“Of course—I know that. I say, Smithson: I wish you were in the mess instead of the band.”
Dick laughed feebly.
“Perhaps I’m best where I am, sir. But I must go now, and get in my place. It’s close upon the time.”
“By George, yes! I say, want a pair of white kids, Smithson? You’ll find some in that box.”
“Thanks; no, sir. I hope you’ll have a pleasant evening.”
“Thank you, Smithson. Keep them up to it with the waltzes.”
Dick gave a hasty promise, and then hurried down and into the flower-decked vestibule, which was entered by a covered passage festooned with lamps. Then he crossed the temporary ball-room, with its well-waxed floor, took a glance at the great marquee laid out for supper, at another arranged for tea, coffee, and ices, with various cups for the gentlemen, and beyond that at another prepared for those who chose to smoke, the whole being lit up by a blaze of light, and draped here and there with military and naval flags and cleverly-designed trophies of arms.
It was but a passing glance, which filled Dick with a tingling of pleasure and disappointment, for he recalled the lieutenant’s words about the mess. Then he hurried to his place, being the last to arrive, and found Wilkins glaring at him through his glasses.
“Late again, Smithson!” he said, harshly; and, as he spoke, the brazen voice of the clock told him he spoke falsely; for Dick was in his place to the moment, and joined in the rustling made by his comrades, as they arranged their music in accordance with the programme, and then waited patiently.
A few minutes later, the colonel and a group of officers came round to see that all was perfect, headed by the major and one of the captains, who had undertaken to see that the decorations were effective.