4854 S8 1890 A = A^ 1^. 1 m — — d ^ == JD 8 ID 2 = 5 m ^^^ r— 3 m 5 H >■ 9 — 5 1 ■ -■ r^ zssz 3 LINIVBRSITY OF CALIFORNIA SAN C^iEQO THE UNIVERSITY LIBRARr UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, SAN DIEGO LA JGLLA. CALIFORNIA o Dl 1 IV^ BY HUDYAUD KIPLIUG. /^7(9 Author of ''Plain Tales from the Hills," "Departmental Ditties" &c. ''SOLDIERS THREE:" Stories of Barrack-room Life, IN SPECIALLY DESIGNED PICrURE COVER. Price-ONE RUPEE By the Same Author, UNIFORM WITH THE ABOVE, "THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS:" A Tale xvithoiit a Plot, IN SPECIALLY DESIGNED PICTURE COVER. Price-ONE RUPEE. By the Same Author, UNIFORM WITH THE ABOVE, "IN BLACK AND WHITE:" stories of Native Life, IN SPECIALLY DESIGNED PICTURE COVER. Price-ONE RUPEE. By the Same Author, UNIFORM WITH THE ABOVE, ''UNDER THE DEODARS:" In Social Bye-Ways. IN SPECIALLY DESIGNED PICTURE COVER. Price-ONE RUPEE. The above series are illustrative of tine four main features of Anglo-Indian Life, viz. : — THE MILITARY, DOMESTIC, NATIVE AND SOCIAL, AND FORM THE FIRST FOUR VOLUMES OF A. H. WHEELER. & CO.'S INDIAN RAILWAY LIBRARY. TO BE FOLLOWED BY ''WEE WILLIE WINKIE" And other Children's Stories, AND "THE PHANTOM RICKSHAW" And otiier Eerie Tales, sy: this s^nvcH] j^TJTHOia, AND UNIFORM WITH THE ABOVE SERIES. The Saturday Review says: — "Mr. Kipling knows and appreciates the English in India and is a born story-teller and a man of humour to boot. He is also singularly versatile and equally at home in humour and pathos ; while neither quality is ever quite absent from his little stories." The Broad Arrow says : — " We have seen entertainers who, with nothing but a piano and a decanter of water, could move an audience to laughter or tears for a whole evening ; and Mr. Rudyard Kipling's skill as a raconteur irresistibly reminds us of such feats." "SOLDIERS THREE" & "THE STORY OF THE GADSBY8" Are now ready and procurable from all Railway Bookstalls OE FROM A. H. WHEELER & CO., ALLAHABAD. " IN BLACK & WHITE " & " UNDER THE DEODARS " Are in the Press and will be issued shortly, and followed by " WEE WILLIE WINKIE " & " THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW," Orders for which are now being registered by A. H. WHEELER & CO., ALLAHABAD. THIRD EDITION THE STORY OF THE OADSBYS A TALE WITHOUT A PLOT BY RUDYARD KIPLING AUTHOR OF "SOLDIERS THREE," "WEE WILLIE WINKIE," ETC. PUBLISHED BY Messrs. A. H. WHEELER & CO. ALLAHABAD SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON, SEARLE, & RIVINGTON", Ld. §t. gunstan's gouse FETTER LANE, LONDON, E.G. r nfO^J ESSENCE OR FLUID EXTRACT OF RED JAMAICA SARSAPARILLA Is the nnly Preparation recognizert by the Facu'ty a'^ a wonderful PURIFIER OF THE HUMAN BLOOD. THOSE SUFFERING FROM THE EFFECTS OF TROPICAL CLIMATES, SUCH AS Torpid Liver, Debility, Attenuation of the Body, Eruptions, Lassitude, &c.. WILL BY TAKING THIS Essence of Red Jamaica Sarsaparilla Soon find relief, and ultimately a cure. It is asserted by those who take a little daily that the system becomes less liable to attacks of illness of all kinds. The best remedy against " prickly heat ". " We cannot speak tijo higlilj^ of it." — Lancet. The late Lord Clyde, writing for Wilkinson's Sarsaparilla, says : " I am never without it, for, when feeling depressed or out of sorts, from anxiety and fatigue, a dose or two animates me." " Your Essence of Red Jamaica Sarsaparilla cured me of a Torpid Liver when all other remedies failed." — Earl of Aldborough. BEWARE OF XMXTATIONSIM Which are worthless, and some injurious. Ask for Wilkinson's Essence of Red Jamaica Sarsaparilla, and take no other. The genuine lias the Trade ^[ark as above on the Labels, Wrappers, and Crates. AGENTS IN ALL THE PRINCIPAL TOWNS OF INDIA. Established at 270 Regent St. , London, W. , since 1829. PREFACE. To THE ADDRESS OF CAPTAIN J. MAFFLTN, Duke of Berry s (Fink) Hussars. Dear Mafflin, You will remember that I wrote this story as an Awful Warning. None the less you have seen fit to disregard it, and have followed Gadsby's example — as I betted you would. I acknowledge that you paid the money at once, but you have prejudiced the mind of Mrs. Mafflin against myself; for though I am almost the only respectable friend of your bachelor days, she has refused ray card to me throughout the season. Further, she caused you to invite me to dinner at the Club, wliere you called me " a wild ass of the desert," and went home at half-past ten, after discoursing for twenty minutes on the responsibilites of house-keeping. You now drive a mail-phaeton and sit under a Church of England clergyman. I am not angry, Jack. It is your fate, as it was Caddy's, and his fate who can avoid ? Do not think that I am moved by a spirit of revenge as I write, thus publicly, that you and you alone are responsible for this book. In other and more expansive days, when you could look at a magnum without flushing and at a cheroot without turning white, you supplied me with most of the material. Take it back again — would that I could have preserved your fetterless VI speech in the telling — take it back, and by your slippered hearth read it to the late Miss Deercourt. She will not be any the more willing to receive my cards, but she will admire you immensely, and you, I feel sure, will love me. You may even invite me to another very bad dinner — at the Club, which as you and your wife know, is a safe neutral ground for the entertainment of wild asses. Then, my very dear hypocrite, we shall be quits. Yours always, RUDYAED KIPLING. P.S. — On second thoughts I should recommend you to keep the book away from Mrs. Mafflin. CONTE NTS Poor Dear Mamma The World Without The Tents of Kedar With Any Amazement The Garden of Eden Fatima The Valley of the Shadow The Swelling of Jordan Page. 9 19 29 40 50 60 73 83 POOR DEAR MAMMA. The wild hawk to the wind-swept sky, The deer to the wholesome wold, And the heart of a man to the heart of a maid. As it was in the days of old. Gipsy Song. SCENE. — Interior of Miss Minnie Threegan's hed-room at Simla. Miss Threegan, in loindow-seat, turning over a draiverfid of Chiffons. Miss Emma Deercourt, losom-friend ivho has come to spend the day, sitting on the led, manipidating the bodice of a Icdl-room frock and a lunch of artiflcicd Lilies of the Valley. Time 5' 30 P.M., on a hot May afternoon. Miss Deercourt. — And he said, " I shall never forget this dance," and, of course, I said, "Oh ! How can you be so silly ! " Do you think he meant anything, dear ? Miss Threegan {extracting long lavender silk stockings, from the ruobish). — You know him better than I do. Miss D.— Oh do be sympathetic, Minnie ! I'm sure he does. At least I would be sure, if he wasn't always riding with that odious Mrs. Hagan. Miss T. — I suppose so. How does one manage to dance through one's heels first ? Look at this — isn't it shameful ? {Spreads stocking-heel on open hand for inspection) Miss D. — Never mind that ! You can't mend it. Help me with this hateful bodice. I've run the string so, and I've run the string so, and I cant make the fullness come right. Where would you put this ? ( Waves Lilies of the Vcdlcy.) Miss T. — As high up on the shoulder as possible. Miss D. — Am I quite tall enough ? I know it makes May Olger look lopsided. Miss T. — Yes, but May hasn't your shoulders. Her's are like a hock-bottle. 10 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. Bearer {rapping at door). — Captain Sahib has come. Miss D. {jujnping uj) wildly, and. Minting for hody ivhich she has discarded otving to the heat of the day). — Captain Sahih ! What, Captain Sahib .? Oh, good gracious, and I'm only half-dressed ! Well, I shan't bother. Miss T. [calmly). — You needn't. It isn't for us. That's Captain Gadsby. He is going for a ride with Mamma. He generally comes five days out of the seven. Agonised Voice {from an inner apartment). — Minnie, run out and give Captain Gadsby some tea, and tell him I shall be ready in ten minutes ; and, Minnie, come to me an instant, there's a dear girl ! Miss T.— bother ! {Aloud.) Very well. Mamma, EoMs and reapinars, after five minutes, flushed and rubbing her fingers. Miss D. — You look pink. What has happened ? Miss T. {in a stage whisper). — A twenty-four inch waist, and she won't let it out ! Where are my bangles ? {Rummages on the toilet table, and dabs at her hair ivith a brush in the interval.) Miss D. — Who is this Captain Gadsby ? I don't think I've met him. Miss T. — You must have. He belongs to the Harrar set. I've danced with bin), but I've never talked to him. He's a big yellow man, in the Pink Hussars, just like a newly hatched chicken, with an e-normous moustache. He walks like this {imitates Cavalry swagger), and he g;oes, " Ha-Hmmm ! " deep down in his throat, when he can't think of anything to say. Mamma likes him. I don't. Miss D. (abstractedly). — Does he wax that moustache ? Miss T. {busy luith powder-puff). — Yes, I think so. Why? Miss D. (bending over bodice and sewing fitrio^isly). — Oh, nothing — only Miss T, {sternly). — Only what ? Out with it, Emma. Miss D. — Well, May Ogler — she's engaged to Mr. Charteris, you know — said . . , , Promise you won't repeat this ? POOR DEAR MAMMA. I l Miss T. — Yes, I promise. What did she say ? Miss D. — That — that being kissed {loitli a rush) by a man who didiiH wax his moustache was — like eatinsj an egg without salt. Miss T. {at her full heiyJit, with crushing scorn). — May Olger is a horrid, nasty Thing, and you can tell her I said so. I'm glad she doesn't belong to my set. — I must go and feed this man. Do I look presentable ? Miss D. — Yes, perfectly. Be quick and hand him over to your Mother, and then we can talk. I shall listen at the door to hear what you say to him. Miss T. — 'Sure I don't care, I'm not afraid of Captain Gadsby ! In proof of this stuings into drawing-room icith a mannish stride followed hy two short steps, tohich 'produces the effect of a restive horse eiitering. Misses Captain Gadsby, loho is sitting in the shadow of the tvindoio-curtain, and. gazes round helplessly. Captain Gadsby (aside). — The filly, by Jove ! Must ha picked up that action from the sire. (Aloud, rising.) Good evening, Miss Threegan. Miss T. (conscio^is that she is flushing). — Good evening, Captain Gadsby. Mamma told me to say that she will be ready in a lew minutes. Won't you have some tea ? (Aside.) I hope Mamma will be quick. What am I to say to the creature? (Aloud and ah^uptly.) Milk and sugar ? Captain G. — No sugar tha-anks, and very little milk. Ha-Hmmm. Miss T, (aside). — If he's going to do that, I'm lost. I shall laugh. I hwio I shall ! Captain G. (pulling at his moustache and watching it sideways down his nose). — Ha-Hmmm, (Aside.) Wonder vfhat the little beast can talk about. 'Must make a shot at it. Miss T, (aside^. — Oh, this is agonising. I must say something. Both Togethek. — Have you been ? I 2 THE S TOR Y OF THE GA DSB VS. Captain G. — I beg your pardon. You were going to say — Miss T. iivho has teen loatching the moustache with awed fascination). — Won't you have some eggs ? Captain G. {loohing leioilderedly at the tea-table). — Eggs ! — (Aside.) Oh, Hades ! She must have a nursery-tea at this hour, S'pose they've wiped her mouth and sent her to me while the Mother is getting on her duds. — (Aloud.) No, thanks. Miss T. (crimson with confusion). — Oh ! I didn't mean that. I wasn't thinking of mou — eggs for an instant. I meant salt. Won't you have some sa — sweets ? — (Aside.) He'll think me a raving lunatic ! I wish Mamma would come. Captain G. (aside). — It ivas a nursery-tea and she's ashamed of it. By Jove ! She doesn't look half bad when she colours up like that. (Aloud, helping himself from the dish.) Have you seen those new chocolates at Peliti's ? Miss T. — No, I made these myself. What are they like ? Captain G. — These ! i)e-licious. (Aside.) And that's a fact. Miss T. (aside).