"On to Soldier's Field!" they cried.
We hurried across to the head of the procession, McTurkle's long legs making us work hard to keep up with him. Arrived, Bud waved an arm for silence.
"Fellows!" he shouted. "Fellows!"
And when silence had fallen about us he swept his hand dramatically toward
McTurkle.
"Gentlemen," he cried, "the band!"
"A-a-a-aye!" they cheered. "Band! band!"
"Where's the band?" called those further down the line, and the news traveled fast until from far down by Thayer came wild paeans of delight.
"Where'd they get it? … Where is it? … We want 'On Soldier's
Field'! … We want 'Veritas'! … Strike up! Move on, there! …
'Ray for the band! … A-a-a-aye! Band! band!"
Up at the head of the line we were all laughing and shouting for fair. McTurkle, beaming delightedly through his glasses, his head held back inspiritingly and the folds of his plaid jacket waving in the November wind, placed the French horn to his lips, took a mighty breath and—the procession moved forward to the strains of "Annie Laurie!"
Now, I've heard since then that the French horn has a compass of only four octaves and is principally useful as an orchestral adjunct; that, in short, its ability is limited and its use as a solo instrument slight. All I can say is that the person who said that doesn't know a French horn; anyway, he doesn't know McTurkle's French horn. Four octaves be blowed! McTurkle went fourteen, or I'll eat my hat! Why, the way he put that thing through its paces was a caution! And as for—er—variations and such!—well, you ought to have heard him, that's all I've got to say!