Soldiers Three Volume I Part 31

'If this be Vanity who'd be wise?

If this be Vanity who'd be wise?

If this be Vanity who'd be wi--ise?

(_Crescendo._) Vanity let it be!'

MRS. G. (_Defiantly to the gray of the evening sky._) 'Vanity let it be!'

ECHO. (_From the f.a.goo spur._) Let it be!

FATIMA

And you may go into every room of the house and see everything that is there, but into the Blue Room you must _not_ go.--_The Story of Blue Beard._

SCENE.--_The_ GADSBYS' _bungalow in the Plains. Time,_ 11 A. M. _on a Sunday morning._ CAPTAIN GADSBY, _in his s.h.i.+rt-sleeves, is bending over a complete set of Hussar's equipment, from saddle to picketing-rope, which is neatly spread over the floor of his study. He is smoking an unclean briar, and his forehead is puckered with thought._

CAPT. G. (_To himself, fingering a headstall._) Jack's an a.s.s. There's enough bra.s.s on this to load a mule--and, if the Americans know anything about anything, it can be cut down to a bit only. 'Don't want the watering-bridle, either. Humbug!--Half a dozen sets of chains and pulleys for one horse! Rot! (_Scratching his head._) Now, let's consider it all over from the beginning. By Jove, I've forgotten the scale of weights! Ne'er mind. 'Keep the bit only, and eliminate every boss from the crupper to breastplate. No breastplate at all. Simple leather strap across the breast--like the Russians. Hi! Jack never thought of _that!_

MRS. G. (_Entering hastily, her hand bound in a cloth._) Oh, Pip, I've scalded my hand over that horrid, horrid Tiparee jam!

CAPT. G. (_Absently._) Eh! Wha-at?

MRS. G. (_With round-eyed reproach._) I've scalded it _aw_-fully! Aren't you sorry? And I _did_ so want that jam to jam properly.

CAPT. G. Poor little woman! Let me kiss the place and make it well.

(_Unrolling bandage._) You small sinner! Where's that scald? I can't see it.

MRS. G. On the top of the little finger. There!--It's a most 'normous big burn!

CAPT. G. (_Kissing little finger._) Baby! Let Hyder look after the jam.

You know I don't care for sweets.

MRS. G. In-deed?--Pip!

CAPT. G. Not of that kind, anyhow. And now run along, Minnie, and leave me to my own base devices. I'm busy.

MRS. G. (_Calmly settling herself in long chair._) So I see. What a mess you're making! Why have you brought all that smelly leather stuff into the house?

CAPT. G. To play with. Do you mind, dear?

MRS. G. Let _me_ play too. I'd like it.

CAPT. G. I'm afraid you wouldn't, p.u.s.s.y--Don't you think that jam will burn, or whatever it is that jam does when it's not looked after by a clever little housekeeper?

MRS. G. I thought you said Hyder could attend to it. I left him in the veranda, stirring--when I hurt myself so.

CAPT. G. (_His eye returning to the equipment._) Po-oor little woman!--Three pounds four and seven is three eleven, and that can be cut down to two eight, with just a _lee_-tle care, without weakening anything. Farriery is all rot in incompetent hands. What's the use of a shoe-case when a man's scouting? He can't stick it on with a lick--like a stamp--the shoe! Skittles!

MRS. G. What's skittles? Pah! What _is_ this leather cleaned with?

CAPT. G. Cream and champagne and--Look here, dear, do you really want to talk to me about anything important?

MRS. G. No. I've done my accounts, and I thought I'd like to see what you're doing.

CAPT. G. Well, love, now you've seen and--Would you mind?--That is to say--Minnie, I really _am_ busy.

MRS. G. You want me to go?

CAPT. G. Yes, dear, for a little while. This tobacco will hang in your dress, and saddlery doesn't interest you.

MRS. G. Everything you do interests me, Pip.

CAPT. G. Yes, I know, I know, dear. I'll tell you all about it some day when I've put a head on this thing. In the meantime--

MRS. G. I'm to be turned out of the room like a troublesome child?

CAPT. G. No-o. I don't mean that exactly. But, you see, I shall be tramping up and down, s.h.i.+fting these things to and fro, and I shall be in your way. Don't you think so?

MRS. G. Can't I lift them about? Let me try. (_Reaches forward to trooper's saddle._)

CAPT. G. Good gracious, child, don't touch it. You'll hurt yourself.

(_Picking up saddle._) Little girls aren't expected to handle _numdahs._ Now, where would you like it put? (_Holds saddle above his head._)

MRS. G. (_A break in her voice._) Nowhere. Pip, how good you are--and how strong! Oh, what's that ugly red streak inside your arm?

CAPT. G. (_Lowering saddle quickly._) Nothing. It's a mark of sorts.

(_Aside._) And Jack's coming to tiffin with _his_ notions all cut and dried!

MRS. G. I know it's a mark, but I've never seen it before. It runs all up the arm. What is it?

CAPT. G. A cut--if you want to know.

MRS. G. Want to know! Of course I do! I can't have my husband cut to pieces in this way. How did it come? Was it an accident? Tell me, Pip.

CAPT. G. (_Grimly._) No. 'Twasn't an accident. I got it--from a man--in Afghanistan.

MRS. G. In action? Oh, Pip, and you _never_ told me!

CAPT. G. I'd forgotten all about it.

MRS. G. Hold up your arm! What a horrid, ugly scar! Are you sure it doesn't hurt now? How did the man give it you?

CAPT. G. (_Desperately looking at his watch._) With a knife. I came down--old Van Loo did, that's to say--and fell on my leg, so I couldn't run. And then this man came up and began chopping at me as I sprawled.

MRS. G. Oh, don't, don't! That's enough!--Well, what happened?

CAPT. G. I couldn't get to my holster, and Mafflin came round the corner and stopped the performance.