The Commandant sighed and said he supposed so.
"By the way," said the chef d'orchestre, "what is the American national anthem?"
"'Yankee Doodle,'" replied the Commandant.
The Chief Instructor said he'd always understood it was "Hail, Columbia."
The Adjutant was of the opinion that "The Star-Spangled Banner" filled the bill, while the Quartermaster cast his vote for "My Country, 'tis of thee."
The chef d'orchestre thrashed his bosom and rent his coiffure. "Dieu!" he wailed, "I can't play all of them—figurez-vous!"
Without stopping to do any figuring they heartily agreed that he couldn't. "Tell you what," said the Commandant at length, "write to your music merchant in Paris and leave it to him."
The chef d'orchestre said he would, and did so.
Next Sunday evening, as the concert drew to a close, the band flung into the Marseillaise, and the subalterns of all nations leapt to attention. They stood to attention through "God Save the King," through the national anthems of Russia, Italy, Portugal, Rumania, Serbia, Belgium, Montenegro and Monte Carlo, all our brave Allies. Then the chef d'orchestre suddenly sprang upon a stool and waved above his head the stripes and stars of our newest brave Ally, while the band crashed into the opening strains of "When the midnight choo-choo starts for Alabam." It speaks volumes for the discipline of the Allied armies that their young subalterns stood to attention even through that.