“Could you? How? I’ll take anything. I don’t mind how nasty.”
“I’ve got an idea that I think will work, and, if it doesn’t take down your fat, it would keep you from having to leave the regiment.”
The sergeant made a grab at Dick’s hand.
“What is it? What is it?” he panted.
“Learn the bombardon!”
The sergeant loosened his grasp, and sank back again.
“You’re laughing at me,” he said, reproachfully; “and it comes hard from you, Dick Smithson.”
“I’m not laughing at you, sergeant,” cried Dick, earnestly. “Look here! it’s a thing I have often noticed; but I never thought of applying it to you. Who are the two thinnest men in the band?”
“Those two young chaps who play the trombones.”
“Exactly, and nearly all the fellows are thin. You learn to play the bombardon, and I’ll be bound to say that it will pull you down.”