“Someone’s instrument not in tune!” cried the bandmaster. “Here, Jones, Morris, Bigham, run through half a dozen bars.”
He waved his wand, and the three musicians blew together without the bass and tenor instruments, with a worse effect than ever, and the listening brasses burst out into a fresh roar of laughter; while Dick had hard work, in his triumph, to suppress a smile.
“Then it’s you, Jones!”
“No, sir,” said the flute-player. “I’m all right!”
“You can’t be!” cried the other two men, indignantly.
“He’s playing in the wrong key,” said the first.
“That I ain’t!” cried the flute-player. “I’m all right, I tell you! It was the new chap.”
“How could it be the new chap when he was not blowing, idiot?” cried the bandmaster, angrily, trying hard to hedge and preserve his character for consistency. “Here, you Smithson, run through those few bars with the others. No; not you, Jones.”
The flautist sulkily lowered his flute, while the theme was now played as a trio with admirable effect.
“Humph! not bad—not bad at all,” said Wilkins, as a murmur of satisfaction arose from the men.