Part 29 (1/2)

”One 'ud think I played outside pubs,” grumbled Mr Cheadle.

”Now, if only Mr Baffy would come, you artistes could get to work,”

remarked Mr Poulter pleasantly.

”Let's start without him,” suggested Cheadle, who seemed pleased at being referred to as an artiste.

A move was made to the platform at the further end of the hall; when this was reached, a little old man staggered into the hall, bearing on his shoulders a ba.s.s viol.

”Here's Baffy!” cried the three musicians together.

When the man disentangled himself from his burden, Mavis saw that the ba.s.s viol player was short, unkempt, greyhaired and bearded; he stared straight before him with vacant, watery eyes; his mouth was always agape; he neither greeted nor spoke to anyone present.

In obedience to Mr Poulter's instructions, two of the band brought a big screen from a side-room; this was set up by the piano, at which instrument Mavis took her seat. The screen was arranged so that she and Cheadle, the cornet-player, would be in full sight of the dancers; the three musicians not in evening dress were hidden behind the screen.

They commenced a waltz. Mr Baffy did not start with the others; he was set going by a kick from Mr Cheadle. He played without music, seemingly at random, vilely, unconcernedly. Mr Baffy seemed to be ignorant of when a figure was ended, as he went on sc.r.a.ping after the others had ceased, and only stopped after receiving a further kick from Cheadle; he then stared feebly before him, till again set going by a forcible hint from the cornet-player.

Mavis acquitted herself to the grudging satisfaction of Cheadle. A few minutes before the doors were open, Miss Nippett approached her, wearing, besides her usual shawl, a coquettish cap and ap.r.o.n.

”Have you come to the dance?” asked Mavis.

”I'm 'ladies cloak-room' to-night? What do you think of Baffy?”

”I don't know what to think.”

”No cla.s.s, is 'e?”

”Do you know anything about him?”

”I don't 'old with the feller. 'Is presence is a disgrace to the academy,” replied the ”ladies' cloak-room.”

A few minutes later, the first of Mr Poulter's patrons self-consciously entered the room; soon after, dancing commenced.

As if to give Mavis heart for her unaccustomed task, Mr Poulter kept an eye upon her; he encouraged her with smiles whenever she looked in his direction. Mavis's playing was much jeopardised by the conduct of the other musicians; they did not give the least attention to what they were at, but performed as if their efforts were second nature. Soon after the dancing started, Mr Cheadle brought from a pocket a greasy pack of cards, at which he and the two musicians who had arrived with him began to play at farthing ”Nap,” a game which the most difficult pa.s.sages of their performance did not interrupt, each card-player somehow contriving to play almost directly it came to his turn. Mr Cheadle, playing the cornet, had one hand always free; he shuffled the cards, dealt them, and put down the winnings. When Mavis became more used to the vagaries of their instrumental playing, she was amused at the way in which they combined business with diversion. Mr Baffy, also, interested her; he still continued to stare before him, as he played with watery, purposeless eyes, and with mouth agape.

Halfway through the programme, there was an interval for refreshments.

Mavis was conducted by Mr Poulter to a table set apart for the artistes in the room in which the lightest of light refreshments were served to his patrons.

Mavis sat down to a plateful of what looked uncommonly like her old friend, brisket of beef; she was now so hungry that she was glad to get anything so substantial.

”'Ow are you gettin' on?” asked a familiar voice over her shoulder.

Mavis looked up, to see Miss Nippett, who had discarded her cap and ap.r.o.n; she was now in her usual rusty frock, with her shawl upon her narrow, stooping shoulders.

”All right, thank you. Why don't you have some?”

”No, thank you. I can't spare the time. I'm 'light refreshments.'”

”But they're all eaten!” remarked Mavis, as her eye ranged along a length of table-cloth innocent of food or decoration.

”'Poulter's' ain't such a fool as to stick nothink out; it would all be 'wolfed' in a second. Let 'em ask.”