham. It is only meant for a pleasant little surprise."

"To find the plate gone, eh!"

"I tell you we were going to play a tune or two!"

"Then where's your organ?"

"Absurd!"

"Fiddles, then?"

"Fiddles--nonsense! Here are our instruments."

d.i.c.k unb.u.t.toned the loose overcoat and brought out the two flutes.

As d.i.c.k unfastened the coat there was a faint, gleam of light from the constable's belt, which shone on d.i.c.k's chest.

"From the barracks, eh?" said the constable, surlily. "Humph! Well, I'm sure I don't know what to say. You may be London burglars, and putting a clever flam on me."

"Do people go burgling with flutes?" said d.i.c.k, angrily. "Now, look here, go back to the gate, and mind we are not interrupted! This gentleman is going to slip two half-crowns in your hand."

"Well, if it's all right, and only a bit of music, I don't want to be disagreeable, gentlemen. Sarah-naying, don't you call it? Only look out: I have heered tell o' blunderbusses and revolvers about here!

Thankye, sir; but, of course, that wasn't ness'ry. I've got to go 'bout half-mile! down the road, so you'd better get it over before I come back."

The man went off, and the lieutenant stood panting.

"I'd rather have faced the enemy's shot, Smithson!" he whispered.

"But it's all right now, sir," said d.i.c.k. "Catch hold of your flute.

I'd not interfere with the tuning-slide: it's quite correct."

"It's impossible, Smithson; my hands are trembling terribly."

"You'll forget it as soon as we begin, sir. Come along!"

d.i.c.k led the way in and out among the clumps of shrubs that dotted the soft lawn till the house was reached, and the lieutenant yielded to the stronger will, following with his flute in his hand.

"Which is her window, sir?" whispered d.i.c.k.

"That one," replied the lieutenant, feebly, as they stood there in the darkness, with the stars glimmering overhead and the sweet fragrance of the dewy flowers rising all around.

"Then one--two--three--_four_" whispered d.i.c.k. "Off!"

"He regularly makes me," muttered the lieutenant, raising the flute to his lips, and the sweet, soft sounds floated out upon the night breeze, the pupil playing far better than d.i.c.k had antic.i.p.ated, and keeping well up through the first verse, evidently encouraged by the successful issue of his lessons, and also by the fact that there came a sharp snap overhead, followed by the peculiar squeaking, grating sound of a window-sash being raised, while, dimly seen above, there was a figure in white.

That second verse rang out with its message of flowers committed to the flowing river more and more sweetly than before, though it was not really the lieutenant's fault, for d.i.c.k kept on throwing out a few clear notes--additional to his part--when some of his companion's threatened to die away, and these grace notes came in with such delicious, florid eccentricity that a hearer would have taken them for intentional variations cleverly composed by a good musician.

On the whole, then, the performance was as creditable as it was charming; and the second verse ended.

"A bar's rest, and then once more," whispered d.i.c.k. "One--two--three-- four."

_Pat_! _scatter_, and a feeble groan!

Then a voice from the open window--a peculiarly clarionetty harsh voice, such as could only come from a very elderly lady's throat--

"Thank you! Very nicely played. Good-night."

The window squeaked, was then closed loudly, and whispering "Come along!" the lieutenant was in full retreat towards the gate, while d.i.c.k was choking in his endeavour to smother his laughter.

"Coppers!" groaned the lieutenant; "that must have been quite a shilling's worth of halfpence wrapped up in paper. They hit me on the top of the head."

"And burst and scattered over the gra.s.s," whispered d.i.c.k, trying to be serious.

"Yes, Smithson; and if I had had no cap the consequences might have been serious."

"Were you hurt, sir?"

"More mentally than bodily, Smithson," sighed the lieutenant.

"But how could the lady make such a mistake as to think we--you were a travelling musician?"

"The lady?" cried the lieutenant angrily. "How can you be so absurd, Smithson! it was her prim old aunt!"

There was no more said on the way back to the barracks, much to d.i.c.k's satisfaction, for he felt that if the lieutenant spoke he would be compelled to burst out with a roar of laughter in his face.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

d.i.c.k SMITHSON'S ANTI-FAT.

Busy days in barracks, youth, and the high spirits consequent upon living an active, healthy life, had their effect on d.i.c.k. The past naturally grew farther off, and, unnaturally, seemed farther still; so that, before six months had pa.s.sed, the young bandsman had thoroughly settled down to his music and military life, and began to find it enjoyable, in spite of the petty annoyances such as fall to the lot of all.

For there was always something in the way. The band had its regular military duties, and played at the mess, where, to Wilkins' great disgust, d.i.c.k's flute and piccolo solos grew in favour with the officers, and often had to be repeated.