"Hold hard, there!" cried the same voice, and Richard looked quickly up, to meet the dark eyes of a big, handsome, youngish man, who, napkin in hand, towered above the others, but turned sharply round, and Richard heard him say-- "May we have him in, sir?" "Oh, yes!" came back in a quick, commanding voice, and the officer looked out again. "Here!" he cried, "we want you to come in and play." "I--I beg your pardon--I--I--" Dick got no further, for an officer's servant was at his elbow, looking at him rather superciliously as he said-- "This way!" CHAPTER SIXTEEN. "YOU MEANT IT, THEN?" For one moment Richard flinched, and thought of making a run for it; the next he was following the man. "Why not?" he muttered. "I may as well, if they want me to. Why not play for my living now?" The next minute, with the feeling of shrinking gone, he was standing in the mess-room, in one corner of which, partially hidden by a screen and some palms, was the band, while close to him, leaning back in his chair, was a fine, florid-looking, grey officer, evidently the colonel or major of the regiment, while the rest of the officers had resumed their places, and the dinner was going on. "Well, sir," said the elderly, florid officer, with assumed sternness, as he fixed the lad with his keen grey eyes, "what have you to say for yourself? How are you come here and interrupt the most brilliant player in my band?" There was a roar of laughter from all present, and Richard was conscious of a sharp face belonging to a bandsman peering between the palm-leaves. "I beg your pardon, sir," said the lad, frankly, "but I stopped to hear the music; the air was very familiar, and I had my instrument in my pocket, and--well, sir, that's all." "Oh!" said the old officer, scanning him sharply; "then you are not a street musician?" "I, sir? Oh, no," cried Richard--"that is, I don't know; I suppose I shall be." "Humph! Well, you played that piece from the _Trovatore_ capitally. The gentlemen here would like to hear something else--er--I should, too. Know any other airs?" "A few, sir." "Mind playing?" "Not to so appreciative an audience," came to the lad's lips; but he only said, "Oh, no, sir." "Go on, then. Here, Johnson, give the musician a glass of wine. By the way, Lacey, you were going to tell us a story about something." The big, good-looking officer smiled, shook his head, and wrinkled up his forehead in a perplexed way as he looked up at the ceiling. "The flute-player blew it all out of his head, sir," said a rather fierce-looking man who took the foot of the table, and there was another laugh. At that moment the band at the end of the great mess-room recommenced playing, but there were cries of "No! no!" headed by the officer at the head.