“Do sayl” said Fleece.
“I’m sorry.” Lariat already had his handkerchief out “That’s been coming on me for a week.”
“This man needs some beauty. He hasn’t seen too much down here. Give mefiveminutes.” I found the phone in the gift shop downstairs and called Harley in Beta Camina. I got him.
“Harley says he’s got the best band he ever had. He’s rehearsing them for the International Lions Convention parade in New York. Would you like it if I said let’s take Fleece’s car and drive down to Beta Camina? I’d like you to see them and meet him.”
“A nigger marching band?” said Lariat.
When we arrived at the high school in Beta Camina the Gladiators were marching on the football field full blast They had newer uniforms, a heavy green tending toward black. We joined Harley on the top bleacher. He was sweating. The day was hot, high, blue and golden. He had several folded index cards in his shirt pocket. I say Harley was sweating, but he was rather peaceful. He was not directing or conducting them at all.
“That’s it” he said. “What does anybody want? They’re beyond me. I can’t help them any more. They got guts and grace. Thirty of them already have scholarships in music. Six of them going to Juilliard.”
“Would you listen to that?” said Lariat. “They are superb. That is the best; well, you just forget they’re a marching band at all. Whose music are they playing?”
“Mine,” said Harley.
We left for the car. The band had quit but was still in our ears. Lariat put a hand on my shoulder.
“That was it. Good, good heavens. We’re in the wrong field. Music!”