"We're all ready. Wot the 'ell are you doin', Striker?" came the response.
"Drum won't come up," bawled Striker.
"Wot?"
"Drum won't come up, too big."
"Right-o! you can pick us up," came the leader's reply.
A moment later "Onward, Christian Soldiers," broke out in brassy rivalry to "Shall We Gather at the River."
Mrs. Hearty and Mrs. Bindle fled into the parlour.
It is obvious that whatever phenomenon eternity may have to discover to man, it will not be Christian soldiers gathering at the river. The noise was stupendous. The stream of brassy discord that descended from above was equalled only by the pounding of the two drums that rose from below.
Ted had made some reflections upon the whiskers of the second drummer, with the result that, forgetting their respective bands, they were now engaged in a personal contest, thumping and pounding against each other with both sticks. The sweat poured down their faces, and their mouths were working, each expressing opinions, which, however, the other could not hear. At that moment the dark green caps with red braid began to trickle into the shop.