THE GERMAN BAND

When the German band was announced by the Demon Usher in his queer, cackling voice Queen Titania, Dame Drusilda, Violet, and Daffodil happened to be seated on the steps of the throne, and all were feeling grumpy and out-of-sorts. Dragonfel had tried to prevail upon them to play dominoes or parchesi, but they had no heart for any game.

Grouthead, Wolfinger, Mandrake, Boundingbore, Snoutpimple, and others of the enchanter’s followers were present and some of them looked distinctly bored. Snoutpimple was even trying to repress a yawn. Things at the palace had been rather slow since the abduction of Queen Titania and her party, and nothing especially wicked had occurred.

When it was known, however, that a number of strolling musicians were going to play for them, a thrill of genuine pleasure ran through the whole assemblage. Titania and her companions were glad, for they felt that some enlivening strains would greatly cheer their drooping spirits. Dragonfel’s followers were equally delighted, though they did not care in the least for music. But knowing their master as they did they were very sure that the prospective concert would prove exceedingly interesting.

Escorted by the smirking Demon Usher, who rubbed his hands together while he cackled joyously to himself, and who half skipped, half flew, before them, the members of the German band entered awkwardly, and clumsily arranged themselves in a semi-circle before the throne.

There were five of them including the leader who stood at the end nearest Dragonfel and the others—all diminutive, moustached men with big noses, whose frayed, soiled uniforms fitted them very badly indeed. Their trousers at the ends were rolled up a number of times over, and their coats which hung on them like bags actually reached almost to their shoe-tops.

Upon the chest of the one who stood next to the leader were pinned a great variety of medals, and he seemed to be very proud of them, since no one else boasted a decoration of any kind.

The little audience grouped about the throne gazed at them expectantly, and Titania thought the leader winked at her. But apparently he did not notice anyone, and least of all Dragonfel. His whole attention seemed to be centred on his band.

“Are ve all here alretty?” he asked.

“Yah!” came in chorus.

“Vell,” said he, “I vill broceed der gall der roll-gall. ‘Louie Knobloch!’”

“I vass here,” said the one with the medals next to him.

“Peter Dinkelspeil!”

“Here I vass.”

“Hermann Sweinskopf!”

“He’s peen here.”

“Jacob Schnittger!”

“Bresend early.”

“Emil Muller!”

There was no response, and all the rest turned and looked at the leader in surprise.

“Emil Muller!” he repeated, and then, suddenly recollecting something, went on: “Oh, oxguse me! I vass here. Heinrich von Strauss! Heinrich von Strauss! Vere iss Heiny von Strauss?”

“He vass py his bedt sick,” said Louie Knobloch.

“Vat’s der madder mit der bedt?” demanded Emil Muller. “For vhy iss id sick?”

“Nein, nein, keppelmeister,” said Louie Knobloch. “Id iss Heiny vat iss sick. He iss sick by der inside off der bedt.”

“Vhy iss he sick?” asked Emil Muller.

“Yestertay,” explained Louie Knobloch, “he vend on der bicnig, und he eated four dozen charlotte roosters, und he gets der collywopples.”

He illustrated his remarks by significantly rubbing his stomach. “He vas not in goot contition to plow ven ve left.”

“Anyvone vot eadts charlotte roosters ought der be sick,” said Emil Muller decidedly. “He shoult eat dem vhen dey iss a egg. Blay!”

All raised their instruments to their mouths, but he held up a warning finger.

“Anodder t’ing,” he went on to Knobloch. “You dell Heinrich off he vass nod here dermorrow morning ad half basd four in der afdernoon, vhen I gall der rehearsal, arous mit him! Are you retty?”

“Yah!”

“Den plow yourselfs!”

Then began a wild riot of discord, whereupon Emil Muller quickly took his own dented offending cornet from his mouth.

“Ve vill nod blay dot biece,” he announced. “Id iss no goot.”

“Vhy don’d you wride some musigs, keppelmeister?” suggested Peter Dinkelspeil.