— 0\\, bother! He'll think I'm fishing for compliments. (Aloud.) No, Peliti's of course. Captain G. (enthusiastically). — Not to compare with these. How d'you make them. I can't get my man to understand the simplest thing beyond roast mutton and fowl. Miss T. — Yes ? I'm not a khansamah, you know. Per- haps you frighten him. You should never frighten a servant. He loses his head. It's very bad policy. Captain G. — He's so awf'ly stupid. Miss T. (folding her hands in her lap). — You should call him quietly and say : " khansamah ! " Captain G. (getting interested). — Yes. (Aside.) Fancy that little featherweight saying : " khansamah " to my blood-thirsty Mir Khan ! Miss T. — Then you should explain the dinner dish by dish. Captain G. — But I can't speak the vernacular. POOR DEAR MAMMA. I 3 Miss T. {patronisviKjly). — You should pass tliu Higher Standard and try. Captain G. — I have, but I don't seem to be any the wiser. Are you ? Miss T. — I never passed the Higher Standard. But the butler is very patient with me. l;'e doesn't get angry when I talk about sheep's hats, or order tons of gram when I mean pounds. Captain G. {aside, ivith intense indignation). — I'd like to see Mir Khan being rude to that girl ! Hullo ! ' Steady the Buffs ! {Aloud.) And do you understand about horses, too ? Miss T. — A little — not very much. I can't doctor them, but I know what they ought to eat, and 1 am in charge of our stable. Captain G. — Indeed ! You might help me, then. What ought a man to give his groom in the Hills ? My ruffian says eight rupees, because everything is so dear. Miss T. — Six rupees a month, and one rupee Simla allowance — neither more nor less. And a grass-cutter gets six rupees. That's better than buying grass in the bazaar. Captain G. {admiringly). — How do you know ? Miss T. — I have tried both ways. Captain G. — Do you ride much, then ? I've never seen you on the Mall ? Miss T. {aside). — I haven't passed him moo-e than fifty times. {Aloud.) Nearly every day. Captain G. — By Jove ! I didn't know that. Ha- Hmmm ! {Fulls at his moustaehes and is silent for forty seconds.) Miss T. {desperately, and ivondering wliat will happen next). — It looks beautiful. I shouldn't touch it if I were you. {Aside.) It's all Mamma's fault for not coming before. I ivill be rude ! Captain G. {bronzing under the tan, and bringing doivn his hand very quickly). — Eh ? Wha-at ! Oh, yes ! Ha ! ha ! {Laughs uneasily.) {Aside.) Well, of all the dashed 14 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. cheek ! I never had a woman say that to me yet. She must be a cool hand, or else. . . . Ah ! that niirsery-tea ! Voice fkom the Unknown. — Tchk ! Tchk ! Tchk ! Captain G. — Good gracious ! What's that ? Miss T. — The dog, I think. (Aside.) Emma has been listening and I'll never forgive her ! Captain G. (aside). — They don't keep dogs here. (Alotid.) 'Didn't sound like a dog, did it ? Miss T. — Then it must have been the cat. Let's go into the verandah. What a lovely evening it is ! Steps into verandah and, looks ovt across the hills into sunset. The Captain follows. Captain G. (aside). — Superb eyes ! I wonder that I never noticed them before ? (Alond.) There's going to be a dance at Viceregal Lodge on Wednesday. Can you spare me one ? Miss T. (shortly). — No ! I don't want any of your charity-dances. You only ask me because Mamma told you to. I hop and I bump. You hioio I do ! Captain G. (aside). — That's true, but little girls shouldn't understand these things. (Aloud.) No, on my word I don't. You dance beautifully. ]\iiss T. — Then why do you always stand out after half a dozen turns ? I thought officers in the Army didn't tell fibs. Captain G. — It wasn't a lib, believe me. I really do want the pleasure of a dance with you. Miss T. (wickedly).— V^^hyl Won't Mamma dance with you any more ?• Captain G. (more earnestly than the necessity demands). — I wasn't thinking of your Mother. (Aside.) You little vixen ! Miss T. (still looking out of the unndoiv). — Eh ? Oh, I beg your pardon. I was thinking of something else. Captain G. (aside). — Well ! I wonder what she'll say next. I've never known a woman treat me like this before. I might be — dash it, I niight be an Infantry subaltern ! (Aloud.) Oh, please don't trouble, I'm not worth thinking about. Isn't your Mother ready yet ? POOR DEAR MAMMA. I 5 Miss T. — I should think so; but promise nie, Captain Gadsby, you won't take poor dear Mamma for such long rides any more. They tire her so. Captain G. — She says that no exercise tires her ? Miss T. — Yes, but she suffers afterwards. You don't know what rheumatism is, and you oughtn't to keep lier out so late, when it gets chilly in the evenings. Captain G. {aside). — Eheumatism ! I thought she came off her horse rather in a bunch. Whew ! One lives and learns. {Aloud.) I'm sorry to hear that. She hasn't mentioned it to me. Miss T. {Jlurricd).—Of course not ! Poor dear Mamma never would. And you mustn't say that I told you either. Promise me that you won't ! Oh, Captain Gadsby, promise me you won't ! Captain G. — I am dumb or — I shall be as soon as you've given me that dance, and another ... if you can trouble yourself to think about me for a minute. Miss T. — But you won't like it one little bit. You'll be awfully sorry afterwards. Captain G. — I shall like it above all things, and I shall only be sorry that I didn't get more. {Aside.) Now what in the world am I saying ? Miss t. — Very well. You will have only yourself to thank if your toes are trodden on. Shall we say Seven ? Captain G. — And Eleven. {Aside.) She can't be more than eight stone, but, even then, it's an absurdly small foot. {Looks at his own riding hoots.) Miss T. — They're beautifully shiny. I can almost see my face in them. Captain G.— I was thinking whether I should have to go on crutches for the rest of my life if you trod on my toes. Miss T. — Very likely. Why not change Eleven for a square ? Captain G. — No, please ! I want them both waltzes. Won't you write them down ? 1 6 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. Miss T. — / don't get so many dances that I shall confuse them. You will be the offender. Captain G. — Wait and see ! {Aside.) She doesn't dance perfectly, perhaps, but Miss T. — Your tea must have got cold by this time, "Won't you have another cup ? Captain G. — No, thanks. Don't you think it's pleas- anter out in the verandah ? {Aside.) I never saw hair take that colour in the sunshine before. {Aloud.) It's like one of Dicksee's pictures. Miss T. — Yes ! It's a w^onderful sunset, isn't it ? {Bluntly.) But what do you know about Dicksee's pictures ? Captain G. — I go Home occasionally. And I used to know the Galleries. {Nervously.) You mustn't think only a Philistine with — a moustache. Miss T. — Don't ! Please don't ! I'm so sorry for what I said then. I was liorrihly 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. Captain G. {luatching the girl as she Jlashes). — 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 {cnteriny, hahited, hatted and hooted). — Ah, Captain Gadsby ! 'Sorry to keep you waiting. 'Hope you hav'n'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. Captain G. {aside). — What a shame ! I wonder how old she is. It never occurred to me before. {Aloud.) We've been d^!scussing " Shakespeare and tlio musical glasses " in the verandah. 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 ivhat a squeeze ! I don't suppose he meant it, but he has driven the rings into my fingers. POOR DEAR MAMMA. I 7 PooK Dear Mamma. — Has Vermilion come round yet ? Oh, yes ! Captain Gadsby, don't you think that the saddle is too far forward ? {ThcAi ixiss into the front verandah.) Captain G. {aside). — How the dickens should I know what she prefers ? She told me that she doated on horses. (Aloud.) I think it is. ISIlSS T. (coming ont into front verandah). — Oh ! Bad Buldoo ! I must speak to the boy for this. He has taken up the curb two links, and Vermilion hates that. (Passes out, and to horse's head.) Captain G. — Let me do it ! Miss T. — No, Vermilion understands me. Don't you, old man ? (Looses eurh-chain sldlfully, and pats horse on nose and throttle.) Poor Vermiliori ! Did they want to cut his chin off? There! Captain Gadsby watches the interlude with undisguised admiration. PooE Dear Mamma (tartly to Miss :Z'.).— You've forgotten your guest, I think, dear. Miss T. — Good gracious ! So I have ! Good-bye. (Re- treats indoors hastily.) PooK Deak Mamma (bimehing reins in fingers hampered hy too tight gauntlets). — Captain Gadsby ! Captain Gadsby stoops, and makes the foot-rest. Poor Dear Mamma blunders, halts too long, and breaks through it. Captain G. (asidc^. — Must I 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. Captain G. (aside). — How that habit catches her under the arms ! Uuh ! Poor Dear Mamma (vjith the loorn smile of sixteen seasons, the worse for exchange). — You're dull this afternoon, Captain Gadsby. 1 8 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. Captain G. {si^urring wp wearily). — Why did you keep me waitincr so Ion" ? Et cceUra, et coitera, et ccetera. AX INTERVAL OF THREE WEEKS. Gilded Youth {sitting on railings opposite Simla Town Hall). — Hullo, Gaddy ! 'Been trotting out tlie Gorgonzola ? We all thought it was the Gorgon you're mashing. Captain G. {vjith ivithering emphasis). — You young cub ! What the does it matter to you ? Proceeds to read Gilded Youth a lecture on discretion and deportment, lohich crumples latter like a Chinese la7itern. De- parts fuming. FURTHER INTERVAL OF FIVE WEEKS. Scene. — Exterior of New Library on a foggy evening. Miss Threegan and Miss Deercourt meet among the 'rickshaws. Miss T. is carrying a bundle of looks under her left arrn. Miss D. (level intonation). — Well ? Miss T. {ascending intonation). — Well ? Miss D. {capturing her friend's left arm, taking away all the books, placing hooks in 'rickshaw, returning to arm, securing hand by the third finger and investigating).— WeW ! 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 'rickshaiv.) Oh, 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 ! CURTAIN. THE WORLD WITHOUT. "Certain people of imjiortaiice." SCENE — SvioJdnfj Room of the DegcM Clvh. Time 10'30 j).m. of a stuffy niglit in the Rains. Four men dispersed in picturesque attitudes and easy chairs. To these enter Blayne of the Irregidar Mogids, in evening dress. Blayne. — Phew ! The Jud^e ousrht to be hancred in his own store-godown. Hi, boy ! Strong whisky-peg, to take the taste out of my mouth. CuRTiss {Royal Artillery). — That's it, is it? What the deuce made you dine at the Judge's ? You know his cookery. Blayne. — 'Thought it couldn't be worse than the Club ; but I'll swear he buys ullaged liquor and doctors it with gin and ink {looking round the room). Is this all of you to-night ? DooNE (P. W. D.). — Anthony was called out at dinner. Mingle had a pain in his tummy. CuKTiss. — Miggy dies of cholera once a week in the Eains, and gets drunk on chloroclyne in between. 'Good little chap, though. Anyone at the Judge's, Blayne ? Blayne. — Cockley and liis wife, looking awfully white and fagged. 'Female girl — couldn't catch the name — on her way to the Hills, under the Cockley's charge — the Judge, and Markyn fresh from Simla — disgustingly fit. CuRTiss. — Good Lord, how truly magnificent ! Was theie enough ice ? When I mangled garbage there I got one whole lump — nearly as big as a walnut. What had Markyn to say for himself? Blayne. — 'Seems that everyone is having a fairly good time up there, in spite of the rain. By Jove, that reminds me ! I know I hadn't come across just for the pleasure of your society. News ! Great news ! ]\Iaikyn told me. 20 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. DoONE. — Who's dead now ? Blayne. — No one that I know of ; but Gaddv's hooked at last ! Dropping Chokus. — How much ? The Devil ! Markyn was pulling your leg. Not Gaddy ! Blayne. — It's been given out up above. Mackesy [Barrister-at-lcai^). — Huh ! Women will give out anything. Wlmt does accused say ? Blayne. — Markyn told me that he congratulated him warily — one hand held out, t'other ready to guard. Gaddy turned pink and said it was so. CuRTLSS. — Poor old Gaddy ! They all do it. Who's she ? Let's hear the details. Blayne. — She's a girl— daughter of a Colonel Somebody. Doone. — Simla's stiff with Colonels' daughters. Be more explicit. Blayne. — Wait a shake. What was her name ? Three- something. Three — CuRTiss. — Stars, perliaps. Gaddy knows that brand. Blayne. — Threegan — Minnie Threegan. Mackesy. — Threegan ! Isn't she a little bit of a girl with red hair ? Blayne. — 'Bout that — from what Markyn said. Mackesy. — Then I've met her. She was at Lucknow last season. 