Chapter Twenty One.
Dick Smithson’s Anti-Fat.
Busy days in barracks, youth, and the high spirits consequent upon living an active, healthy life, had their effect on Dick. The past naturally grew farther off, and, unnaturally, seemed farther still; so that, before six months had passed, the young bandsman had thoroughly settled down to his music and military life, and began to find it enjoyable, in spite of the petty annoyances such as fall to the lot of all.
For there was always something in the way. The band had its regular military duties, and played at the mess, where, to Wilkins’ great disgust, Dick’s flute and piccolo solos grew in favour with the officers, and often had to be repeated.
Then there were fêtes in the neighbourhood, balls given, and twice over the band was required at a public dinner.
The lessons given to Lieutenant Lacey were continued, and that officer certainly improved; but he did not evince the slightest desire to repeat the serenade, not even alluding to it when Dick visited his rooms.
There were times, of course, when a fit of low spirits would set Dick dreaming a little about what might have been, but he soon dismissed thoughts of the past; and in all the months since he had left Mr Draycott’s no single scrap of news reached his ears, neither was it sought.
“I have no past,” he would say to himself, as he forced himself energetically into every duty and every sport encouraged by the colonel.