And that is Fugler's house, just opposite."

"But we cannot practise without making a noise."

"I hope not, indeed. Didn't I promise you a big drum?"

"But in that case the sick man will hear. It will disturb his last
moments."

"Confound the fellow, he can't have everything! If he'd asked for
peace and quiet, he should have had it. But he didn't: he asked for
a Dead March. Don't trouble about Fugler. He's not an unreasonable
man. The only question is, if the Doctor here can keep him going
until you're perfect with the tune."

And this was the question upon which the men of Looe, and especially
the Die-hards, hung breathless for the next few days. M. Trinquier
produced his score; the musicianers came forward eagerly; Miller
Penrose promised his waggon; the big drum arrived from Plymouth in
the trader _Good Intent_, and was discharged upon the quay amid
enthusiasm. The same afternoon, at four o'clock, M. Trinquier
opened his first practice in the Town Hall, by playing over the air
of the "Dead Marching Soul"--(to this the popular mouth had converted
the name)--upon his cornet, just to give his pupils a general notion
of it.

The day had been a fine one, with just that suspicion of frost in the
air which indicates winter on the warm south-western coast.
While the musicians were assembling the Doctor stepped across the
street to see how the invalid would take it. Fugler--a