'Owned a permanently juvenile Mamma, and danced damnably. I say, Jervoise, you knew the Threegans, didn't you ? Jervolse (Civilian of tiventy-five years service, waking up from his doze). — Eh ! What's that ? Knew who ? How ? I thought I was at home, confound you ! Mackesy. — The Threegan girl's engaged, so Blayne says. Jervoise (s/o?r/y).— Engaged — engaged ! Bless my soul, I'm getting an old man! Little Minnie Threegan engaged! It was only the other day I went home with them in the Surat — no, the Massilia — and she was crawlintj about on her hands and knees among the ayahs. 'Used to call me " The THE WORLD WITHOUT. 21 Tick Tack Saldh " because I showed her my watch. And tliat was ill 'Sixty-Seven or 'Seventy. Good God, how time tiies ! I'm an old man. I remember when Threeejan married Miss Derwent — daugliter of old Hooky Derwent — but that was before your time. And so the little baby's engaged to have a little baby of her own ! Who's the other fool ? Mackesy. — Gadsby of the Pink Hussars. Jekvoise. — 'Never met him. Threegan lived in debt, married iu debt, and '11 die in debt. 'Must be glad to get the girl off his hands. Blayne. — Gaddy has money — lucky devil. Place at home, too. DooNE. — He comes of first-class stock. 'Can't quite under- stand his being caught by a Colonel's daughter, and (looking cautiously round room) Black Infantry at that ! No offence to you, Blayne. Blayne {stijjiy). — Not much, tha-anks. CuRTiss {quoting motto of Irregular Moguls). — " We are what we are," eh, old man ? But Gaddy was such a superior animal as a rule. Why didn't he go home and pick his wife there ? Mackesy. — They are all alilce when they come to the turn into the straight. About thirty a man begins to get sick of living alone — CuRTiss. — And of the eternal mutton-chop in the morning. DooNE. — It's dead goat as a rule, but go on, Mackesy. Mackesy. — If a man's once taken that wav nothing will hold him. Do you remember Benoit of your service, Doone ? They transferred him to Tharanda when his time came, and he married a platelayer's daughter or something of that kind. She was the only female about the place. Doone. — Yes, poor brute. That smashed Benoit's chances altogether, Mrs. Benoit used to ask : — " Was you goin' to the dance this evenin' ? " CuRTiss. — Hang it all ! Gaddy hasn't married beneath him. There's no dark blood in the family, I suppose. 22 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. Jervoise. — Tar-brusli ! Not an ounce. You young fellows talk as though the man was doing the girl an honour in marrying her. You're all too conceited — nothing's good enough for you. Blayne. — Not even an empty Club, a dam' bad dinner at the Judge's, and a Station as sickly as a hospital. You're quite right. We're a set of Sybarites. DooNE. — Luxuiious dogs, wallowing in Cdrtiss. — Prickly-heat between the shoulders. I'm covered with it. Let's hope Beora will be cooler. Blayne. — Whew ! Are you ordered into camp, too ? I thought the Gunners had a clean cholera sheet. CuKTiss. — No, worse luck. Two cases yesterday — one died — and if we have a third, out we go. Is there any shooting at Beora, Doone ? Doone. — The country's under water, except the patch by the Grand Trunk Pioad. I was there yesterday, looking at a dam, and came across four poor devils of natives in their last stage. It's rather bad from here to Kuchara. CuKTiss. — Then we're pretty certain to have a heavy attack. Heigho ! I shouldn't mind changing places with Gaddy for a while. 'Sport with Amaryllis in the shade of the Town Hall, and all that. Oh, why doesn't somebody come and marry me, instead of letting me go into cholera camp ? Mackesy — Give us a little peace. If they followed you here I'd resign — on moral grounds. CuRTiss. — You irreclaimable ruffian! You'll stand me another drink for that. Blayne, what will you take ? Mackesy is fined — on moral grounds. Doone, have you any preference ? Doone. — Small glass Kummel, please. Excellent car- minative, these days. Anthony told me so. Mackesy {signing xouchtr for four chinls).- — Most uniair punishment. I only thought of Curtiss as Act?eon being chevied round the billiard-tables by the nymphs of Diana. THE WORLD WITHOUT. 23 Blaynk. — Cui'tiss woultl Imve to import his nyiuplis by trail]. Mrs, Cockley's the only woman in the Station. She won't leave Cockley, and he's doin^ his best to get her to go. CuRTiss. — Good, indeed ! Here's Mrs. Cockley's health. To the only wife in the Station and a thundering brave woman ! Omnes {drinlcing). — A thundering brave woman ! Blayne. — I suppose Gaddy will bring his wife here at the end of the cold weather. They are going to be married almost immediately, I believe. CURTISS. — Gaddy may thank his luck that the Pink Hussars are all detachment and no head-quarters this hot weather, or he'd be torn from the arms of his love as sure as death. Have you ever noticed the thorough-minded way British Cavalry take to cholera ? It's because they are so expensive. If the Pinks had stood fast here, they would have been out in camp a month ago. Yes, I should decidedly like to be Gaddy. Mackesy. — He'll go Home after he's married, and send in his papers — see if he doesn't. Blayne. — Why shouldn't he ? Hasn't he money ? Would any one of us be here if we weren't paupers ? DooNE. — Poor old pauper ! What has become of the six hundred you rooked from our table last month ? Blayne. — It took unto itself wings. I think an enter- prising tradesman got some of it, and a money lender gobbled the rest — or else I spent it. CuKTiss.— Gaddy never had dealings with a money lender in his life. DooNE. — Virtuous Gaddy ! If / had three thousand a month, paid from England, I don't think I'd borrow either. Mackesy {ycmning). — Oh, it's a sweet life ! I wonder whether matrimony would make it sweeter. CuitTiss. — Ask Cockley— with his wife dying by inches ! Blayne. — Go Home and get a fool of a girl to come out to — what is it Thackeray says? — "the splendid palace of an Indian pro-consul". 24 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. DooNE. — Which reminds me. My quarters leak like a sieve. I had fever last night from sleeping in a swamp. And the worst of it is, one can't do anything to a roof till the Eains are over. CuKTiss. — What's wrong with you ? You haven't eighty rotting soldiers to take into a running stream. DooNE. — No; but I'm a compost of boils and bad lan- guage. I'm a regular Job all over my body. It's sheer poverty of blood, and I don't see any chance of getting richer — either way. Rlayne — Can't you take leave ? DooNE. — That's the pull }'ou Army men have over us. Ten days are nothing in your sight. I'm so important that Government can't find a substitute if I go away. Ye-es, I'd like to be Gaddy, whoever his wife may be. CuRTiss. — You've passed the turn of life that Mackesy was speaking of, DoONE. — Indeed I have, but I never yet had the brutality to ask a woman to share my life out here. Blayne. — On my soul I believe you're right. I'm thinking of Mrs. Cockley. The woman's an absolute wreck. Doone. — Exactly. Because she stays down here. The only way to keep her fit would be to send her to the Hills for eight months — and the same with any woman. I fancy I see myself taking a wife on those terms. Mackesy. — With the rupee at one and sixpence. The little Doones would be little Dehra Doones, with a fine Mussoorie accent to bring home for the holidays. Doone. — Yes, it's an enchanting prospect. By tlie way, the rupee hasn't done failing yet. The time will come when we shall think ourselves lucky if we only lose half our pay. CuKTLSS. — Surely a third's loss enough. Who gains by the arrangement ? That's what I want to know. Blayne. — The Silver Question ! I'm going to bed if THE WORLD WITHOUT. 2$ you begin squabbling. Thank goodness, here's Anthony — looking like a Ghost. Enter Anthony, Indian Medical Staff, very white and tired. Anthony. — 'Evening, Blayne. It's raining in sheets. Get me a wisky-peg, boy. The roads are something ghastly. CuJiTiss. — How's Mingle ? Anthony. — Very bad, and more frightened. I handed him over to Fewton. Mingle might just as well have called him in the first place, instead of bothering me. Blayne. — He's a nervous little chap. What has he got this time ? Anthony. — 'Can't quite say. A very bad tummy and a blue funk so far. He asked me at once if it was cholera, and I told him not to be a fool. That soothed him. CuRTiss. — Poor devil ! The funk does half the business in a man of that build. Anthony {lighting a cheroot). — -I firmly believe the funk will kill him if he stays down. You know the amount of trouble he's been giving Fewton for the last three weeks. He's doing his very best to frighten himself into the grave. Genepjal Chorus. — Poor little devil ! Why doesn't he get away ? Anthony. — Can't. He has his leave all right, but he's so dipped he can't take it, and I don't think his name on paper would raise four annas. That's in confidence, though. Mackesy. — All the Station knows it. Anthony. — " I suppose I shall have to die here," he said, squirming all across the bed. He's quite made up his mind to Kingdom Come. And I know he has nothing more than a wet weather tummy if he could only keep a hand on himself. Blayne. — That's bad. That's very bad. Poor little Miggy. Good little chap, too. I say — Anthony. — What do you say ? Blayne. — Well, look here — anyhow. If it's like that — as you say — I say fifty. 26 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. CuKTiss. — I say fifty. Mackesy. — I go twenty better. DooNE. — Bloated Croesus of the Bar ! I say fifty. Jer- voise, what do you say ? Hi ! Wake up ! Jervoise.— Ell ! What's that ? What's that ? CuKTiss. — We want a hundred rupees from you. You're a bachelor drawing a gigantic income, and there's a man in a hole. Jervoise. — What man ? Any one dead ? Blayne. — No, but he'll die if you don't give the hundred. Here ! Here's a peg-voucher. You can see what we've signed for, and a man will come round to-morrow to collect it. So there will be no trouble. Jervoise {signing). — One hundred, E. M. J. There you are. It isn't one of your jokes, is it ? Blayne. — No ; it really is wanted. Anthony, you were the biggest poker- winner last week, and you've defrauded the tax-collector too long. Sign ! Anthony —Let's see. Three fifties and a seventy — tM'o twenty — three twenty — say four twenty. That'll give him a month clear at the Hills. Many thanks, you men. I'll send round the man to-morrow. CuKTiss. — You must engineer his taking the stuff, and of course you mustn't Anthony. — 0/ course. It would never do. He'd weej) with gratitude over his evening drink. Blayne. — That's just what he would do, confound him. Oh ! I say, Anthony, you pretend to know everything. Have you heard about Gaddy ? Anthony.— No. Divorce Court at last ? Blayne. — Worse. He's engaged, Anthony, — How much ! He can't be ! Blayne. — He is. He's going to be married in a few weeks. Markyn told me at the Judge's this evening. It's settled. Anthony. — You don't say so ? Holy Moses ! There'll be a shine in the tents of Kedar. THE WORLD WITHOUT. 2/ CuRTiss. — llegiuient cut up rough, think you ? Anthony, — Don't know anything about the regiment. Mackesy. — Is it bigamy, then ? Anthony. — May be. Do you mean to say that you men have forgotten, or is there more charity in the world than I thought ? DooNE. — You don't look pretty when you are trying to keep a secret. You bloat. Explain, Anthony. — Mrs. Herriott ! Blayne {cifter a long pause, to the, room generally). — It's my notion that we are a set of fools, Mackesy. — Nonsense. That business was knocked on the head last season. Wliy, young Mallard Anthony. — Mallard was a candle-stick, paraded as such. Think a while. Eecollect last season, and the talk then. Mallard or no Mallard, did Gaddy ever talk to any other woman ? Curtiss. — There's something in that. It was slightly noticeable now you come to mention it. But she's at Naini Tal, and he's at Simla, Anthony.