All sorts and conditions of men were gathered there—officers and privates in mutual good fellowship. The Second-in-Command of the Reedshires had just given them a ballad, and sung it jolly well too; and the armourer sergeant and one of their own lieutenants were fooling about as they waited to appear in a comic turn.
The lieutenant was dressed as a French peasant girl, and really looked quite pretty; and the armourer sergeant was supposed to resemble George Robey!
"Oh, there's the chap I was speaking to you about," said Captain Bob, pointing to a wounded Highlander, whose head was enveloped in a bandage. "He's a regular genius on the keyboard; that is why there are such a lot of chaps here to-night. He only blew in a couple of days ago from the brigade on our right when he heard we were lucky enough to have a piano."
They made room for the two new-comers; and as the closing lines of the chorus died away, there were great cries of "Jock, Jock! We want Jock!" from the audience.
The Highland private's face expanded into a sheepish grin, and as he stepped up on to the platform you could have heard the proverbial pin drop. Not a sound but that dull burst and boom that they had all got used to and scarcely heard now, and then the keys of the piano broke in upon the tense hush, touched by a master hand.
"Isn't that fine!" whispered the Second-in-Command, who was sitting next to Dennis. "When this beastly war has finished that man would fill Queen's Hall to the roof. And to think he's just one of Kitchener's privates, and the first pip-squeak that comes his way may still that marvellous gift for ever!"
Dennis nodded, for the improvised melody which had just ceased had touched him, as it had touched every man in the room.
But there is no time for sentiment in the trenches; it is out of place there, and after a roar of "Bravo!" and a great clapping of hands had succeeded a momentary pause, voices cried clamorously: "Give us that thing you sang last night, Jock—that song with the whistling chorus!"
"Now you'll hear the reverse of the medal, and upon my soul, it's equally good!" explained the Second-in-Command. "He's like poor old Barclay Gammon and Corney Grain and half a dozen of those musical-sketch men rolled into one. It's his own composition too."
There was a great chord on the piano, the performer laid his cigarette on the music rest, and made an amazing face by way of introduction.