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I decided to break up their conversation as soon as I could.

After I had seen that everything was all right for the

performance, I hurried to Linda's side with an apology for my long absence.
As I approached, Porcharlester rose, saying, "I'm going behind the stage if you don't mind."
"Boys will be boys," I said when he had gone. "But how

are your musical studies progressing?"
"I'm full of Schubert now. Oh, Colonel Green, do you

know Schubert's serenade?"
"Oh, a lovely thing. It's something like this, I think..."
"Yes, it is little like that. Does Mr Porcharlester sing it?"
I hated to hear her mention the name, so I said, "He

tries to sing it."
"But do you like it?" she asked.
"Hm, well the fact is..." I tried to avoid a straight

answer. "Do you like it?"
"I love it. I dream of it. I've lived on it for the last

three days."
"I hope to hear you sing it when the play's over."
"I sing it! Oh, I'd never dare. Ah, here is Mr. Porcharlester, I'll make him promise to sing it to us."
"Green," said Porcharlester, "I don't wish to bother you,

but the man who is to play the horn hasn't turned up."
"Dear me," I said, "I ordered him at exactly half-past

seven. If he fails to come in time, the play willl be spoilt."
I excused myself to Linda, and hurried to the hall. The

horn was there, on the table. But the man was nowhere to

be seen.
At the moment I heard the signal for the horn. I waited

for him, but he did not come. Had he mixed up the time?

I hurried to the dining room. There at the table he sat, fast

asleep. Before him were five bottles, empty. Where he had

got them from was beyond me. I shook him, but could not

wake him up.
I ran back to the hall promising myself to have him

shot for not obeying my orders. The signal came again.

They were waiting. I saw but one way to save the play

from failure.
I took up the instrument, put the smaller end into my

mouth and blew. Not a sound came from the thing.
The signal was given a third time.
Then I took the horn again, put it to my lips and blew

as hard as I could.

The result was terrible. My ears were deafened, the windows shook, the hats of my visitors rained from their pegs,and as I pressed my hands to my head, the horn playercame out, shaky on his feet, and looked at the guests, who

began to appear on the stairs...

For the next three months I studied horn-blowing. I did

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