Busy days in barracks, youth, and the high spirits consequent upon
living an active, healthy life, had their effect on Dick. The past
naturally grew farther off, and, unnaturally, seemed farther still; so
that, before six months had passed, the young bandsman had thoroughly
settled down to his music and military life, and began to find it
enjoyable, in spite of the petty annoyances such as fall to the lot of
all.
For there was always something in the way. The band had its regular
military duties, and played at the mess, where, to Wilkins' great
disgust, Dick's flute and piccolo solos grew in favour with the
officers, and often had to be repeated.
Then there were fetes in the neighbourhood, balls given, and twice over
the band was required at a public dinner.
The lessons given to Lieutenant Lacey were continued, and that officer
certainly improved; but he did not evince the slightest desire to repeat
the serenade, not even alluding to it when Dick visited his rooms.
There were times, of course, when a fit of low spirits would set Dick
dreaming a little about what might have been, but he soon dismissed
thoughts of the past; and in all the months since he had left Mr
Draycott's no single scrap of news reached his ears, neither was it
sought.
"I have no past," he would say to himself, as he forced himself
energetically into every duty and every sport encouraged by the colonel.
Before long it was a settled thing that he must be one of the best
eleven when cricket was in the way, and when the season came round he
played as good a part at football.
The officers always had a friendly nod for him, and on one occasion the
colonel spoke to him after a solo, praising him highly.
"But, do you know, Smithson," he said, "I am half-sorry that you are not
in the ranks. Music is a delightful thing; but for a young man, like
you, a bandsman in a line regiment is only a bandsman, after all. I
think you might do better, though I should be sorry for you to leave the
band. Think it over, my lad; I should like to see you get on."
Dick did think it over, for he was aware, by his clothes, that he had
altered greatly since that afternoon when the sergeant looked at him and
laughed.
"I can't be too short and slight now."
But he hesitated. There had never been any need for him to be
disenchanted with regard to imaginative pictures of a soldier's life;
but, all the same, he could not help, after his months of experience,
shrinking from taking to a life in the ranks, with its many monotonous
drills.
Still, he thought it over, and wondered how long it would be before he
rose to corporal, and was then promoted to sergeant and colour-sergeant.
Lastly, was there the slightest possibility for a young man like himself
to gain a commission? He always came to the same conclusion. He might:
but he was far more likely to fail; and he did not know that he wished
to be an officer now. In fact, he shuddered at the thoughts which
followed.
Meanwhile the time went on, with the feeling always upon him that the
colonel might ask him whether he had come to any decision. But that
officer never spoke; for the simple reason that the words, uttered after
dinner, when he was in a good humour, were entirely forgotten, and as if
they had never been uttered.
One day upon parade, and away upon the Common, when the band was drawn
up on one side after playing, during a march past, there was a little
scene with one of Dick's friends--the man whose acquaintance he had
first made and whose good feeling he still retained.
"Here, sergeant," shouted the colonel; and Brumpton doubled up to him,
halted, and stood fast, conscious that officers and men were on the
grin. "Look here, Brumpton, this really will not do. Confound you,
sir! you're making the regiment a laughing-stock."
"Very sorry, sir--try to do my duty."
"Yes, yes," cried the colonel. "You are a capital sergeant; but look at
you this morning!"
Brumpton rolled his eyes about, but stood still.
"I would not do that, man; you can't see behind you. Are you aware that
the back seams of your jacket are opening out?"
"No, sir, but they will do it."
"Then why the dickens don't you train and get rid of some of that
superfluous fat? There, you can't stop on parade. Go and get your
jacket mended."
Poor Brumpton's face changed as he turned to go, but before he had gone
far the colonel cried:
"Stop! There, go on with your duty, sir.--Poor fellow," he muttered, "I
can't be hard upon him. But he is so disgustingly fat; eh, Lacey?"
"Yes, he is fat," said the lieutenant, thoughtfully. "Poor beggar! it
would be rough upon him on service if we had to run. I mean retreat,
sir!"
"The 205th will never be in such a position, sir," said the colonel
stiffly. "Run, indeed! The 205th run!"
"I beg your pardon, sir," said the lieutenant, whose face was now almost
as red as his uniform.
"Granted, Mr Lacey; but, for goodness' sake, don't you ever let me hear
you say a word again about running."
"Not forward, sir?"
"Oh, yes; that, of course."
The long morning's evolutions were gone through, the band went to the
front, and the regiment was marched back to barracks; and that same
afternoon, as Dick sat alone in the reading-room, copying a band-part
for Wilkins, there was a panting noise close behind him, and Brumpton's
thick, rich voice exclaimed:
"Oh, there you are! I've been looking for you everywhere. How are you,
Smithson?"
"Quite well," said Dick, smiling in the non-commissioned officer's face.
"Don't--don't do that," said Brumpton, sharply.
"Don't do what, Mr Brumpton?"
"Laugh at a man."
"You don't think I was laughing at you?" said Dick, gravely.
"No, no--of course not. You wouldn't, my lad. But, my word! how you
are growing, Smithson! It's the drilling. You have altered since you
came."
"Have I?"
"Wonderfully, my lad--wonderfully! Men showed up well this morning," he
continued, seating himself.
"Capitally," said Dick.
"Couldn't hear what the colonel said, could you?"
"Every word."
"But you couldn't see, could you?" said the sergeant, appealingly.
"Oh, yes; two great slits, with the stuffing coming out."
Brumpton groaned.
"I say, why don't you make the tailor take all the padding away?" cried
Dick.
"I did beg and pray of him to, but he wouldn't. He said it would spoil
my figure, and I should look fuller and fatter. Oh, dear! I never
thought, after working as I have in the regiment, that I should live to
be laughed at like this!"
