"Come with me to the Y.M.C.A. hall to-night," urged Penrose.
"Ay, and be preached to," said Tom, yielding rapidly to the other.
"I promise you there will be no preaching," said Penrose, with a laugh, "unless you like to wait for it. Come now."
"All right, then," said Tom still sulkily, but glad that he had yielded. A few minutes later they entered a large hall where perhaps six or seven hundred soldiers had gathered.
There are few counties in England where music is more cultivated than in Lancashire, and that night Tom listened almost spellbound. Songs that he knew and loved were sung; songs which he had heard Alice Lister sing. Recitations were given in broad Lancashire dialect which gave him keen enjoyment. More than all this there was a feeling of good-fellowship; the Y.M.C.A. workers were evidently on the friendliest of terms with the men, while there was no suggestion of goody-goodyism.
"This is a special occasion, I suppose," said Tom to Penrose.
"Oh no, they have entertainments like this almost every night. All the musical people in the district give their services."
"What for?" asked Tom.
"Just to give us soldiers a good time; but we must be going now."
"Why?" asked Tom, "it's not late."