night?"

"Well, it's just this way," returned the other. "Me and my mate here are
musicians, and we just go this way and that according to where the
publics are. It's in the publics we makes what living we gets--singing
in the bars and cadging for drink and coppers."

"And a bloomin' shame we should have to do it!" chimed in Macbeth. "But
what can yer do? My trade's a mason; Leeds is where I come from; but
when they're short of work, if you've got _two_ grey hairs and another
chap's got only _one_, you gets the sack, and has to live as best yer
can.

"God knows I don't want this beastly life. But it's a good thing I've
got it to turn to. Most on 'em has nowt but their trades, and them's the
ones as has to starve. But me and my mate here happens to be moosical.
Used to sing in St. ---- Church in Leeds. Leading bass, I was--a bit
irregular, I'll own, and that's why they wouldn't keep me on. My mate
plays the cornet. He used to be in the band of the ---- Fusiliers.
Served in South Africa, he did, and got a sock in the face from a shell;
yer can see the 'ole under his eye. Good thing it didn't 'it him in the
ma-outh, or he wouldn't ha' been able to play the cornet any more. Know
Yorkshire, mister?"

I replied that I did.

"Well, if yer knows Yorkshire, yer knows there's plenty of music up
there. They can tell music, when they hear it, in Yorkshire, _that_ they
can! But these caownties down here, why, the people knows no more about
music nor pigs. They can't tell the difference between a man what really
_can_ sing and one of these 'ere 'owlin' 'umbugs that goes draggin'
little children up and daown t' streets. That sort makes more money than
we does. And I tell you, him 'ere"--indicating Banquo--"is a good cornet
player. 'Ere, Banquo, fetch it out o' your pocket, lad, and play the
gentleman a toon."

As far as I could judge, Banquo's pocket was situated somewhere in the
middle of his back, for it was from a region in that quarter, where I
had already felt a hard excrescence, due as I might have thought to an
unextracted cannon-ball received in South Africa, that the cornet was
produced.

"Play the gentleman 'The Merry Widder,'" said Macbeth, "and wait till
the thunder's stopped rolling before you begin."

The "Merry Widder" was well and duly played, and fully bore out
Macbeth's eulogy of the player. It was followed by something from
_Maritana_, and other things which I forget. Though the mouth of the
trumpet was