When the examinations were ended, a Lodge Officer came round with our aprons—no tinsel or silver-gilt confections, but heavily-corded silk with tassels and—where a man could prove he was entitled to them—levels, of decent plate. Some one in front of me tightened a belt on a stiffly silent person in civil clothes with discharge-badge. “’Strewth! This is comfort again,” I heard him say. The companion nodded. The man went on suddenly: “Here! What’re you doing? Leave off! You promised not to! Chuck it!” and dabbed at his companion’s streaming eyes.
“Let him leak,” said an Australian signaller. “Can’t you see how happy the beggar is?”
It appeared that the silent Brother was a “shell-shocker” whom Brother Lemming had passed, on the guarantee of his friend and—what moved Lemming more—the threat that, were he refused, he would have fits from pure disappointment. So the “shocker” went happily and silently among Brethren evidently accustomed to these displays.
We fell in, two by two, according to tradition, fifty of us at least, and were played into Lodge by what I thought was an harmonium, but which I discovered to be an organ of repute. It took time to settle us down, for ten or twelve were cripples and had to be helped into long or easy chairs. I sat between a one-footed R.A.M.C. Corporal and a Captain of Territorials, who, he told me, had “had a brawl” with a bomb, which had bent him in two directions. “But that’s first-class Bach the organist is giving us now,” he said delightedly. “I’d like to know him. I used to be a piano-thumper of sorts.”
“I’ll introduce you after Lodge,” said one of the regular Brethren behind us—a plump, torpedo-bearded man, who turned out to be a doctor. “After all, there’s nobody to touch Bach, is there?” Those two plunged at once into musical talk, which to outsiders is as fascinating as trigonometry.
Now a Lodge of Instruction is mainly a parade-ground for Ritual. It cannot initiate or confer degrees, but is limited to rehearsals and lectures. Worshipful Brother Burges, resplendent in Solomon’s Chair (I found out later where that, too, had been picked up), briefly told the Visiting Brethren how welcome they were and always would be, and asked them to vote what ceremony should be rendered for their instruction.
When the decision was announced he wanted to know whether any Visiting Brothers would take the duties of Lodge Officers. They protested bashfully that they were too rusty. “The very reason why,” said Brother Burges, while the organ Bached softly. My musical Captain wriggled in his chair.
“One moment, Worshipful Sir.” The plump Doctor rose. “We have here a musician for whom place and opportunity are needed. Only,” he went on colloquially, “those organ-loft steps are a bit steep.”
“How much,” said Brother Burges with the solemnity of an initiation, “does our Brother weigh?”
“Very little over eight stone,” said the Brother. “Weighed this morning, Worshipful Sir.”