C.
S.turned and, after getting permission of the medical superintendent, briefly introduced Barry to the wounded men, as "a man from the wild and woolly Canadian west, on his way up the line, and therefore competent to tell us about the war, and especially when it will end." Beside them stood a piano, and on it lay a violin in its open case.
Barry took up the violin, fingered its strings in an absent-minded way, and said: "I don't know anything about the war, men, but I do know when it will end, and that is when we lick those Huns good and plenty, as our American friends would say," bowing to the doctor at his side.

"I'm an awfully poor speaker, boys," he continued in a confidential tone, "but I can make this thing talk a bit." Without further preface he began to play.

He had not held a violin in his hands since he had played with his father at home.

Unconsciously his fingers wandered into the familiar notes of Handel's Largo.

He found the violin to possess an exceptionally rich and pure quality of tone.
As he began to play, a door opened behind them, admitting Paula, the V.A.D.and two or three young doctors, who took their places in the corner about the piano.
"Do you know this ?" whispered Paula to the V.A.D., as she caught the strains of the Largo.
"Yes.