"I shan't have an orchestra any more, and I have brought you all of my instruments. I'll give you each the one you've been using, so you can play hereafter. You needn't come to-morrow to rehearse, for I can't lead any longer."
"No orchestra! You won't lead!" chorused the musicians blankly, as they received the cherished toys into their hands.
"Never again," affirmed Georg loftily, but he must needs set his teeth hard upon his lower lip, lest its trembling should betray his stinging regret.
"You see," he explained with the easy patronage of a captain who has led his troops to victory, but who is about to be promoted out of their midst, "it is not as though I were to be a musician when I grow up. It is all well enough for you fellows to play on these things every day, but I really ought not to waste my time with them, for," importantly, "when I am a man, I am going to be a jurist."
"A what?" demanded his hearers in one breath, much impressed by the high-sounding title.
"A jurist," Georg repeated, folding his arms, much gratified at the effect his announcement had produced.
"What does a—a jurist do?" inquired Frieda, feminine curiosity conquering her awe.
"Oh," replied Georg easily, "a jurist, Frieda, writes down in a book everything that people ought to do, and when they don't do just as he has written, he cuts off their heads."
"Ach!"
"Their heads?"