“What for? I’ve no excuse for going.”
“Oh, yes; you have. He’s on the committee. Go and ask him if he has any orders to give about the music.”
“I am not the bandmaster, Jerry; but I will go. There’s just time before going to the ball-room.”
“That’s right; I like pleasing anyone who behaves well to you.”
There was none too much time, but Dick had only to walk into the orchestra with his flute-case under his arm; so, hurrying away, he ran across the barrack yard, entered the officers’ quarters unquestioned, and made his way to the first floor.
“Come in!” came, in a gruff voice, in answer to a modest tap. “That you, Brigley?”
“No, sir; I came to see if you wished to send any message to Mr Wilkins about the music.”
“Bother Wilkins!” growled the lieutenant. “I believe he’ll make a muddle of it all. Can’t you conduct, Smithson?”
“I, sir? Oh, no. I think it will go all right.”
“I’m doubtful; but, look here—I want the music to be well-marked, and, if it’s going wrong, you get the other fellows to help you. Keep it all well going.”