“I voult, bud I’m doo pusy,” said Emil Muller. “Led us renter insteadt dot peaudiful biece fon Vawgner, ‘Der Glock on der Rhine.’”

“Vatch, keppelmeister,” corrected Louie Knobloch.

“Vatch vat?” inquired Emil Muller.

“Id iss nod a glock,” explained Louie Knobloch. “Id iss a vatch on der Rhine.”

“A glock all gan see iss besser,” said Emil Muller, and in the midst of their second attempt Hermann Swinescopf raised his hand and shouted in the effort to make himself heard above the din:

“Shtob der pandt! Shtob der pandt! I am shbeaking!”

“Vot’s der madder?” asked Emil Muller.

“Vass iss der biece you say ve blay?” questioned Hermann Sweinskopf.

“I say ‘Der Glock on der Rhine’ fon Vawgner,” replied Emil Muller.

They started once more, but again came the vigorous interruption from Hermann Sweinskopf:

“Shtob der pandt! Shtob der pandt! I am shbeaking!”

“Vhy don’d you shbeak your moud oud undt pe done mit it?” said Emil Muller angrily.

“Vass iss dis here biece, ‘Der Glock on der Rhine,’ anyhow? Iss id a so-na-da?”

“Yess—undt no!” said Emil Muller, reflecting. “Id iss a in-u-en-do! Are you all retty?”

“Yah!” they chorused, setting themselves in proper shape.

“Vell, altogedder den, und show de vorld vot you can do!”

Then came a third attempt, but the leader again stopped them.

“Who plew dot bum node?” he sternly demanded. Everyone looked at each other in surprise, and Louie Knobloch said:

“Vell, I don’d dood id.”

“I didn’d did id,” said Peter Dinkelspeil.

“I didn’d done id,” said Hermann Sweinskopf.

“I didn’d did did id,” said Jacob Schnittger.

“You’re de von,” Emil Muller accused Louie Knobloch. “You plew dot bum node, no madder vot oxguse you make!”

“No, sir,” said Louie Knobloch stoutly, “I don’d dood id.”

“You’re de von,” insisted Emil Muller. “You plew dot bum node, it vass near me.”

“No, sir,” denied Louie Knobloch. “I don’d plow no bum nodes. I vass as goot a musiker as you pe, und maype vorse.”

“You dake dot bum node und bay yourself,” said Emil Muller reminded him.

“Oh, dot don’d make some ice!” said Louie Knobloch, accompanying the words with sarcastic shakes of his head. “I don’d see no medals on you.”

He looked complacently down at his own chest and regarded with satisfaction the big assortment there. Emil Muller was evidently taken aback, but he recovered himself sufficiently to say:

“I am de leater, und you gan ged oudt off der pandt. Ve gan ged along mitout you.”

“Oh, vell,” said Louie Knobloch, “I gan go.”

“Den vhy don’d you? Vat are you shtanding here for?”

“I vass vaiding for my money.”

“How much do you owe me?” asked Emil Muller.

“I owe you a veek’s vages,” said Louie Knobloch. “No, you owe me a veek’s vages. You bay me my money und I go.”

“You dake dot bum node und bay yourself,” said Muller.

That settled the controversy, and Louis Knobloch made no effort to go, nor did Emil Muller urge him.

They made another attempt, without any further interruption, and, while their cheeks puffed out, and they got red in their faces, no one could tell what tune they were playing.

Dragonfel from the throne silently motioned to Grouthead who went out, and returned a few seconds later with a tray on which were four tiny glasses of ginger ale.

“No,” replied Louie Knobloch, wiping the froth from his eyes. “Vot dit he say?”

Emil Muller raised the glass to his lips, remarking with great emphasis:

“Shake-a-sbeare vonct saidt, ‘Dere iss odders!’”

But before he could partake of the cooling drink all of a sudden the Red Spirit with the bow and quiver of arrows he had taken surreptitiously from Prince Florimel flew through the window into the room, shattering the glass all to pieces, and lit right at Dragonfel’s feet.

“Be not deceived, kind master!” he cried, in great excitement. “They are the Brownies!”