‘Right.’
They went on to a room near the band-quarters, where they found a rather stout, shortish man, busy at a table copying out music.
‘Hallo, Bob, what’s the trouble?’ he asked, looking up.
‘A recruit, Ted.’
‘Ah, that’s good; I want a real smart lad in the trumpets, one who will take an interest in his work and take up second cornet in the band.’
‘I’ve got the very article, Ted; look at him,’ and the sergeant gave Jack a smack on the back.
Jack, thus brought into prominence, coloured up as he stood in the presence of the two non-commissioned officers, for Ted Joyce was the trumpet-major.
Trumpet-major Joyce looked keenly at Jack. ‘How old are you?’ he asked.
‘Sixteen and a half, sir.’
‘Sir no one here but the officers,’ said the trumpet-major, who was a pleasant, rather fussy little man. ‘Know anything about music?’ he asked.