“May I speak to you, Colonel, about the school scheme?”
“I suppose you've got permission from somebody to come to me.”
“No, sir.” Andrews's mind was struggling to find something to say.
“Well, you'd better go and get it.”
“But, Colonel, there isn't time; the travel orders are being made out at this minute. I've heard that there's been a name crossed out on the list.”
“Too late.”
“But, Colonel, you don't know how important it is. I am a musician by trade; if I can't get into practice again before being demobilized, I shan't be able to get a job.... I have a mother and an old aunt dependent on me. My family has seen better days, you see, sir. It's only by being high up in my profession that I can earn enough to give them what they are accustomed to. And a man in your position in the world, Colonel, must know what even a few months of study in Paris mean to a pianist.”
The colonel smiled.
“Let's see your application,” he said.
Andrews handed it to him with a trembling hand. The colonel made a few marks on one corner with a pencil.