"Oh, don't mind that. I couldn't help laughing, too, Mr Brumpton. It
did look rather comic."
"To you, my lad--to you; but it's death to me! I shall be turned out of
the regiment on a pension. Me going out on a pension at my time of
life! But it must come."
"Don't let it," said Dick. "You're a young man yet."
"Yes; six-and-thirty, Smithson--that's all."
"Well, will you let me speak plainly, Mr Brumpton?"
"Of course, I will, my dear boy; I always liked you from the day when
you came up to me and wanted the shilling. I said to myself then, `This
chap's a gentleman--'"
"Oh, nonsense--nonsense," cried Dick.
"Ah! you needn't tell me. I know. But I'm not going to pump you. If
you want to keep it dark why you've run away from home, you've a right
to. What were you going to say, Smithson?"
Dick was growing nervous and excited, and jumped at the change in the
conversation.
"I was going to say that, as it is such a pity for you to grow so stout,
why don't you eat less?"
"Eat! My dear boy, I almost starve myself."
"Drink less, then. If I were you, I wouldn't take so much beer."
"But I don't, Smithson; I don't--I give it up ever so long ago--only
ginger, and that can't make me fat. It don't make no difference whether
I eat and drink hearty or starve myself: it all goes to fat. I really
believe sometimes that the very wind agrees with me and runs to it."
"Then do as the colonel said--train, run, use the clubs."
"I have," cried Brumpton, "for months; but I only get worse."
"Don't sleep quite so much, then."
"Oh, dear!" groaned the sergeant; "I've cut myself down to five hours,
and surely that oughtn't to be too much. It's no good, Smithson--not a
bit! If I was to be shut up in a lump of coal, like a toad, I should go
on getting fat till the coal split up the back, like one of my jackets."
"Well, it does seem hard," said Dick.
"No, sir; soft--horridly soft," said the sergeant, and he rose with a
sigh. "I've felt sometimes that if I get my discharge I shall make an
end of myself."
"Nonsense."
"Oh, I shall. I've often thought of drowning myself, after being
laughed at, but I couldn't do that."
"I should think not."
"Fat would be against me there, Smithson; I should only float."
The idea of the plump sergeant bobbing about, half out of the water,
like a cork-float, excited Dick's laughing muscles; but he saw how
genuine was the distress of the poor fellow standing before him, and he
forbore, knowing as he did that a good warm heart beat beneath that
coating of fat and that Brumpton was a clever officer and devoted to his
work.
"I wish I could help you, sergeant," said Dick, at last.
"So do I, my lad; but you can't."
"Have you tried the doctor?"
"Yes--yes," said Brumpton, dolefully.
"What did he advise?"
"Nothing! Laughed at me."
Dick sat, tapping the table with his penholder.
"I know how it will be," continued the sergeant. "I shall be pitched
out of the regiment, and then I shall begin to get thin from misery and
despair."
"Going?" said Dick.
"Yes; I'll just walk round to the canteen and get in the scales again.
I try 'em every day, hoping to find 'em moving the wrong way, but I
never can. I was seventeen stone thirteen yesterday; next week I shall
be eighteen stone, and they can't keep a man like that in the army."
"Stop! Look here!" cried Dick, so earnestly that the sergeant plumped
down again into his seat, gazing wildly into the young man's face, ready
to grasp at any straw to save himself from being drowned in his misery.
"Yes, yes," he panted; and he began to wipe his big, smooth face. "Got
an idea?"
"I think I could cure you, Mr Brumpton."
"Could you? How? I'll take anything. I don't mind how nasty."
"I've got an idea that I think will work, and, if it doesn't take down
your fat, it would keep you from having to leave the regiment."
The sergeant made a grab at Dick's hand.
"What is it? What is it?" he panted.
"Learn the bombardon!"
The sergeant loosened his grasp, and sank back again.
"You're laughing at me," he said, reproachfully; "and it comes hard from
you, Dick Smithson."
"I'm not laughing at you, sergeant," cried Dick, earnestly. "Look here!
it's a thing I have often noticed; but I never thought of applying it to
you. Who are the two thinnest men in the band?"
"Those two young chaps who play the trombones."
"Exactly, and nearly all the fellows are thin. You learn to play the
bombardon, and I'll be bound to say that it will pull you down."
"Think so?" said the sergeant, with a sigh.
"I feel sure!"
"But how can I?"
"Oh, you could manage that. Tell Mr Wilkins you've taken a fancy to
learn the instrument. I'll help you."
The sergeant looked doubtful.
"Then, if it doesn't get your fat down, you could come in the band.
You'd look splendid, marching along with that great brass instrument!"
"Not chaffing me, are you?" said the sergeant, suspiciously.
"Chaffing? No, man. There, I'll speak out frankly to show you how
sincere I am. It does look absurd to see you puffing and panting along
at the double with your company. Don't be offended."
"No, my lad--no. It does look very stupid. Nobody knows it better than
I do."
"But, marching with the band, your size would not be noticed, especially
as you would be carrying that great brass bass instrument with its huge
bell-mouth."
"Well, do you know, I'm beginning to like that idea, Smithson. But I'm
not very clever over music. Big drum seems more in my way."
"Oh, no. You could soon get on with a bass instrument. Have you ever
learnt anything?"
"Tin whistle, when I was a boy."
"Oh, that would not help you much. You say you'll try, and I'll help
you."
"Try," cried the sergeant. "I'd try bugling;" and he soon after left
the room with the understanding that, Mr Wilkins being willing, he was
to begin his practice the very next day.