ook round, then by signs indicated to
his men that they were to start then and there. They promptly broke
out into "The Last Noel." Bindle ran from the shop, his fingers in his
ears.

"Oh, my Gawd! they'll bring the 'ole bloomin' 'ouse down," he
muttered. "I 'ope they don't play 'ymns in 'eaven--them drums!"

Mr. Hearty, who had been pushed into a corner behind an apple barrel,
stood and gazed about him. There was a dazed look in his eyes, as of
one who does not comprehend what is taking place. He looked as if at
any moment he might become a jibbering lunatic.

A wild cheer from the crowd attracted his attention. He looked out.
Pushing their way towards the shop was a number of vegetables: a
carrot, a turnip, a cabbage, a tomato, a cucumber, a potato, a marrow,
to name only a few. Each seemed to be on legs and was playing an
instrument of some description.

Was he mad? Could that really be a melon playing the drum? Did bananas
play cornets? Could cucumbers draw music from piccolos? Mr. Hearty
blinked his eyes. Here indeed was a dream, a nightmare. He saw Bindle
with an inspector and a constable turn the vegetables back, obviously
denying them admission. He watched as one who has no personal interest
in the affair. He saw the inspector enter with three constables, he
saw the green and red band ejected, Ted and the whiskered man
silenced, Charlie and the short genial man brought down protesting
from upstairs.

He saw the inspector's busy pencil fly from side to side of his
notebook, he saw Bindle grinning cheerfully as he exchanged remarks
with the bandsmen, he saw what looked like a never-ending procession
of bandsmen stream past him.

He saw everything, he believed nothing. Perhaps it was brain fever. He
had worked very hard over his new shop. If he were to die, Smith could
never carry on the three businesses. What would become of them? He
further knew that his afternoon trade was ruined, that he would
probably be summoned for something that he had not done, and tears
came to his eyes.

In Mr. Hearty's soul was nothing of the patience and long-suffering of
the martyr. Behind him, above him and in front of him he still seemed
to hear the indescribable blare of brass. Outside were the cheers of
the crowd and the vain endeavours of the police to grapple with the
enormous problem that had been set them. What could it all mean?

In the kitchen behind the parlour sat Mrs. Hearty wheezing painfully.
Opposite to her