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Updated: May 28, 2025
"And is it you, Brandt?" he exclaimed, as he looked into the sergeant's face. "Brandt is my name it is true," said the wachtmeister gruffly, as he peered at the soap-lathered countenance before him, "but who are you? I can see naught but soap. . . . Himmel," he shouted joyfully, as the professor beamed back at him, "I was blind. It is my dear and honored Herr Professor from Munich!
Accordingly every morning for ten days I trudged through the High Street of Harrow with my big brass instrument under my arm, and as seven rang out from the school clock, I commenced my extremely lugubrious rendering of "Home, Sweet Home," on the euphonium, to a scoffing and entirely unsympathetic audience of errand-boys and early loafers, until Tosher's soap-lathered face nodded dismissal from the window.
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