André found M. Blanc consulting with Victor near the end of the village and gave them the captain’s good news.
En route home through the fields, André found an almost undamaged yellow parachute. “How beautiful Marie will be in a dress of yellow silk!” he thought. And he folded it carefully, tucking the bulky load under his arm.
That evening, after supper, André took his trumpet into the kitchen. He gathered cleaning rags and polish, and rubbed and cleaned the brass of the horn. When the tubes had been cleared and the metal gleamed, he piped a little trill of lonely notes.
They made him feel no better, and he tried a Normandy dance tune.
He heard the clump of feet behind him and Slim’s voice. “Holy cow! Where did you get that horn?”
André put the trumpet down shyly. Slim picked it up carefully and rubbed the mouthpiece with his sleeve.
“Can you play a trumpet?” André asked curiously.
“Waal ... I used to play some in the school band in Pecos, Texas. Matter of fact, I was pretty good. Shall I give ’er a try?”
André jumped when a ringing peal of notes rose from the brass to the rafters. The notes slid down the scale, and Slim broke loudly into “Turkey in the Straw.”
Weller’s bellow rose even above the music’s vibrations. “Stop that racket!” Slim guiltily took the horn from his lips. The sergeant shouted, “Captain’s on the phone to headquarters.”