“Yes, I am very fond of music, modern music,” he said, leaning against the mantelpiece. “Are you a musician by profession?”
“Not exactly... nearly.” Andrews thrust his hands into the bottoms of his trouser pockets and looked from one to the other with a certain defiance.
“I suppose you've played in some orchestra? How is it you are not in the regimental band?”
“No, except the Pierian.”
“The Pierian? Were you at Harvard?”
Andrews nodded.
“So was I.”
“Isn't that a coincidence?” said Sheffield. “I'm so glad I just insisted on your coming in.”
“What year were you?” asked Lieutenant Bleezer, with a faint change of tone, drawing a finger along his scant black moustache.
“Fifteen.”