At the moment when the second band was within a hundred yards of the shop, the camel raised its head and gave vent to its terrifying roar, a rather indifferent attempt to imitate that of a lion.
The "Onward, Christian Soldiers" band was the first to reach the shop, having a shorter distance to traverse. Its leader was a tall man with a weary face, and a still more weary moustache. His waistcoat was unbuttoned, and his face dripping with perspiration as he blew out what brains he possessed upon a silver cornet. He marched straight up to the door of the shop, blowing vigorously. Suddenly a double beat of the drum gave the signal to stop. Taking off his cap, with the back of his hand he wiped the sweat from his brow. Pushing past Mr. Hearty he entered, a moment after followed by his eleven confrères.
For a moment Mr. Hearty stared, then he retreated backwards before the avalanche of musicians.
"What do you want?" he demanded feebly.
"This the way upstairs, guv'nor?" enquired the tall man.
"Upstairs?" interrogated Mr. Hearty.
"Yus, upstairs, like me to say it again?" queried the man who was tired and short-tempered.
"But, what——?" began Mr. Hearty.
"Oh, go an' roast yourself!" responded the man. "Come along, boys," and they tramped through the back-parlour. Mr. Hearty heard them pounding up the stairs.
The drum, however, refused to go through the narrow door. The drummer tried it at every conceivable angle. At last he recognised that he had met his Waterloo.