Cornets, with respect, replied that they thought they were playing a tune.
“I should never have guessed that,” retorted the bandmaster caustically. Bobbie delivered his note. “What you’ll be like if you go out anywhere to play this summer don’t bear thinking about.”
One of the cornets offered the remark that he was doing his best.
“And bad’s your best,” cried the bandmaster explosively. “Why, I’d guarantee to take a piece of wood and make it play the cornet better than you do, Nutler.” The cornet player, Nutler, here chuckled under the impression that the bandmaster required laughter in recognition of the humour of the remark. “Don’t laugh at me, sir,” ordered the bandmaster violently. “I won’t have it.” Nutler, the cornet-player, assumed a look of abject woe. “And don’t look like that, either.”
Master Nutler, goaded, inquired resentfully how he was to look, then.
“You’re to look smart, sir,” said the bandmaster, “if you want to continue in the band. There’s plenty of others, mind you, ready to take your place.”
Master Nutler muttered the disastrous remark that they would take a bit of finding.
“Oh!” said the bandmaster, “would they take a bit of finding?” He called to Bobbie, now leaving the room. “Boy,” he cried out, “come here.”
Bobbie returned and saluted.
“Have you any ear for music?”