"I understand," sighed the dancing-master sympathetically; he then turned to the tallest of the three to ask:
"And you, Mr Cheadle?"
"What a question to ask a cornet-player!" replied Mr Cheadle, as he undid his overcoat to reveal a much worn evening suit, together with a frayed, soiled shirt.
"Excellent! excellent!" cried Mr Poulter on seeing the cornet-player's garb.
"One 'ud think I played outside pubs," grumbled Mr Cheadle.
"Now, if only Mr Baffy would come, you artistes could get to work," remarked Mr Poulter pleasantly.
"Let's start without him," suggested Cheadle, who seemed pleased at being referred to as an artiste.
A move was made to the platform at the further end of the hall; when this was reached, a little old man staggered into the hall, bearing on his shoulders a bass viol.
"Here's Baffy!" cried the three musicians together.
When the man disentangled himself from his burden, Mavis saw that the bass viol player was short, unkempt, greyhaired and bearded; he stared straight before him with vacant, watery eyes; his mouth was always agape; he neither greeted nor spoke to anyone present.