“Well?”
“What time is mass to-morrow?”
“How should I know? What’s it to you?”
“Nothing.”
Another tenor was remarking to a friend—
“Look here, when you write out music, you ought to put the sharps bigger. I always get wrong.”
“All right.”
“I shall go home and get to bed,” murmured one of the basses, yawning.
The boys in the ante-room had started some game there in the dark.
After the third glass the choir-master became sentimental and embraced the deacon.