Holding the borrowed trumpet and working the valves, he absently said, "What should I play?"

"What do you know?" the trumpeter responded, surprising Derek, who wasn t really asking anyone.

"Well, we played in a Dixieland Gospel Band a while back, so mostly I know stuff from that--at least, that s what I was practicing last year."

"We?"  He turned to Vashti.  "You play?  What instrument?"

"I play the ney."

Derek volunteered, "It's a traditional Persian instrument, something between a flute and a clarinet.  She was our descant instrument."

"Oh, so something like a recorder."

Derek wasn't sure whether he should admit to his ignorance regarding the recorder.  Vashti rescued him.

"Play Saints," she said.

He nodded, but the trumpeter called out to his friends, "Hey, Ralph, Peter, Phil, John, we ve got a Dixieland trumpeter here about to play a great standard.  Come help him out?"

As Derek took a deep breath, they were joined by a clarinet, then a trombone, then a string bass, and finally a snare drum.

"Sorry to stall you," the trumpeter said, "but I thought this would be interesting.  The little woman can give us the cues?"

Vashti nodded, said, "Concert F," and Derek started.  The trio knew what they were about, and fairly quickly picked up the first verse, and then as Derek picked up the tempo into the second verse they followed.  At one point Vashti shouted above the music, "T-bone on the lead!", and the transition went smoothly.  The only rough spot was when Derek hit the bridge they'd inserted, but they got through it, and as they came to the end of the last verse Vashti shouted, "Half tempo!" which got them to stay together to the ending of the song.

Several bystanders applauded.  "Excellent work, young man.  What else do you know?"

Derek hesitated, and then came up with, "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot?"

"Oh, this should be fun," the clarinetist said.  Vashti gave the key, and Derek counted them in, and they managed to get through the song with only minimal direction from Vashti.  Again there was applause.

"What else?" the original questioner asked.

"Oh, I don't know," Derek said.  They were starting to draw a crowd.

"Oh, one more," the trumpeter said.  "You're really very good."

Blushing a bit, Derek said, "Well, I've played with some really out-of-this-world musicians.  Blew the devil right out of New Orleans."

People laughed at this, and then there was the sound of the bell.  The bass player said, "I'm afraid we don't have time for another.  That's the diner bell, and we are due on stage, gentlemen."

"Indeed," the trumpeter said.  "Well, if you're going to New Orleans we've another day and night.  Maybe you'll grace us with another song."  Derek blew the spit valves and returned the trumpet, and the trumpeter wiped the mouthpiece and with a wave vanished through the crowd.

"I guess we should go get dinner," Derek said.  "After all, we paid for it, and we didn't get lunch, and frankly, I'm hungry."  He stood and offered her his arm, and they headed for the dining room they had seen on their previous jaunt around the ship.

As to the old stories that have long been here:

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