— He had to go to Simla to look after a globe-trotter relative of his — a person with a title. Uncle or aunt. Blayne. — And there he got engaged. No law prevents a man growing tired of a woman. Anthony. — Except that he mustn't do it till the woman is tired of him. And the Herriott woman was not that. CuKTiss. — She may be now. Two months of Naini Tal work wonders. DoONE. — Curious thing how some women carry a Fate with them. There was a Mrs. Deegie in the Central Pro- vinces whose men invariably fell away and got married. It became a regular proverb with us when I was down there. I remember three men desperately devoted to lier, and they all, one after another, took wives. Curtiss, — That's odd. Now I should have thought that 28 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. Mrs. Deegie's influence would have led them to take other men's wives. It ought to liave made them afraid of the judg- ■ ment of Providence. Anthony. — Mrs. Herriott will make Gaddy afraid of something more than the judgment of Providence, I fancy. Blayne. — Supposing things are as you say, he'll be a fool to face her. He'll sit tight at Simla. Anthony. — 'Shouldn't be a bit surprised if he went off to ISTaini to explain. He's an unaccountable sort of man, and she's likely to be a more than unaccountable woman. DooNE. — What makes you take her character away so confidently ? Anthony. — Primum tempiis. Gaddy was her first, and a woman doesn't allow her first man to drop away without expostulation. She justifies the first transfer of affection to herself by swearing that it is for ever and ever. Con- sequently Blayne.— Consequently, w^e are sitting here till past one o'clock, talking scandal like a set of Station cats. Anthony, it's all your fault. We were perfectly respectable till you came in. Go to bed. Pm off. Good-night all. CuRTiss. — Past one ! It's past two by Jove, and here's the man coming for the past closing time charge. Just Heavens ! One, two, thiee, four, Jive rupees to pay for the pleasure of saying that a poor little beast of a woman is no better than she should be. I'm ashamed of myself. Go to bed, you slanderous villains, and if I'm sent to Beora to-morrow, be prepared to hear I'm dead before paying my card-account I CUETAIK THE TENTS OF KEDAR. Only why should it be with pain at all, Why must I 'twixt the leaves of coronal Put any kiss of pardon on thy brow ? Why should the other women know so much, And talk together : — Such the look and such The smile he used to love with, then as now. — Any Wife to any Husband. SCENE. — A Naini Tal dinner for thirty-four. Plate, ivines, crockery, and service carefully calculated to scale of Bs. 6000 per mensem, less Exchange. Table split length- xoays hy hank of flowers. Mrs. Herriott {cfter conversation has risen to proper pitch). — Ah ! 'didn't see you in the crush in the drawing- room. {Sotto voce.) Where have you been all this while, Pip? Captain Gadsby (turning from regularly ordained dinner partner and settling glasses). — Good evening. {Sotto voce.) Not quite so loud another time. You've no notion how your voice carries. {Aside.) So much for shirking tlie written explanation. It'll have to be a verbal one now. Sweet prospect ! How on earth am I to tell her that I am a respectable, engaged member of society, and it's all over between us ? Mrs. H. — I've a heavy score against you. Where were you at the Monday Pop ? Where were you on Tuesday ? Where were you at the Lament's tennis. I was looking everywhere. Captain G. — For me ! Oh, I was alive somewhere, I suppose. {Aside.) It's for Minnie's sake, but it's going to be dashed unpleasant. Mrs. H. — Have I done anything to offend you ? I never meant it if I have. I couldn't help going for a ride with the Vaynor man. It was promised a week before you came up. 30 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. Captain Gt. — I didn't know Mrs. H. — It really ivas. Captain G, — Anythinfr about it, I mean. Mrs. H. — What has upset you to-day ? All these days? You haven't been near me for four whole days — nearly one hundred hours. Was it I'incl of you, Pip ? And I've been looking forward so much to your coming. Captain G. — Have you ? Mrs. H. — You know I have ! I've been as foolish as a school-girl about it. I made a little calendar and put it in my card-case, and every time the twelve o'clock gun went off I scratched out a square and said : " That brings me nearer to Pip. My Pip." Captain G. {with an uneasy laugh). — What will Mackler think if you neglect him so ? Mrs. H. — And it hasn't brought you nearer. You seem farther away than ever. Are you sulking about something ? I know your temper. Captain G. — No. Mrs. H. — Have I grown old in the last few months, then? {Reaches forward to hank of floiuers for menu-card.) Partner on Left. — Allow me. {Hands menu-card. Mrs. H. heeps her arm at fidl stretch for three seconds.) Mrs. H. {To partner).— 0\\ thanks. I didn't see. {Turns right again.) Is anything in me changed at all ? Captain G. — For goodness' sake go on with your dinner ! You must eat something. Try one of those cutlet arrange- ments. {Aside.) And I fancied she had good shoulders, once upon a time ! What a fool a man can make of himself ! Mrs. H. Qielping herself to a paper frill, seven peas, some stamped ca.rrots,ancl a spoonful of gravy). — That isn't an answer. Tell me whether I have done anything. Captain G. (aside). — If it isn't ended here there will be a ghastly scene somewhere else. If only I'd written to her and stood the racket — at long range ! (To hutler.) Yes, Champagne. {Aloud.) I'll tell you later on. THE TENTS OF KEDAR. 3 I ]!^RS_ H. — Tell me now. It must be some foolish inis- undevstamliiig, and you know that there was to be nothing of that sort between us ? We., of all people in the world, can't afford it. Is it the Vaynor man, and don't you like to say so ? On my honour Captain G. — I haven't given the Vaynor man a thought. Mrs. H. — But how d'you know that / haven't ? Captain G. (aside). — Here's my chance, and may the ])evil help me through with it. {Aloud and measuredly .) Believe me, I do not care how often or how tenderly you think of the Vaynor man. Mrs. H. — I wonder if you mean that — oh, what is the good of squabbling and pretending to misunderstand when you are only up for so short a time ? Pip, don't be a stupid ! Follows a pause, during which he crosses his left leg over his right and continues his dinner. Captain G. (;in answer to the thunderstorm in her eyes). — Corns — my worst. Mrs. H. — Upon my word, you are the very rudest man in the world ! I'll never do it again. Captain G. (aside). — No, I don't think you will ; but I wonder what you will do before it's all over. (To butler.) More Champagne, please. Mrs. H. — Well ! Haven't you the grace to apologise, bad man ? Captain G. (aside). — 1 mustn't let it drift back now. Trust a woman for being as blind as a bat when she won't see. Mrs. H. — I'm waiting ; or would you like me to dictate a form of apology ? Captain. G. (desperately). — By all means dictate. Mrs. H. (lightly).— Veij well. Eehearse your several Christian names after me and go on: — "Profess my sincere repentance ". Captain G. — "Sincere repentance." Mrs. H. — " For having behaved " 3 2 THE S TOR V OF THE GA DSB YS. Captain G. {aside).— k.t last ! I wish to goodness she'd look away. " For having behaved " — as I have behaved, and declare that I am thoroughly and heartily sick of the whole business, and take this opportunity of making clear my inten- tion of ending it, now, henceforward, and for ever. (Aside.) If anyone had told me I should be such a black<'uard ! . . . Mrs. H. {shaking a spoonful of -potato- chips into her plate). — That's not a pretty joke. Captain G. — No. It's a reality. {Aside) I wonder if smashes of this kind are always so raw. Mrs. H, — Really, Pip, you're getting more absurd every day. Captain G. — I don't think you i][uite understand me. Shall I repeat it ? ^ Mrs. H. — No ! For pity's sake, don't do that. It's too terrible, even in fun. Captain G. {aside). — I'll let her think it over for a while. But I ought to be horse- whipped. Mrs. H. — I want to know what you meant by what you "^ said just now. Captain G. — Exactly what I said. No less. Mrs. H. — But what have I done to deserve it ? What have I done ? Captain G. (aside). — If she only wouldn't look at me (Aloud and veri/ slowly, his eyes on Ids plate.) D'you remem- ber that evening in July, before tiie Ivains broke, when you said that the end would have to come sooner or later, and you wondered for which of us it would come first ? Mrs. H. — Yes. I was only joking. And you swore that as long as there was breath in your body it should never come. And I believed you. Captain G. (fingeriny vienu-card). — Well, it has; that's all. A long pause, during which Mrs. H. bows her head and rolls the hread-tivist into little pellets ; G-. stares at the oleanders. Mrs. H. {throwing hack her head and laughing naturally) They train us women well, don't they, Pip ? i THE TENTS OF KEDAR. 33 Captain G. (l)rutalli/, toucldng shirt stud). — So far as the t'xpressioii goes. (Aside.) It isn't in her nature to take things quietly. There'll be an explosion yet. Mrs. H. (ivith a shudder). — Thank you. B-but Red Indians allow people to wriggle when they're being tortured, I believe. {Slips fan from girdle, and fans slowly; rim of fan level with chin) Partner on Left. — Very close to-night, isn't it? 'You iiud it too much for you ? Mrs. H. — Oh, no ! not in the least. But they really ought to have punkahs, even in your cool Naini Tal, ouglitn't they? {Ihtrns, dropping fan and raising eyehroivs) Captain G. — It's all right. {Aside.) Here conies the storm. Mrs. H. (Jier eyes on the table-cloth ; fan ready in right hand). — It was very cleverly managed, Pip ; and I con- gratulate you. You swore — you never contented yourself with merely saying a thing — you sioore that, as far as lay in your power, you'd make my wretched life pleasant for me. And you've denied me the consolation of breaking down. I should have done it — indeed, I should. A woman would hardly have thought of this refinement, my kind, considerate friend. {Fan-guard, as before.) You have explained things so tenderly and truthfully, too ! You haven't spoken or written a word of warning, and you have let me believe in you till the last minute. You haven't condescended to give me your reason yet. No ! A woman could not have managed it half so well. Are there many men like you in the world ? Captain G. — I'm sure I don't know. {To butler.) Ohe ! Champagne, Mrs. H. — You call yourself a man of the world, don't you ? Do men of the world behave like Devils when they do a woman the honour to get tired of her ? Captain G. — I'm sure I don't know. Don't speak so loud. Mrs. H. — Keep us respectable, Lord, whatever happens ! Don't be afraid of my compromising you. You've chosen 3 34 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. your ground far too well, aucl I've been properly brought up. {Loiuering fan.) Haven't you any pity, Pip, except for your- self? Captaix G. — Wouldn't it be ratlier impertinent of me to say that I'm sorry for you ? Mrs. H. — I think you have said it once or twice before. You're growing very careful of my feelings. Pip, I was a good woman once ! You said I was. You've made me what I am. What are you going to do with me ? What are you going to do with me ? Won't you say that you are sorry ? {Helps herself to iced asparagus.) m Captain G. — I am sorry for you, if you want the pity of such a brute as I am. I'm awfly sorry for you. Mrs. H. — Eather tame for a man of the world. Do you think that that admission clears 3'ou ? Captain G.— What can I do ? I can only tell you what I think of myself. You can't think worse than that ? Mrs. H. — Oh, yes, I can. And, now, will you tell me the reason of all this ? Remorse ? Has Bayard been suddenly conscience-stricken ? Captain G. {angrily, his eyes still lowered). — No ! The thing has come to an end on my side. That's all. Done with. Mrs. H.