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"Oh ha ha ha! Oh oh ha ha ha ha!" Jack's face was purple with wine and whimsy, eyes streaming slits. "D'ye hear that, Stephen? 'The violin is too fiddly. D'you smoke it? 'Violin' -- 'fiddly'. Oh ha ha ha!"
"Yes, indeed," murmured Stephen into his own glass, sending as polite a grimace to the rifleman as he could manage. He needn't have bothered; Sharpe was too long inured to slights and even outright insults (and far too far gone in his own drink) to be concerned for the opinion of a mere Navy surgeon.
"Oh! Oh!" Jack's eyes widened in a sudden subsidence of the gales. Stephen recognised in horror the signs of an impending eddy of wit. "I suppose," Jack continued, turning to Sharpe, and desperately trying to maintain his countenance and his train of thought to deliver his line correctly, "I suppose then that the 'cello would be too base an instrument for your friend? The violincello," he explained, gesturing broadly with his hands at Sharpe's perfectly blank expression, "the 'cello --" drawing a large vaguely fiddlish shape in the air, "too base," lowering his voice dramatically.
A rather lengthyish pause, and then Sharpe's gaping mouth burst into open mirth once more; although whether at comprehension of Jack's clumsy clench or at his comically hopeful expression, hands frozen in mid-gesture, Stephen was unable to determine.
Clearly Jack was unconcerned for the cause, and laughter in two-part harmony once again filled the room. "Oh ha ha ha! Stephen! D'ye hear that? The 'cello's too base. D'ye smoke it? Too base! Oh ha ha ha!"
Stephen sent much the same pained grimace-like smile to his long-time particular friend (and he had to remind himself just how long and just why so particular to endure evenings such as these) as he had to the Army officer; which received much the same response. He sighed, listened to the minute repeater of his cherished Brueget, and cursed its well-deserved fame for accuracy.
♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫
Later in the evening, after Stephen had had more to drink (a lot more to drink), he added, "I expect then, that for your friend - your musical friend who yet does not appreciate the euphonious beauty of the stringed instruments - I suppose that the viola is too florid," but both of his companions looked perfectly blank (although whether that was due to the length of his comment, which had lost them at 'friend', or to amazement at his ability not only to properly enunciate his words but to produce such a statement and even not become lost in it, or to the resumption of a subject long forgotten, or to incomprehension of the references, it was impossible to tell, likely because they all came into play); so Stephen merely sighed and drank some more.
♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫
The next evening Captain Aubrey and Dr. Maturin found time for a bit of music together. Stephen noticed Jack was somewhat quieter than usual, his face bearing the slight frown prevalent whenever he pondered a particularly prickly problem.
Stephen thought little of it; last night's dinner had devolved into a test of drinking stamina between the two officers, and each felt the necessity of upholding the honour of his particular branch of the military in the ability to hold one's liquour. As each had awoken with only the fuzziest of recollections of the previous night, and Stephen had retired before the outcome determined, the competition became who could continue to function the most efficiently and effectively at his profession, despite their raging hangovers.
Both had striven with grim determination all day; much to their subordinates' dismay. Sharpe had finished with a drill of his rifleman, during which he demonstrated not only his personal unimpaired excellence with his weapon, but also his tolerance of the explosion of sound directly in his ear. Naturally Jack could not be out-done in this arena, and as he loved gun practice in any case for its own sake, he was soon demonstrating to the Army officer and men what a highly-efficient fighting warship was like with both sides blazing away (an opportunity the Marines relished equally, as they could demonstrate to these hot-shot riflemen their necessary proficiency with the great guns as well as the small arms).
Stephen did not know if the day ended with either the Army or the Navy victorious, but he was certain that Jack won in terms of noise generated.
As such it was no surprise to him to find Jack frowning, whether in thought or exhaustion or in attempt to determine if his A was correct in pitch merely through vibration, as his ears could hardly be attending to the music over the ringing still echoing in his head from the cannon.
However Stephen was fated to learn the reason for his friend's contemplation. In the middle of their attack on Corelli, Jack suddenly stopped playing, his whole face lighting in pleasure. "Viola -- violet -- flower -- florid! I smoke it now! Stephen, you are a sly one! Oh ha ha ha! Wonderful! Viola -- florid; viola, florid," his voice trailed away in a murmur.
Stephen bore Jack's distraction into humour with good grace until he realised the ruminating look on his friend's face meant he was committing this additional clench to his stash of stories appropriate to drag out at social dinners. That he now had an entire set of related witticisms no doubt meant they would be brought forth again and again. Stephen regretted with his whole being whatever muse of his thought fit to create the vile pun in the first place; a mere effort at companionability (not at all to be left out by both the rifleman and Jack having invented one). No good deed goes unpunished, he reflected in vile cliché, and no prideful action comes without its downfall.