Rifleman Gilway advanced two paces, lifted the instrument to his lips, and distended his cheeks. Beyond an eerie gurgle ("the last gasp of a dying flounder", according to the above-quoted honorary reporter) not a sound came from the cornet. The audience, rocking with laughter, threw shouts of encouragement and advice to the would-be musician, but all in vain. Rifleman Gilway's eyes were riveted upon the half of a cut, juicy lemon displayed within six inches of his face by a waggish subaltern. The sight of the acid fruit effectually prevented the man getting a single note out of the instrument. He puffed and blew like a grampus, the tears ran down his distended cheeks, and the perspiration oozed from his forehead, till in disgust he retired from the contest.