Soldiers Three - LightNovelsOnl.com
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CAPT. G. No, thanks. Don't you think it's pleasanter out in the veranda?
(_Aside_.) I never saw hair take that colour in the suns.h.i.+ne before.
(_Aloud_.) It's like one of d.i.c.ksee's pictures.
MISS T. Yes! It's a wonderful sunset, isn't it? (_Bluntly_.) But what do _you_ know about d.i.c.ksee's pictures?
CAPT. G. I go Home occasionally. And I used to know the Galleries.
(_Nervously_.) You mustn't think me only a Philistine with--a moustache.
MISS T. Don't! _Please_ don't! I'm _so_ sorry for what I said then. I was _horribly_ rude. It slipped out before I thought. Don't you know the temptation to say frightful and shocking things just for the mere sake of saying them? I'm afraid I gave way to it.
CAPT. G. (_Watching the girl as she flushes_.) I _think_ I know the feeling. It would be terrible if we all yielded to it, wouldn't it? For instance, I might say--
POOR DEAR MAMMA. (_Entering, habited, hatted, and booted_.) Ah, Captain Gadsby! 'Sorry to keep you waiting. 'Hope you haven't been bored. 'My little girl been talking to you?
MISS T. (_Aside_.) I'm not sorry I spoke about the rheumatism. I'm not!
I'm NOT! I only wish I'd mentioned the corns too.
CAPT. G. (_Aside_.) What a shame! I wonder how old she is. It never occurred to me before. (_Aloud_.) We've been discussing 'Shakespeare and the musical gla.s.ses' in the veranda.
MISS T. (_Aside._) Nice man! He knows that quotation. He _isn't_ a Philistine with a moustache. (_Aloud._) Good-bye, Captain Gadsby.
(_Aside._) What a huge hand and _what_ a squeeze! I don't suppose he meant it, but he has driven the rings into my fingers.
POOR DEAR MAMMA. Has Vermillion come round yet? Oh, yes! Captain Gadsby, don't you think that the saddle is too far forward? (_They pa.s.s into the front veranda._)
CAPT. G. (_Aside._) How the d.i.c.kens should I know what she prefers? She told me that she doted on horses. (_Aloud._) I think it is.
MISS T. (_Coming out into front veranda._) Oh! Bad Buldoo! I must speak to him for this. He has taken up the curb two links, and Vermillion hates that. (_Pa.s.ses out and to horse's head._)
CAPT. G. Let me do it.
MISS T. No, Vermillion understands me. Don't you, old man? (_Looses curb-chain skilfully, and pats horse on nose and throttle._) Poor Vermillion! _Did_ they want to cut his chin off? There!
CAPTAIN GADSBY _watches the interlude with undisguised admiration._
POOR DEAR MAMMA. (_Tartly to_ MISS T.) You've forgotten your guest, I think, dear.
MISS T. Good gracious! So I have! Good-bye. (_Retreats indoors hastily_)
POOR DEAR MAMMA. (_Bunching reins in fingers hampered by too tight gauntlets_) Captain Gadsby!
CAPTAIN GADSBY _stoops and makes the foot-rest._
POOR DEAR MAMMA _blunders, halts too long, and breaks through it._
CAPT. G. (_Aside_.) Can't hold up eleven stone for ever. It's all your rheumatism. (_Aloud_.) Can't imagine why I was so clumsy. (_Aside_.) Now Little Featherweight would have gone up like a bird.
_They ride out of the garden. The Captain falls back._
CAPT. G. (_Aside_.) How that habit catches her under the arms! Ugh!
POOR DEAR MAMMA. (_With the worn smile of sixteen seasons, the worse for exchange_.) You're dull this afternoon, Captain Gadsby.
CAPT. G. (_Spurring up wearily_.) Why did you keep me waiting so long?
_Et caetera, et caetera, et caetera._
(AN INTERVAL OF THREE WEEKS.)
GILDED YOUTH. (_Sitting on railings opposite Town Hall_.) Hullo, Gaddy!
'Been trotting out the Gorgonzola! We all thought it was the Gorgon you're mas.h.i.+ng.
CAPT. G. (_With withering emphasis_.) You young cub! What the ---- does it matter to you?
_Proceeds to read GILDED YOUTH a lecture on discretion and deportment, which crumbles latter like a Chinese Lantern. Departs fuming._
(FURTHER INTERVAL OF FIVE WEEKS.)
SCENE.--_Exterior of New Simla Library on a foggy evening_. MISS THREEGAN _and_ MISS DEERCOURT _meet among the 'rickshaws_. MISS T. _is carrying a bundle of books under her left arm_.
MISS D. (_Level intonation_.) Well?
MISS T. (_Ascending intonation_.) Well?
MISS D. (_Capturing her friend's left arm, taking away all the books, placing books in 'rickshaw, returning to arm, securing hand by the third finger and investigating_.) Well! You _bad_ girl! And you _never_ told me.
MISS T. (_Demurely_.) He--he--he only spoke yesterday afternoon.
MISS D. Bless you, dear! And I'm to be bridesmaid, aren't I? You _know_ you promised _ever_ so long ago.
MISS T. Of course. I'll tell you all about it to-morrow. (_Gets into'rickshaw_.) O Emma!
MISS D. (_With intense interest_.) Yes, dear?
MISS T. (_Piano_.) It's quite true--about--the--egg.
MISS D. What egg?
MISS T. (_Pianissimo prestissimo_.) The egg without the salt. (_Forte_.) _Chalo ghar ko jaldi, jhampani!_ (Go home, _jhampani_.)
THE WORLD WITHOUT
Certain people of importance.
SCENE.--_Smoking-room of the Deychi Club. Time_, 10.30 P. M. _of a stuffy night in the Rains. Four men dispersed in picturesque att.i.tudes and easy-chairs. To these enter_ BLAYNE _of the Irregular Moguls, in evening dress_.
