forth into what many supposed to be "The Watch on the Rhine." Some people
were plainly delighted; the veterans, once recovered from their surprise,
shouted their reminiscences above the music, undismayed; Jethro held on
to himself until the refrain, when he began to squirm, and as soon as the
tune was done and the scattering applause had died down, he reached over
and grabbed Mr. Amasa Beard by the knee. Mr. Beard did not immediately
respond, being at that moment behind logworks facing a rebel charge; he
felt vaguely that some one was trying to distract his attention, and in
some lobe of his brain was registered the fact that that particular knee
had gout in it. Jethro increased the pressure, and then Mr. Beard
abandoned his logworks and swung around with a snort of pain.

"H-how much do they git for that noise--h-how much do they git?"

Mr. Beard tenderly lifted the hand from his knee and stared at Jethro
with his mouth open, like a man aroused from a bad dream.

"Who? What noise?" he demanded.

"The Dutchmen," said Jethro. "H-how much do they git for that noise?"

"Oh!" Mr. Beard glanced at the band and began to laugh. He thought Jethro
a queer customer, no doubt, but he was a friend of Comrade Prescott's.
"By gum!" said Mr. Beard, "I thought for a minute a rebel chain-shot had
took my leg off. Well, sir, I guess that band gets about two dollars.
They've come in here every evening since I've been at the hotel."

"T-two dollars? Is that the price? Er--you say two dollars is their
price?"