The Queen's Scarlet Part 25

"Now this piece," he cried; and d.i.c.k ran through the second.

"Why, Smithson," cried the lieutenant, "you are a wonderful musician!

I--I'm afraid that you will be ready to laugh at me."

"Oh, no, sir. Now, then--I suppose your flute is of the right pitch?"

"I--er--think so."

"Try, sir."

d.i.c.k struck the chord of the key in which the piece was set, and the young officer blew a note of a most uncertain sound.

"Fully a quarter of a tone out, sir," said d.i.c.k, thoroughly in earnest now over his task. "Shall I alter the slide, sir?"

"If you please."

d.i.c.k altered the slide again and again till his pupil blew the note in perfect accord, and then they began, with the air played slowly out of time--a most feeble performance--right to the end of the strain, when the lieutenant lowered his flute, and looked at his master with a rather pitiful, but comically perplexed, expression.

"Horribly bad, isn't it?" he said.

"Well, it might be a good deal better, sir."

"Yes, of course. Will you be good enough to run through it?"

"No, sir; I think it would be better not. I want to encourage you--not discourage; of course, I could play it more perfectly, but then I have practised for years."

"Yes; I suppose so."

"But I can make you play that twice as well in a week."

"Do you think so?" cried the lieutenant, eagerly.

"I'm sure of it, sir. Now, again, please. I'll play each note on the piano, and I want you to blow that note firmly and with a full breath.

Never mind about time, blow each note as if it were a minim, giving a breath to each."

It was a complete change of position, the officer diligently obeying his subordinate, and working hard, if with no brilliant effect, till quite a couple of hours had pa.s.sed, when he laid down his flute.

"I shall never do it."

d.i.c.k smiled.

"You shall do it, sir," he cried. "I'll make you."

"You will, Smithson? Ah! if you only can! When will you come again? I want to play it so very badly."

"To-morrow, sir," said d.i.c.k; and he went back toward his quarters, wondering why the lieutenant wanted to play those two old-fashioned airs.

"Surely he does not want to serenade someone."

d.i.c.k laughed quite cheerily as he thought of the lieutenant's handsome face, and the idea tickled him for the moment; but the next moment he sighed and felt angry with himself for his mirthful display, and forgot the lieutenant's lessons till the next day.

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

THE NIGHT OF THE SERENADE.

Those lessons given to the lieutenant were the plus to the minus of d.i.c.k Smithson's existence, for the young officer grew daily more friendly and confidential. He chatted about his brother-officers and the dinner parties to which he was invited, rapidly forgetting the gap between them in their military status so long as they were alone, and insisted upon paying liberally for each lesson as it was given.

This d.i.c.k felt at first disposed to resent, but the lieutenant looked at him with so much surprise that he ended by taking his professional fee, and no more was ever said upon that point.

One day there was a scented note upon the table; another day, in a bashful, girlish way, which accorded strangely with the young officer's great, manly aspect, there was a hint let fall; and before long d.i.c.k smiled to himself as he felt certain that he had been right in his guess as to the purpose for which the lessons were being taken.

Then came a morning when d.i.c.k walked across the barrack yard, thinking of how thoroughly he had obliterated himself from the memory of all who knew him, and the past from his own. But, as he approached the lieutenant's quarters, he drove these thoughts away and ascended the stairs, to stop on the landing, for he could hear a voice talking loudly.

"Company!" thought d.i.c.k, and he was about to turn back, but the voice rose higher, and he became aware of the fact that there was what an Irishman would call "a one-sided quarrel" going on. As he came close to the door this became more evident, for he could hear the lieutenant, striding about the room, storming angrily.

"Joe Todd seems to have fetched himself hot water this morning," said d.i.c.k to himself, for Lacey was calling his servant by every name suggestive of stupidity that he could think of, but all in the most calmly, dignified manner.

"I beg your pardon, Smithson," he said, as the man left the room. "I ought not to go on like that, but the fellow really is beyond bearing.

I can't trust him to do a single thing. He either forgets or does it wrong. He burns my wet boots; he folds my clothes so that they are always in creases; he leaves the stopper out of my scent; upsets the scented bear's grease over my dress-clothes; and--and--Oh, I can't think of half the mischief he has done! Oh, dear me! there never was a man worried as I am.--Now, about this duet, Smithson. Do you think we can manage?--the fact is, I want it for a serenade on Friday night."

"If you will only play it as well, sir, as you did at the last lesson, it will be all right," said d.i.c.k, smiling to himself.

"Think so? I'm afraid I must seem very stupid to you, Smithson--such a musician as you are. Really, you are a mystery to me."

d.i.c.k made no reply.

"There, I beg your pardon, Smithson; it's just as if I were trying to pump you about your past, and I a.s.sure you I did not mean to. It would be so ungentlemanly."

"Lieutenant Lacey is always gentlemanly to me," said d.i.c.k, quietly.

"Well, so are you to me, Smithson. Really, I begin to look upon you as quite a friend."

"It is very kind of you, sir."

"Well, it's your way, Smithson. Never had lessons in music before without the fellow I took them of trying to make all the money he could out of me, bothering me to buy pieces of music, or instruments, or something. Well, let's begin. But one moment, Smithson; you really are keeping this a profound secret--I mean about the serenade?"

"I wish you would have a better opinion of me, sir," said d.i.c.k.

"I couldn't--I couldn't, really, Smithson," cried the lieutenant; "but the fact is, I am so nervous about it. If it were known in the regiment, I should never hear the last of it."

"It will not be known through me, sir," said d.i.c.k, quietly, as he arranged a couple of pieces of music on the stands.

"Of course, it will not, Smithson," cried the lieutenant, rather warmly.

"You see, I'm afraid I'm rather weak, and the fellows like to chaff me.

I don't mind much; but I can't help wishing Nature had made me less good-looking and given me some more brains."

d.i.c.k glanced at the fine, handsome fellow, and the lieutenant caught his eye.