— " That's all. Done witli ! " As though I were a Cairene Dragoman. You used to make prettier speeches. D'you remember when you said Captain G. — For heaven's sake, don't bring that back ! Call me anything you like, and I'll admit it Mrs. H. — But you don't care to be reminded of old lies ? If I could hope to hurt you one-tenth as much as you have hurt me to-night . . . No, I wouldn't — I couldn't do it, liar though you are. Captain G. — I've spoken the truth. Mrs. H. — My dear sir, you flatter yourself. You have lied over the reason. Pip, remember that I know you as you don't know yourself. You have been everything to me, though you are . . . {Fan-guard.) Oh, what a contemp- tible thing it is ! And so you are merely tired of me ? THE TENTS OF KEDAR. 35 Captain G. — Since you insist upon luy rt;peatii)g' it — Yes. Mrs. H. — Lie the first. I wish I knew a coarser word. Lie seems so ineffectual in your case. The fire has just died out, and there is no fresh one ? Think for a minute, Pip, if you care whetlier I despise you more than I do. Simply Mafisch, is it ? Captain G. — Yes. {Aside.) I think I deserve this. {To hutlcr.) Champagne. Mks. H. — Lie number two. Before the next glass chokes you, tell me her name. Captain G. {aside). — I'll make her pay for dragging Minnie into the business. {Aloud.) Is it likely ? Mks. H. — Fi^r// likely, if you thought tliat it would flatter your vanity. You'd cry my name on the housetops to make people turn round. Captain G. — I wish I had. There would have been an end of this business. Mrs. H. — Oh, no, there would not . . . And so you were "oino- to be virtuous and Uase, were you ? To come to me and say : " I've done with you. The incident is clo-osed." I ought to be proud of having kept such a man so long. Captain G. {aside). — It only remains to pray for the end of the dinner. {Aloud.) You know what I think of myself. Mrs. H. - As it's the only person in tlie world you ever do think of, aijd as I know your mind thoroughly — 1 do. You want to get it all over, and . . . Oli, I can't keep you back ! And you're going — think of it, Pip — to throw me over for another woman. And you swore tluit all other women were . . . Pip, my Pip ! She cant care for you as I do. Believe me, she can't ! Is it anyone that I know ?" Captain G. — Thank goodness it isn't. (Aside.) I ex- pected a cyclone, but not an earthquake. Mrs. H. — She cant ! Is there anything that I wouldn't do for you ... or haven't done ? And to think that I should take this trouble over you, knovving what you are ! Do you despise me for it ? 36 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. Captain G. (wiping his mouth to hide a smile). — Again ? It's entirely a work of charity on your part. ]Mrs. H. — Ahhh ! But I have no right to resent it . . . Is she better looking than I ? Who was it said ? Captain G. — No — not that 1 Mrs. H. — I'll be more merciful than you were. Don't you know that all women are alike ? Captain G. (aside). — Then this is the exception that proves the rule. Mrs. H. — All of them ! I'll tell you anything you like. I will, upon my word. They only want the admiration — from anybody — no matter who — anybody ! But there is always one man that they care for more than any one else in the world, and would sacrifice all the others to. Oh, do listen! I've kept the Vaynor man trotting after me like a poodle, and he believes that he is the only man I am interested in. I'll tell you what he said to me. Captain G.— Spare him. (Aside.) I wonder what his version is. Mrs. H. — He's been waiting for me to look at him all through dinner. Shall I do it, and you can see what an idiot he looks ? Captain G. — "But what injports the nomination of this gentleman ? " Mrs. H. — Watch! {Sends a glance to the Vaynor man, who tries vainly to combine ct mouthful of ice-pudding, a smirk of self-satisfaction, a glare of intense devotion and the stolidity of a British dining countenance.) Captain G. (critically). — He doesn't look pretty. Why didn't you wait till the spoon was out of his mouth ? Mrs. H. — To amuse you. She'll make an exhibition of you as I've made of him ; and people will laugh at you. 0, Pip, can't you see that ? It's as plain as the noonday sun. You'll be trotted about and told lies, and made a fool of like the others. / never made a I'ool of you, did I ? Captain G. (aside). — What a clever little woman it is ! THE TENTS OF KEDAR 37 Mrs. H. — Well, what have you to say ? Captain G.— I feel better. Mrs. H. — Yes, I suppose so, after I have come down to your level. I couldn't have done it if I hadn't cared for you so much. I liave spoken the truth. Captain G. — It doesn't alter the situation. Mrs. H. (jjassionately). — Then she has said that she cares for you ! Don't believe her, Pip. It's a lie — as black as yours to nie • Captain G. — Ssssteady ! I've a notion that a friend of yours is looking at you. Mrs. H. — He ! I hate him. He introduced you to me. Captain G. (aside). — And some people would like women to assist in making the laws. Introduction to imply condone- ment. (Aloud.) Well, you see, if you can remember so far back as that, I couldn't, in common politeness, refuse the offer. Mrs H. — 'In common politeness ! We have got beyond that ! Captain G. (aside). — Old ground means fresh trouble. (Aloud) On my honour Mrs. H. — Your lohat ^ Ha, ha ! Captain G. — Dishonour, then. She's not what you im- agine. I meant to Mrs. H. — Don't tell me anything about her! Slie looiit care for you ; and, when you come back, after having made an exhibition of yourself, you'll find me occupied with Captain G. (insolently). — You couldn't while I am alive. {Aside.) If that doesn't bring her pride to her rescue, nothing will. Mrs. H. (drawing herself up). — Couldn't do it? I] {Softening.) You're right. I don't believe I could — though you are what you are — a coward and a liar in grain. Captain G. — It doesn't hurt so much after your little lecture — with demonstrations. Mrs. H. — One mass of vanity ! Will nothing ever touch 38 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. you in this life ? There must be a Hereafter if it's only for the benefit of— but you will have it all to yourself. Captain G. {under his cyehrowa). — Are you so certain of that? ]\^RS_ H. — I shall have had mine in this life ; and it will serve me right. Captain G. — But the admiration that you insisted on so strongly a moment ago ? {Aside.) Oh, I am a brute ! Mrs. H. {fiercely) .—W \\\ that console me for knowing that you will go to her with the same words, tlie same arguments and the — the same pet names you used to me ? And if she cares for you, you two will laugh over my story. Won't tliat l)epunishment heavy enough even for me — even for me ? . . . And it's all useless. That's another punishment. Captain G. {feebly). — Oh, come! I'm not so low as you think. Mks. H. — Not now, perhaps, but you will be. Pip, if a woman flatters your vanity, there's nothing on earth that you would not tell her ; and no meanness that you would not commit. Have I known vou so long without knowing that ? Captain G. — If you can trust me in nothing else — and I don't see why I should be trusted — you can count upon my holding my tongue. Mrs. H. — If you denied everything you've said this evening, and declared it was all in fun (a long pause), I'd trust you. Not otherwise. All I ask is, don't tell her my name. Please don't. A man might forget : a woman never would. (Looks u]! table and sees hostess beginning to colleet eyes.) So it's all ended, through no fault of mine. — Haven't I behaved beautifully ? I've accepted your dismissal, and you managed it as cruelly as you could, and I have made you respect my sex, haven't I ? {Arranging gloves and fan.) I only pray that she'll know you some day as I know you now. I wouldn't be you then, for I think even your conceit will be hurt. I hope she'll pay you back the humiliation you've brought on me. I hope — No. I don't. I cnnt give you THE TENTS OF KEDAR. 39 up ! I must have something to look forward to, or I shall go crazy. When it's all over, come back to me, come back to me, and you'll find that you're my Pip still ! Captain G. {very dearly). — False move, and you pay for it. It's a girl ! Mrs. H. (rising/).— Then it was true ! They said — but I wouldn't insult you by asking. A giil ? / was a girl not very long ago. Be good to her, Pip. I dare say she be- lieves in you. Goes out ■with an uncertain smile. He watelies her through the door, and settles into a chair as the men redistribute themselves. Captain G. — Now, if there is any Power who looks after this world, will He kindly tell me what I have done ? (Beaching out for the claret, and half aloud.) What have I done ? CURTAm. WITH ANY AMAZEMENT. " And are not afraid with any amazement." Marriage Service. SCENE. — A hachelor's hed-room ; toilet-tahlc arranged vnth unnatural neatness. Captain Gadshy asleep and snoring heavily. Time, 10"30 A.M. — a glorious autumn day at Simla. Enter delicately Captain MaJJlin of Gadshy's regiment. Looks at sleeper, and shakes his head murmur- ing " Poor Gaddy ". Performs violent fantasia with hair- hrushes on chair-hack. Captain M. — Wake up, my sleeping beauty ! {Houds.) " Uprouse ye, then, my merry, merry men ! " It is our opening day ! " It is our opening da-ay ! " Gaddy, the little dicky-birds have been billing and cooing for ever so long ; and I'm here ! Cx^PTAIN G. {sitting up and yawning). — 'Mornin'. This is awfly good of you, old fellow. Most awf'ly good of you. Don't know what I should do without you. Ton my soul, I don't. 'Haven't slept a wink all night. Captain M. — I didn't get in till half-past eleven. 'Had a look at you then, and you seemed to be sleeping as soundly as a condemned criminal. Captain G. — Jack, if you want to make those disgust- ingly worn-out jokes, you'd better go away. ( With porten- tous gravity.) It's the happiest day in my life. Captain M. [chuckling grimly). — Not by a very long chalk, my son. You're going through some of the most refined torture you've ever known. But be calm. / am with you. 'Shun ! Dress ! Captain G.— Eh ! Wha-at ? Captain M. — Bo you suppose that }'ou are your own master for the next twelve hours ? If you do, of course . . . {Makes for the door.) WITH ANY AMAZEMENT. 4 1 Captain G. — No ! For goodness sake, old man, don't do that ! You'll see me throiif];h, wont't you ? I've been mugging up that beastly drill, and can't remember a line of it. Captain M. {overhauling G.'s uniform). — Go and tub. Don't bother me. I'll give you ten minutes to dress in. Interval, filled hy the noise as of a healthy cjramiJus splashinr/ in the bath-room. Captain G. (emerging from dressing-room). What time is it ? Captain M. — Nearly eleven. Captain G. — Five hours more. Lord I Captain M. (aside). — 'First sign of funk, that, 'Wonder if it's going to spread. (Aloud.) Come along to breakfast. Captain G — I can't eat anything. I don't wan't any breakfast. Captain. M. (aside). — So early ! (Aloud.) Captain Gadsby, I order you to eat breakfast, and a dashed good breakfast, too. None of your bridal airs and graces with me ! Leads G. downstairs, and stands over him ivhile he ecds tivo chops. Captain G. {icho has looked at his watch tJirice in the last five minutes ). — What time is it ? Captain M. — Time to come for a walk. Light up. Captain G. — I haven't smoked for ten days, and I won't nov). (Takes cheroot which M. has cut for him, and blows smoke through his nose luxuriously.) We aren't going down the Mall, are we ? ' Captain M. (aside). — They're all alike in these stages. (Aloud.) No, my Vestal. We're going along the quietest road we can find. Captain G. — Any chance of seeing Her ? Captain M. — Innocent ! No ! Come along, and, if you want me for the final obsequies, don't cut my eye out with your stick. Captain G. (spinning round). — I say, isn't She the dearest creature that ever walked ? What's the time ? What comes after " wilt thou take this woman ? " 42 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. Captain M.— You go for the ring. R'clect it'll be on the top of my right-hand little finger, and just be careful how you draw it off, because I shall have the Verger's fees somewhere in my glove. Captain G. {walUng forward hastily).