Coristine lit a cigar in the porch, and Wilkinson, who did
not smoke, but said he liked the odour of good tobacco, took his arm for
a walk along the well-lit streets. They agreed that it was time to be
out of town. Coristine said: "Let us go together; I'll see one of the
old duffers and get a fortnight's leave." Wilkinson had his holidays, so
he eagerly answered: "Done! but where shall we go? Oh, not to any female
fashion resort." At this Coristine put on the best misanthropic air he
could call up, with a cigar between his lips, and then, as if struck by
a happy thought, dug his elbow into his companion's side and ejaculated:
"Some quiet country place where there's good fishing." Wilkinson
demurred, for he was no fisherman. The sound of a military band stopped
the conversation. It came into sight, the bandsmen with torches in their
headgear, and, after it, surrounded and accompanied by all the small
boys and shop-girls in the town, came the Royals, in heavy marching
order. The friends stood in a shop doorway until the crowd passed by,
and then, just as soon as a voice could be distinctly heard, the
schoolmaster clapped his companion on the shoulder and cried, "Eureka!"
Coristine thought the music had been too much for his usually staid and
deliberate friend.
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