Chapter Twenty Seven.
Dick pipes—His Cousin dances.
A loud cough, the twinkling of Mr Wilkins’ spectacles, and a peculiar clearing of the voice, which made Sergeant Brumpton, who had been hard at work making ominous sounds on the bombardon, turn his head and smile at Dick—then standing in his place waiting to begin—and making him lower his head to examine the music; for, if he had smiled there, just in front of the bandmaster, it must have been seen, and taken as an insult.
“I have just received a communication from the colonel,” said Mr Wilkins. “We are to have a ball at the mess-room, and the 310th are coming. I shall have a few picked men from their band to make up, but, of course, ours will take the lead. Let me see: Granger, you’ll get out your double-bass; Robson and Dean, violins; Boston, cornet—you lead clarionet and hautboy; Brown, bassoon. I suppose we must have you, Smithson—one flute will be enough. The 310th will furnish two violins and a ’cello. That ought to make a strong band.”
The men who did not play stringed instruments, or such as were suitable for a ball-room, looked disappointed; and Sergeant Brumpton, as he sat with his huge instrument between his legs, looked down into its great brass bell-mouth and sighed.
That was news which set Dick’s heart beating. The officers of the 310th would be there; he would be in the orchestra, and his cousin would be constantly coming close by where he was playing.
And Dick thought about their last meeting and the contemptuous, haughty way in which Mark had gazed in his eyes.
“Could he have recognised me,” thought Dick; “or was it his manner only?”
There was a strange fascination in the idea of meeting Mark that was almost magnetic; but, at the same time, it was accompanied by a feeling akin to shrinking, which for the moment Dick cast aside as best he could.
He had no occasion to fear the encounter, he told himself; and from that moment he waited patiently for the evening.