—!) the Verger ! Come along ! It's past twelve, and I haven't seen Her since yesterday evening. (Spioming round again.) She's an absolute angel. Jack, and she's a dashed deal too good for me. Look here, does she come up the aisle on my arm, or how ? Captain M. — If I thought that there was the least chance of your remembering anything for two consecutive minutes, I'd tell you. Stop passaging about like that ! Captain G. (halting in the middle of the road). — I say, Jack. Captain M. — Keep quiet for another ten minutes if you can, you lunatic, and walk! The two tram}} at five miles an hour for fifteen minutes. Captain G. — What's the time ? How about that cursed wedding-cake and the slippers ? They don't throw 'em about in church, do they? Captain M. — In- variably. The Padre leads off with his boots. Captain G. — Confound your silly soul ! Don't make fun of me. I can't stand it, and I won't 1 Captain M. {itntrouUed) . — So-ooo, old horse ! You'll have to sleep for a couple of hours this afternoon. Captain G. {spinning round). — I'm not going to be treated like a dashed child. Understand that! Captain M. (aside). — Nerves gone to fiddlestrings. What a day we're having ! {Tenderly, putting his hand on G.'s shoulder.) My David, how long have you known this Jonathan ? Would I come up here to make a fool of you — after all these years ? Captain G. (penitently). — I know, I know. Jack — but I'm as upset as I can be. Don't mind what I say. Just hear me run through the drill and see if I've got it all right : — VVITN ANY AMAZEMENT. 43 " To have and to hold for better or worse, as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end, so help nie God. — Amen". Captain M, {suffocating with suppressed Icmglder). — Yes. That's about the gist of it. I'll prompt if you get into a hat. Captain G. {earnestly). — Yes, you'll stick by me, Jack, won't you ? I'm awf'Jy happy, but I don't mind telling you that I'm in a blue funk ! Captain M. {gracely). — Are you ? I should never have noticed it. You don't look as if you were. Captain G.— Don't I ? That's all right. {Sjnnning round.) On my soul and honour. Jack, She's the sweetest little angel that ever came down from the sky. There isn't a woman on earth fit to speak to Her ! Captain M. {aside). — And this is old Gaddy ! {Aloud.) Go on if it relieves you. Captain G. — You can laugh ! That's all you wild asses of bachelors are fit for. Captain M. {drawling). — You never would wait for the troop to come up. You aren't quite married yet, y'know. Captain G. — Ugh ! That reminds me. I don't believe I shall be able to get into my boots. Let's go home and try 'em on ! {Hurries forward.) Captain M. — 'Wouldn't be in your shoes for anything that Asia has to offer. Captain G. {spinnijig round). — That just shows your hideous blackness of soul — your dense stupidity — your brutal narrow-mindedness. There's only one fault about you. You're the best of good fellows, and I don't know what I should have done without you, but — you aren't married. ( Wags his head gravely.) Take a wife, Jack. Captain ]\I. {witlc a face like a urdl). — Ya-as. Whose for choice ? Captain G. — If you're going to be a blackguard I'm going on . . . What's the time ? Captain M. {hums) : 44 THE STORY OF THE GADSDYS. "All' since 'twas very clear we drank only ginger beer, Faith, there must ha' been some stingo in the ginger !" Come back, you maniac. I'm going to take you home, and you're going to lie down. Captain G.— What on earth do I want to lie down for ? Captain M. — Give me a light from your cheroot and see. Captain G. {ivatcliing cheroot-htU quiver like a tuning - forh). — Sweet state I'm in ! Captain M. — You are. I'll get you a peg, and you'll go to sleep. They return, and 31. compoimds a four-finger jKg. Captain G. — 0, that's twice too much. It'll make me as drunk as an owl. Captain M. — Carious thing, 'twon't have the slightest effect on you. Drink it off, chuck yourself down there, and go to bye-bye. Captain G. — It's absurd. I shan't sleep. I hioin I shan't ! Falls into heavy cloze at end of seven minutes. CaiJtain M. watches hivi tenderly. Captain M.— Poor old Gaddy ! I've seen a few turned off before, but never one who went to the gallows in this condition. Can't tell how it affects 'em, though. It's the thorough-breds that sweat when they're backed into double- harness. . . . And that's the man who went through the guns at Amdheran like a devil possessed of devils. {Leans over G.) But this is worse than the guns, old pal — worse than the guns, isn't it ? (G. turns in his sleep, and M. touches him clumsily on the forehead.) Poor, dear okl Gaddy ! Going like the rest of 'em — going like the rest of 'em. . . . Friend that sticketh closer than a brother. . . . eight years. Dashed bit of a slip of a girl. . . . eight weeks ! And — where's your friend ? (Smokes disconsolately till Church clock strikes three.) Captain M.— Up with you ! Get into your things. Captain G.— Already ? Isn't it too soon ? Hadn't I better have a shave ? Captain M. — No ! You're all right. {Aside.) He'd hack his chin to pieces. WITH ANY AMAZEMENT. 45 Captain G. — What's the hurry ? Captain M. — You've got to be there first. Captain G. — To be stared at ? Captain M.— Exactly. You're part of the show. Where's the burnisher ? Your spurs are in a sliameful state. Captain G. {(jrujjiy). — Jack, I be damned if you shall do that for me. Captain M. {more gruffiy). — Dry up and get dressed ! F I choose to clean your spurs, you're under my orders. Captain G. dresses, M. follows suit. Captain M. {critically/, toaUcing round). — M'yes, you'll do. Only don't look so like a criminal. Eing, gloves, fees — that's all right for me. Let your moustache alone. Now, if the tats are ready, we'll go. Captain G. {nervously). — It's much too soon. Let's light up ! Let's have a peg ! Let's Captain M. — Let's make bally asses of ourselves. Bells {loithout). — Good — pco — pie — all To 2')rayers — we call. Captain M. — There go the bells ! Come on — unless you'd rather not. {TJicy ride off.) Bells. — '' We honour the King And Brides joy do bring — Good tidirtgs ivc tell And ring the Dead's hiell. Captain G. {dismounting at the door of tlw Church). — I say, aren't we much too soon ? There are no end of people inside. I say, aren't we much too late ? Stick by me Jack ! What the devil do I do ? Captain M. — Strike an attitude at the head of the aisle and wait for Her. {G. groans as 31. ivhcels him into position hefore three hundred eyes.) Captain M. {imploringly). — Gaddy, if you love nu^ for pity's sake, for the Honour of the Kegiment, stand up ! Chuck yourself into your uniform ! Look like a man ! I've 46 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. got to speak to the Padre a minute. {G. breaks into a gentle perspiration.) If you wipe your face I'll never be your best man again. Stand up ! {G. treniblcs visibl//.) Captain M. {returning). — She's coming now. Look out when the music starts. There's the organ beginning to clack. Bride steps out of 'rickshaw at Church door. G. catches a glimpse of her and takes heart. OkCxAN {Diapason and, Burden). — The Voice that breathed o'er Eden That earliest marriage day, The primal marriage blessing It hath not passed away. Captain M. {watchi^ig (?.).— By Jove ! He is looking well. 'Didn't think he had it in him. Captain G. — How long does this hymn go on for? Captain M.— It will be over directly. (Anxiously.) Beginning to bleach and gulp ? Hold on, Gaddy, and think o' the Eegiment. Captain G. {measuredly). — I say, there's a big brown lizard crawling up that wall. Captain M.— My Sainted Mother I The last stage of collapse ! Bride comes up to left of altar, lifts her eyes once to G. who is suddenly smitten mad. Captain G. {to himself, again and again). — Little Feather- weight's a woman— a woman! And I thought she was a little girl. Captain M. {in a vMs2)er). — From the halt— inward vMel. Captain G. obeys mechanically, and the ceremony proceeds. Padiie. — . . . only unto her as long as ye both shall live ? Captain G. {Ids throat useless). — Ha — hmmm ! Captain M.— Say you will or you won't. There's no second deal here. Bride gives response ivith perfect coolness, and is given away ly the father. Captain G. {thinking to shoiv his Icarnioig). — Jack, give me away now, quick ! 1 1 7 Til ANY AMAZEMENT. 47 Captain M. — You've given yourself away quite enough. Her rigid hand, man ! liepeat ! liepeat ! " Theodore Philip." Have you forgotten your own name ? Ca'ptam G. stumbles through A^nnation lohich Bride repeats without a tremor. Captain M.— Now the ring ! Follow the Padre 1 Don't pull off my glove ! Here it is ! Great Cupid, he's found his voice ! G. repeats Troth in a voice to he heard to the end of the Chureh, and turns on his heel. Captain M. {desperately). — Eein back ! Back to your troop ! 'Tisn't half legal yet. Padre. — . . . joined together, let no man put asunder. Captain G., paralysed with fear , jibs after Blessing. Captain M. (quieliy). — On your own front — one length. Take her with you. I don't come. You've nothing to say. [Captain G. jingles up to altar.) Captain M. (in a piercing rattle, meant to be a whisper'). — Kneel, you stiff-necked ruffian ! Kneel ! Padre. — . . . whose daughters ye are, so long as ye do well, and are not afraid with any amazement. Captain M. — Dismiss ! Break off! Left wheel ! All troop to vestry. They sign. Captain M. — Kiss Her, Gaddy. Captain G. [rubbing inl'-spot into his glove). — Eh! Wha— at ? Captain M. [taking one pxice to Bride). — If you don't, I shall. Captain G. [interposing an arm). — Not this journey ! General hissing, in ivhieh Captain G. is pursued by un- known female. Captain G. [faintly to M.) — This is Hades ! Can I wipe my face now ? Captain M. — My responsibility has ended. Better ask Missis Gadsby. Captain G. winces as if shot, and procession is Mendels- 48 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. sohned out of Church, to ^jai'er^irt/ roo/, v)licrc usual tortiires take 'place over the toed ding -cahe. Captain M. {at tahlc).—!]^^ with j^ou, Gaddy. They expect a speech. Captain G-. {after three minutes' agony). — Ha-hmmm ! {Thunders of applause.) Captain M. — Doocid good, for a first attempt. Now go and change your kit while Mamma is weeping over — " the Missus ". {Captain G. disai^pears. Captain M. starts up tearing his hair.) It's not half legal. Where are the shoes ? Get the ayah. Ayah. — Missie Captain Sahil done gone hide away all the shoes. Captain M. (brandishing scahharded sword). — Woman, produce those shoes ! Some one lend me a bread-knife. We mustn't crack Caddy's head more than it is. {Slices heel off white satin slip)per, and puts slipper itp his sleeve.) Where is the Bride ? {To the company at large.) Be tender with that rice. It's a heathen custom. Give me the big ba^r I Bride slips out quietly into 'riekshaio and departs towa7xIs the sunset. Captain M. {in the open). — Stole away, by Jove ! So much tlie worse for Gaddy ! Here he is. Now, Gaddy, this'll be livelier than Amdheran ! Where's your horse ? Captain G. {furiously, seeing that the women are out of earshot). — Where the is my Wife? Captain M.— Half-way to Mahasu by this time. You'll have to ride like Young Lochinvar. Horse comes round on his hind legs ; refuses to let G. handle him. Captain G.— Oh, you will, will you ? Get round, you brute — you hog — you beast ! Get round. Wrenches horse's head over, nearly breaking lower jaw ; swings himself into saddle, and sends home both spurs in the midst of a spattering gale of Best Patnct. I VI TH ANY A MA /JiA/EN T. 49 Captain M. — For your life and your love — ride, Gaddy ! — And God bless you ! Throws half-a-pound of rice at G., ivho disapiKars, bo7ved fonvard on the saddle, in a cloud of snnlit dvst. Captain M.— I've lost old Gaddy. {Lights cigarette and strolls off, singing absently) : — You may carve it on his tombstone, you may cut it on his card, That a young man married is a young man marred ! Miss Deercourt (from Jwr horse). — Eeally, Captain Mafflin ! You are more plainspoken than polite ! Captain M. (aside). — They say marriage is like cholera.. Wonder who'll be the next victim. White satin slipper slides from his sleeve and falls at his feet. Left wondering. CURTAIN. 