concerns.
"Sort of Crystal Palace affair. You ordered us, any'ow," he added.

"But I didn't," persisted Mr. Hearty. "This is all a mistake."

"Oh, ring orf!" said the leader. "People don't pay in advance for what
they don't want. Come along, boys," he cried and, pushing his way
along the shop, he passed through the parlour door and was heard
thumping upstairs.

"You can't get through," shouted Ted to the second drummer, a
mournful-looking man with black whiskers.

"Wot?" he bawled dully.

"Can't get through," yelled Ted.

"Why?" roared the whiskered man.

"Ruddy drum won't go up," shouted Ted.

"Oh!" said the second drummer and, without testing the accuracy of
Ted's words, he seated himself upon a barrel of apples, his drum still
in position.

There was a sound of loud altercations from above. After a minute they
subsided, and the volume of tone increased, showing that Charlie had
found expression in his cornet.

"Where's Striker?" came the cry.

"Strikeeeeeeeer!" yelled several voices.

"'Ullo!" howled Striker in a muffled voice.

"We're all ready. Wot the 'ell are you doin', Striker?" came the
response.

"Drum won't come up," bawled Striker.

"Wot?"

"Drum won't come up, too big."

"Right-o! you can pick us up," came the leader's reply.

A moment later "Onward, Christian Soldiers," broke out in brassy
rivalry to "Shall We Gather at the River."

Mrs. Hearty and Mrs. Bindle fled into the parlour.

It is obvious that whatever phenomenon eternity may have to discover
to man, it will not be Christian soldiers gathering at the river. The
noise was stupendous. The stream of brassy discord that descended from
above was equalled only by the pounding of the two drums that rose
from below.

Ted had made some reflections upon the whiskers of the second
drummer, with the result that, forgetting their respective bands, they
were now engaged in a personal contest, thumping and pounding against
each other with both sticks. The sweat poured down their faces, and
their mouths were working, each expressing opinions, which, however,
the other could not hear. At that moment the dark green caps with red
braid began to trickle into the shop.

Bindle, who had been a delighted spectator of the arrival of band
after band, suggested to the leader of the eighth band in a roar that
just penetrated to the drum of his ear, "'Adn't you better start 'ere,
there ain't no room upstairs?"

The man gave a comprehensive l