Soldiers Three Volume I Part 37

CAPT. G. _links and unlinks curb-chain aimlessly, and finally stands staring towards the veranda.

The day brightens._

DOCTOR. (_Knocked out of professional gravity, tramping across flower-beds and shaking_ G.'s _hands._) It's--it's--it's!--Gadsby, there's a fair chance--a _dashed_ fair chance! The flicker, y'know.

The sweat, y'know! I _saw_ how it would be. The punkah, y'know. Deuced clever woman that Ayah of yours. Stopped the punkah just at the right time. A _dashed_ good chance! No--you don't go in. We'll pull her through yet I promise on my reputation--under Providence. Send a man with this note to Bingle. Two heads better than one. 'Specially the Ayah! _We'll_ pull her round. (_Retreats hastily to house._)

CAPT. G. (_His head on neck of_ M.'s _charger._) _Jack!_ I bub--bub--believe, I'm going to make a bub--bub--b.l.o.o.d.y exhibitiod of byself.

CAPT. M. (_Sniffing openly and feeling in his left cuff._) I b-b--believe, I'b doing it already. Old bad, what _cad_ I say? I'b as pleased as--Cod _dab_ you, Gaddy! You're one big idiot and I'b adother.

(_Pulling himself together._) Sit tight! Here comes the Devil-dodger.

JUNIOR CHAPLAIN. (_Who is not in the Doctor's confidence._) We--we are only men in these things, Gadsby. I know that I can say nothing now to help--

CAPT. M. (_Jealously._) Then don't say it! Leave him alone. It's not bad enough to croak over. Here, Gaddy, take the _chit_ to Bingle and ride h.e.l.l-for-leather. It'll do you good. I can't go.

JUNIOR CHAPLAIN. Do him good! (_Smiling._) Give me the _chit_ and I'll drive. Let him lie down. Your horse is blocking my cart--_please!_

CAPT. M. (_Slowly without reining back._) I beg your pardon--I'll apologise. On paper if you like.

JUNIOR CHAPLAIN. (_Flicking_ M.'s _charger._) That'll do, thanks. Turn in, Gadsby, and I'll bring Bingle back--ahem--'h.e.l.l-for-leather.'

CAPT. M. (_Solus._) It would have served me right if he'd cut me across the face. He can drive too. I shouldn't care to go that pace in a bamboo cart. What a faith he must have in his Maker--of harness! Come _hup_, you brute! (_Gallops off to parade, blowing his nose, as the sun rises._)

(INTERVAL OF FIVE WEEKS.)

MRS. G. (_Very white and pinched, in morning wrapper at breakfast table._) How big and strange the room looks, and oh how glad I am to see it again! What dust, though! I must talk to the servants. Sugar, Pip?

I've almost forgotten. (_Seriously._) Wasn't I very ill?

CAPT. G. Iller than I liked. (_Tenderly._) Oh, you bad little p.u.s.s.y, what a start you gave me!

MRS. G. I'll never do it again.

CAPT. G. You'd better not. And now get those poor pale cheeks pink again, or I shall be angry. Don't try to lift the urn. You'll upset it.

Wait. (_Comes round to head of table and lifts urn._)

MRS. G. (_Quickly._) _Khitmatgar, bowarchi-khana see kettly lao_.

Butler, get a kettle from the cook-house. (_Drawing down_ G.'s _face to her own._) Pip dear, _I_ remember.

CAPT. G. What?

MRS. G. That last terrible night.

CAPT. G. Then just you forget all about it.

MRS. G. (_Softly, her eyes filling._) Never. It has brought us _very_ close together, my husband. There! (_Interlude._) I'm going to give Junda a _saree._

CAPT. G. I gave her fifty dibs.

MRS. G. So she told me. It was a 'normous reward. Was I worth it?

(_Several interludes._) Don't! Here's the _khitmatgar_.--Two lumps or one, Sir?

THE SWELLING OF JORDAN

If thou hast run with the footmen and they have wearied thee, then how canst thou contend with horses? And if in the land of peace wherein thou trustedst they wearied thee, then how wilt thou do in the swelling of Jordan?

SCENE.--_The_ GADSEYS' _bungalow in the Plains, on a January morning._ MRS. G. _arguing with bearer in back veranda._

CAPT. M. _rides up._

CAPT. M. 'Mornin', Mrs. Gadsby. How's the Infant Phenomenon and the Proud Proprietor?

MRS. G. You'll find them in the front veranda; go through the house. I'm Martha just now.

CAPT. M. 'c.u.mbered about with cares of _khitmatgars?_ I fly.

_Pa.s.ses into front veranda, where_ GADSBY _is watching_ GADSBY JUNIOR, _aged ten months, crawling about the matting._

CAPT. M. What's the trouble, Gaddy--spoiling an honest man's Europe morning this way? (_Seeing_ G. JUNIOR.) By Jove, that yearling's comin'

on amazingly! Any amount of bone below the knee there.

CAPT. G. Yes, he's a healthy little scoundrel. Don't you think his hair's growing?

M. Let's have a look. Hi! Hst! Come here, General Luck, and we'll report on you.

MRS. G. (_Within._) What absurd name will you give him next? Why do you call him that?

M. Isn't he our Inspector-General of Cavalry? Doesn't he come down in his seventy-two perambulator every morning the Pink Hussars parade?

Don't wriggle, Brigadier. Give us your private opinion on the way the third squadron went past. 'Trifle ragged, weren't they?

G. A bigger set of tailors than the new draft I don't wish to see.

They've given me more than my fair share--knocking the squadron out of shape. It's sickening!

M. When you're in command, you'll do better, young 'un. Can't you walk yet? Get my finger and try. (_To_ G.) 'Twon't hurt his hocks, will it?

G. Oh, no. Don't let him flop, though, or he'll lick all the blacking off your boots.

MRS. G. (_Within._) Who's destroying my son's character?

M. And my G.o.dson's. I'm ashamed of you, Gaddy. Punch your father in the eye, Jack! Don't you stand it! Hit him again!

G. (_Sotto voce._) Put The _Butcha_ down and come to the end of the veranda. I'd rather the Wife didn't hear--just now.

M. You look awf'ly serious. Anything wrong?

G. 'Depends on your view entirely. I say, Jack, you won't think more hardly of me than you can help, will you? Come further this way.--The fact of the matter is, that I've made up my mind--at least I'm thinking seriously of--cutting the Service.