4 THE GARDEN OF EDEN. " And 3'e shall be as — Gods ? " SCENE. — Thymy gras8-flot at hack of the Mahasu rest- house, overlooking little wooded valley. On the left, glimpse of the Dead Forest of Fagoo ; on the right, Simla Hills. In background, line of the Sn^ivs. Captain Gadshy, now one week a hvshand, is smoking the piijc of 'peace on a rug in tlie sunshine. Banjo and tobacco-pouch on rug. Overhead, the Fagoo eagles. Mrs. G. comes out of the house. Mrs G.— My husband ! Captain G. {lazily, with intense enjoyment). — Eh, wha-at ? Say that again. Mrs G. — 'I've written to Mamma and told her that we shall be back on the seventeenth. Captaix G. —Did you give her my love ? Mrs. G. — ISTo, I kept all that for myself. {Sitting down by his side.) I thouglit you wouldn't mind. Captaix G. (loith mock sternness). — T object awf'ly. How did you know that it was yours to keep ? Mrs. G. — I guessed, Phil. Captain G. (raptuovusly). — Lit-tle Eeatherweight ! Mrs. G. — I won't be called those sporting pet names, bad boy. Captain G. — You'll be called anything I choose. Has it ever occurred to you. Madam, that you are my Wife ? Mrs. G. — It has. I haven't ceased wondering at it yet. Captain G. — Nor I. It seems so strange ; and yet, somehow, it doesn't. {Confidently .) You see, it could have been no one else. jMrs. G. {softly). — No. No one else — -for me or for you. It must have been all arranged from the beginning. Phil, tell me aoain what made you care for me. THE GARDEN OE EDEN. 5 I Captain G.— How could T lielp it \ You were you, you know. Mks. G.— Did you ever want to help it ? Speak the truth ? Captain G. (« hvinldc in his cijc). — I did, darling, just at the first. But only at the very first. {Chncldes.) I called you — stoop low and I'll whisper— "a little beast". Ho! Ho : Ho ! Mks. G. {tahiiuj hlhi hy the iiiouatcwhc and maling him sit up). — " A — little— beast ! " Stop lauuhing over your crime ! And yet you liad the — the — awl'ul cheek to propose to me 1 Captain G. — I'd changed my mind then. And you weren't a little beast any more. Mrs. G. — Thank you, Sir 1 And when was I ever ? Captain G.— Never ! But that first day, when you gave me tea in that peach-coloured muslin gow^n thing, you looked — you did, indeed, dear — such an absurd little mite. And I didn't know what to say to you. Mrs. G. (twisting moustache). — So you said " little beast ". Upon my word, Sir 1 / called you a " Crrrreature," but I wish now I had called you something worse. Captain G. {very meeldy). — I apologize, but you're hurting me awf'ly. {Interlude.) You're welcome to torture me again on those terms. Mrs. G. — Oh, ivhy did you let me do it ? Captain G. {looking across valley). — No reason in particu- lar, but — if it amused you or did you any good — you might — wipe tliose dear little boots of yours on me. Mrs. G. {stretching out her hands). — Don't ! Oh don't ! Philip, my King, jj/case don't talk like that. It's how /feel. You'i'e so much too good for me. So mucli too good ! Captain G. — Me ! I'm not fit to put my arm i-ound you. {Futs it round.) Mrs. G. — Yes, you are. But I — what have I ever done ? Captain G. — Given me a wee bit of your heart, haven't you, my Queen ? 52 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. Mrs. G. — That's nothing. Any one would do that, They cou — couldn't help it. Captain G. — Pussy, you'll make me horribly conceited. Just when I was beginning to feel so humble, too. Mrs. G. — Humble ! I don't believe it's in your character. Captain G. — What do you know of my character, Imperti- nence ? Mrs. G.— Ah, but I shall, shan't I, Phil ? I shall have time, in all the years and years to come, to know everything about you ; and there will be no secrets between us. Captain G. — Little witch 1 I believe you know me thoroughly already. Mrs. G. — I think I can guess. You're selfish ? Captain G. — Yes. Mrs. G.— Foolish ? Captain G. — Very. Mrs. G. — And a dear ? Captain G. — That is as my lady pleases. Mrs. G. — Then your lady is pleased. {A pause) D'you know that we're two, solemn, serious, grown-up people Captain G. {tilting her strato hat over her eyes). — You grown up ! Pooh ! You're a baby. Mrs. G. — And we're talking nonsense. Captain G. — Then let's cro on talking nonsense. I rather like it. Pussy, I'll tell you a secret. Promise not to repeat ? Mrs. G. — Ye — es. Only to you. Captain G. — I love you. Mrs. G.— Pte-ally ? For how long ? Captain G. — For ever and ever. Mrs. G. — That's a long time. Captain G. — 'Think so ? It's the shortest I can do with. Mrs. G. — You're getting quite clever. Captain G. — I'm talking to you. Mrs. G. — Prettily turned. Hold up your stupid old head, and I'll pay you for it ! Captain G. {affecting supreme contempt). — Take it yourself if you want it. THE GARDEN OF EDEX. 53 Mks. G. — I've a great mind to. . . . and I will ! {Takes it, and is repaid ivith interest.) Captain G. — Little Featherweight, it's my opinion that we arc a couple of idiots. Mrs. G. — We're the only two sensible people in the world ! Ask the eagle. He's coming by. Captain G. — Ah ! I dare say he's seen a good many sensible people at Mahasu. They say that those birds live for ever so long. Mrs. G.— How long ? Captain G. — A hundred and twenty years. Mks. G. — A hundred and twenty years ! 0-oh ! And in a hundred and twenty years where will these two sensible people be ? Captain G. — What does it matter so long as we are to- gether now ? Mrs. G, [looking round, the horizon). — Yes. Only you and I — I and you — in the whole wide, wide world until the end. {Sees the line of the Snou's.) How big and quiet the hills look ! D'you think they care for us ? Captain G. — Can't say I've consulted 'em particularly. / care, and that's enough for me. Mrs. G. {drawing nea.rer to him). — Yes, now. . . . but afterwards. What's that little black blur on the Snows ? Captain G. — A snowstorm, forty miles away. You'll see it move, as the wind carries it across the face of that spur, and then it will be all gone. Mrs. G. — And then it w411 be all gone. (Shivers.) Captain G. {anxiously). — 'Not chilled, pet, are you ? 'Better let me get your cloak. Mrs. G. — No. Don't leave me, Phil. Stay here. I be- lieve I'm afraid. Oh, why are the hitls so horrid ? Phil, promise me, promise me that you'll always, always love me. Captain G. — What's the trouble, darling ? I can't pro- mise any more than I have ; but I'll promise that again and again if you like. Mrs. G. {her head on his shotdder). — Say it, then — say it ! 54 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. N-no — don't ! The — the — eagles would laugh. {Becovering.) My husband, you've married a little goose. Captaix G. {venj tmderly).-~'H.awe I? I am content whatever she is, so long as she is mine. Mrs. G. {qiiicldy). — Because she is yours, or because she is me niineself ? Captain G. — Because she is both. {Piteously.) I'm not clever, dear, and I don't think I can make myself understood properly. Mrs. G. — I understand. Pip, will yon tell me something ? Captain G. — Anything you like, {Aside.) I wonder what's coming now. Mrs. G. {haltingly, her eyes Imvcrcd). — You told me once in the old days— centuries and centuries ago — that you had been engaged before. I didn't say anything — then. Captain G. {innocently).— V^^hj not? Mrs. G. (raising her eyes to his). — Because— because I was afraid of losing you, my heart. But now — tell about it — please. Captain G.— There's nothing to tell. I was awf'ly old | then — nearly two and twenty — and she was quite that. Mrs. G. — That means she was older than you. I shouldn't like her to have been younger. Well ? Captain G. — Well, I fancied myself in love and raved J about a bit, and— Oh, yes, by Jove ! I made up poetry. Ha! ha! Mrs. G. — You never wrote any for me! What happened? Captain G. — I came out here, and the whole thing went to pieces. She wrote to say that there had been a mistake, and then she married. Mrs. G. — Did she care for you much? Captain G.— No. At least she didn't show it as far as I remember. Mrs. G. — As far as you remember ! Do you remember her name ? (Hears it, and hoivs her head.) Thank you, my husband. THE GARDEN OF EDEN. 55 Captain G. — Who but you had the ii[;ht? Now, Little Featherweight, have you ever been mixed up in any dark and dismal tragedy ? Mi!S. G. — If you call me Mrs. Gadsby, p'raps I'll tell. Captain G. {tliToiving 'parade rasp into his voice). — Mrs. Gadsby confess ! MiiS. G. — Good Heavens, Phil! I never knew that you could speak in that terrible voice. Captain G. — You don't know half my accomplishments yet. Wait till we are settled in the plains and I'll show you how I bark at my troop. You were going to say, darling? Mrs. G. — I — I don't like to, after that voice. {Tremu- lously.) Phil, never you dare to speak to me in that tone, whatever I may do ! Captain G. — My poor, little love ! Why, you're shaking all over ! I am so sorry ! Of course I never meant to up- set you. Don't tell me anything. Pm a brute. Mks. G. — No, you aren't, and I vnll tell. . . . There was a man. Captain G. {lightly). — Was there? Lucky man! Mrs. G. (m a ivhisper). — And I thought I cared for him. Captain G.— Still luckier man ! AYell ? Mrs. G. — And I thought I cared for him — and I didn't — and then you came — and I cared for you very, very much indeed. That's all. {Faee hidden.) Youaren't angry, ai'e you? Captain G. — Angry ? Not in the least. {Aside.) Good Lord, what have I done to deserve this angel ? Mrs. G. {aside). — And he never asked for the name ! How funny men are! But perhaps it's as well. Captain G. — That man will go to Heaven because you once thought you cared for him. 'Wonder if you'll ever drag me up there ? Mrs. G. {firmly). — 'Shan't go if you don't. Captain G. — Thanks. I say, Pussy, I don't know much about your religious beliefs. You were brought up to believe in a Heaven and all that, weren't you ? 56 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. Mrs. G. — Yes. But it was a pincushion Heaven with hymn-books in all the pews. Captain G. {wagging Ms head ivith intense conviction). — Never mind. There is a real Heaven. Mrs. G. — Where do you bring that message from, my prophet ? Captain G. — Here ! "Because we care for each other. So it's all. right. Mrs. G. (as a troop of grey monkeys crash through the branches). — So it's all right. But Darwin says that we came from those ! Captain G. {placidly). — Ah ! Darwin was never in love with an angel. That settles it. Sstt, you brutes ! Monkeys, indeed ! You shouldn't read those books. Mrs. G. {folding her hands). — If it pleaseth my Lord the King to issue proclamation Captain G. — Don't, dear one. There are no orders between us. Only I'd rather you didn't. They lead to nothing and bother people's heads. Mrs. G. — Like your first engagement? Captain G. {with an immense calm). — That was a neces- sary evil and led to you. Are you nothing ? Mrs. G. — Not so very much, am I ? Captain G. — All this v\-orld and the next to me. Mes. G. {very softly).— My boy of boys ! Sliall I tell yoH sometliing ? Captain G. — Yes, if it's not dreadful — about other men. Mes. G. — It's about my own, bad, little self. Captain G. — Then it must be good. Go on, dear. Mes. G. {slowly}. — I don't know why I'm telling you Pip; but if ev^er you marry again — {interlude). Take your hand from mv mouth or I'll bite! In the future, then remember ... I don't know quite how to put it ! Captain G. (snorting indignantly). — Don't try. "Marry again" indeed ! Mes. G — I must. Listen, my husband. Never, never, 'O' THE GARDEN OF EDEN. 5 / never tell your wife anytliiug that you do not wish her to remember and think over all her lite. Because a woman — yes, I am a woman, sir — can't forget. Captain G. — By Jove, how do you know that ? Mrs. G. [confusedly). — I don't. I'm only guessing. I am — I was — a silly, little girl; but I feel that I know so much, oh, so very much more than you, dearest. To begin with, I'm your wife. Captaix G. — So I have been led to believe. MiiS. G. — And I shall want to know every one of your secrets — to share everytliing you know with you. (Stares round cles'pcrately for lucidity and coherence.) Captain G. — So you shall, dear — so you shall ; but don't look like that. Mks. G. — For your own sake don't stop me, Phil. I shall never talk to you in this way again. You must not tell me ! At least, not now. Later on, when I'm an old matron it won't matter, but if yon love me, be very good to me now ; for this part of my life I shall never forget ! Have I made you nnderstand ? Captain G. — I think so, child. Have I said anything yet that you disapprove of ? Mrs. G. — Will yon be very angry ? That — that voice and what you said about tlie engagement Captain G. — But you asked to be told that, darling. Mrs. G. — And that's why you shouldn't have told me ! You must be the judge ; and, Pip ! dearly as I love you, I shan't be able to help yon ! I shall hinder you, and you must judge in spite of me ! Captain G. {meditatively). — We have a great many things to find out together, God help ns both — say so. Pussy — but we shall understand each other better every day ; and I think I'm beginning to see now. How in the world did you come to know just the importance of giving me just tliat lead ? MPtS. G. — I've told you that I don't know. Only some- 58 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. how it seemed tliat, in all this new life, I was being guided for your sake as well as my own. Captain G-. {aside). — Then Mafflin was right ! They know, and we — we're blind — all of us. {Lightly.) 'Getting a little beyond our depth, dear, aren't we ? I'll remember, and, if I fail, let me be punished as I deserve. Mrs. G. — There shall be no punishment. We'll start into life together from here — you and I — and no one else. Captain G-. — And no one else. {A pause.) Your eye- lashes are all wet, Sweet ? Was there ever such a quaint, little Absurdity ? Mits. G. — Was there ever such nonsense talked before ? Captain G. {knocking the ashes out of his pipe). — 'Tisn't what we say, it's what we don't say that helps. And it's all the profoundest philosophy. But no one would understand — even if it were put into a book. MPtS. G. — The idea ! No — only we ourselves, or people like ourselves — if there are any people like us. Captain G. {magisterially). — All people not like ourselves are blind idiots. Mks. G. {wiping her eyes). — Do you think, then, that there are any people as happy as we are ? Captain G.— 'JMust be — unless we've appropriated all the happiness in the world. Mks. G. {looking totvards Simla). — Poor dears ! Just fancy, if we have ! Captain G. — Then we'll hang on to the whole show, for it's a great deal too jolly to lose — eh, wife o' mine ? MiJS. G. — Oh, Pip, Pip ! How much of you is a solemn married man, and how much a horrid, slangy schoolboy ? Captain G. — When you tell me how much of you was eighteen last birthday, and how much is as old as the Sphinx and twice as mysterious, perhaps I'll attend to you. Lend me that banjo. The spirit movetli me to yowl at the sun- set. Mrs. G.— :Mind ! It's not tuned. Ah ! How that jars ! THE GARDEN OF EDEN. 59 Caftaix G. {turning pcr/s). — It's ainaziiigly difficult to keep a banjo to proper pitch. Mrs. G. — It's the same with all musical instruments. What shall it be ? Captain G. — " Vnnity" and let the hills hear. (Sings through the first and half of the, second verse. Turning to Mrs. G.) Now, chorus ! Sing, Pussy ! Both together {con brio, to the horror of the monkeys, loho are settling for the night). "Vanity, all is Vanity," said Wisdom, scorning me — I clasped my true Love's tender hand, and answered frank and free — ee : — " 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 grey of the evening sky). — " Vanity let it be ! " Echo {from the Fagoo spur). — Let it be ! CURTAIN. FATIMA. " And j-oii 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 hungaloiv in the Plains. Time, 11 a.m. on a Sunday morning. Captain Gadshy, in his shirt-sleeves, is lending over a eomplete set of hussar s equipment from saddle to picheting-rope, which is neatly spread over the floor of his study. He is smoking an unclean hriar, and his forehead is puchered with thought. Captain G. (to himself, fingering a headstall). — Jack's an ass ! There's enough brass 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. Humbuo- ! . . . Half-a-dozen sets of chains and pulleys for the same old horse ! [Scratching his head.) Now, let's consider it all over from the beyinnincj. Bv Jove, I've forgotten the scale of weights ! Ne'er mind. 'Keep the bit only, and eliminate every boss from the crupper to tlie breast- plate. No breastplate at all. Simple leather strap across the breast — like the Eussians. Hi ! Jack never thoun-ht of that ! ]Mrs. G. [entering hastily, her hand hound in a cloth). — Oh, Pip ! I've scalded my hand over that horrid, horrid Tiparee jam. Captain G. (absently). — Eh ! Wha-at ? Mp>s. G. (tvith round-eyed reproach). — I've scalded it aw-i\\\\y ! Aren't you sorry ? And I did so want that jam to jam properly. Captain 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 'nornious big burn ! FATIMA. 6 1 Captain G. Qdssing little finger). — Baby ! Let Hyder look after the jam. You know I don't care for sweets. Mrs. G.— In-deed ? . . . Pip ! Captain G. — Not of that kind, anyhow. And now run along, Mi""ie, and leave me to my own base devices. I'm busy. Mrs. G. (calmli/, 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 ? Captain G. — To play v/ith. Do you mind, dear ? Mrs. G. — Let me play too. I'd like it. Captain G. — I'm afraid you wouldn't, Pussy . . . 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 verandah, stirring — when I hurt myself so. Captain G. {Ms eye returning to the equipment). — Po-oor little woman ! . . . Three pound four and seven is three eleven, and that can be cut down to two eight with just a /ce-tle care, without weakening anything. Farriery is all rot in incompetent hands. What's the use of a shoecase 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 ? Captain 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 1 thought I'd like to see what you're doing. Captain 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 ? Captain G. — Yes, dear, for a little while. This tobacco will hang in your dress, and saddlery doesn't interest you. 62 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. Mks. G. — Everythiug you do interests me, Pip. Captain G. — Yes, I know, I know, dear. I'll tell you all about it some day, when I'v^e put a head on this thing. In the- meantime Mrs. G. — I'm to be turned out of the room like a trouble- some child ? Captain G. — No-o. I don't mean that e.^actly. But, you see, I shall be tramping up and down, shifting 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). Captain G, — Good gracious, child, don't touch it. You'll hurt yourself {picking up saddle). Little girls aren't expected to handle accoutrements. 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 ? Captain G. {lowering saddle quickl/j). — 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 ? Captain G. — A cut— if you want to know ! Mrs. G. — Want to know ! Of course I do ! I can't have iny husband cut to pieces in this way. How did it come ? Was it an accident ? Tell me, Pip. Captain G. {grimly). — No ; 'twasn't an accident. I got it — from a man — in Afghanistan. Mrs. G. — In action ? Pip, and you neoer told me ! Captain 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 n(;w ? How did the man give it vou ? Captain G. {desperately, looldng at his watch). — With a FA TIM A. 63 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 ? Captain G. — I couldn't get to my holster, and Mafflin came round the corner and stopped the performance. Mrs. G. — How ? He's such a lazy man. I don't believe he did. Captain G. — Don't you I I don't think the man had much doubt about it. Jack cut his head off. Mrs. G.— Cut— his— head— off! "With one blow," as they say in the books ? Captain G. — I'm not sure. I was too interested in my- self to know much about it. Anyhow the head was off, and Jack was punching old Van Loo in the ribs to make him get up. Now, you know all about it, dear, and now Mrs. G. — You want me to go, of course. You never told me about this, though I've been married to you for ever so long ; and you never would have told me if I hadn't found out ; and you never do tell me anything about yourself, or what you do, or what you take an interest in. Captain G. — Darling, I'm always with you, aren't I ? Mrs. G. — Always in my pocket, you were going to say. I know you are ; but you are always thinking away from me. Captain G. {trying to hide a smile). — Am I ? I wasn't aware of it. I'm awf ly sorry. Mrs. G. (piteousbj). — Oh, don't make fun of me ! Pip, you know what I mean. When you are reading one of those things about cavalry, by that idiotic Prince — why doesn't he he a Prince, instead of a stable-boy ? Captain G. — Prince Kraft a stable-boy ! Oh, my Aunt ! Never mind, dear ! You were going to say ? Mrs. G.— It doesn't matter. You don't care for what I say. Only — only you get up and walk about the room, staring in front of you, and then Mafflin comes in to dinner, 64 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. and after I'm in the dravving-rooni I can hear you and him talking and talkiuo- and talkini; about things I can't under- stand, and — I get so tired and feel so lonely ! — I don't want to complain and be a trouble, Pip ; but I do — -indeed I do ! Captain G. — My poor darling ! I never thought of that, Why don't you ask some nice people in to dinner ? Mrs. G. — Nice people ! Where am I to find them ? Horrid frumps ! And if I did, I shouldn't be amused. You know I only want you. Captain G. — And you have me surely, Sweetheart ? Mrs. G. — I have not ! Pip, why don't you take me into your life ? Captain G. — More than I do ? That would be difficult dear. Mrs. G. — Yes, I suppose it would — to you. I'm no help to you — no companion to you ; and you like to have it so. Captain G. — Aren't you a little unreasonable. Pussy ? Mrs. G. {stamping her foot). — I'm the most reasonable woman in the world — when I'm treated properly. Captain G. — And since when have I been treating you improperly ? Mrs. G — Always — and since the beginning. You know you have. Captain G. — I don't. But I'm willing to be convinced. Mrs. G. {'pointing to saddlery). — There ! Captain G. — How do you mean ? Mrs. G. — What does all that mean ? Why am I not to be told ? Is it so precious ? Captain G. — I forget its exact Government value just at present. It means that it is a great deal too heavy. Mrs. G. — Then why do you touch it? Captain G. — To make it lighter. See here, little love, I've one notion and Jack has another, but we are both agreed that all this equipment is about thirty pounds too heavy. The thing is how to cut it down without weakening any part of it, and, at the same time, allowing the trooper to carry F ATI MA. 65 everything he wants for liis own comfort — socks and shirts and things of that kind. Mrs. G. — Why doesn't he pack thern in a little trunk ? Captain G. (kissing her). — Oh, you darling ! Pack them in a little trunk, indeed ! Hussars don't carry trunks, and it's a most important thing to make the horse do all the carrying. Mrs. G. — But why need you bother about it? You're not a trooper. Captain G. — No ; but I command a few score of him ; and equipment is nearly everything in these days. Mrs. G. — More than mc ? Captain G. — Stupid ! Of course not ; but it's a matter that I'm tremendously interested in, because if I or Jack, or I and Jack, hack out some sort of lighter saddlery and all that, it's possible that we may get it adopted. Mrs. G.— How ? Captain G. — Sanctioned at Home, where they will make a sealed pattern — a pattern that all the saddlers must copy — and so it will be used by all the regiments. Mrs. G. — And that interests you ? Captain G. — It's part of my profession, y'know, and my profession is a good deal to me. Everything in a soldier's equipment is important, and if we can improve that equip- ment so much the better for the soldiers and for us. Mrs. G.— Who's " us ? " Captain G. — Jack and I ; though Jack's notions are too radical. What's that big sigh for, Minnie ? Mrs. G. — Oh, nothing — and you've kept all this a secret from me ? Whv ? Captain G. — Not a secret exactly, dear. I didn't say anything about it to you because I didn't think it would amuse you. Mrs. G. — And am I only made to be amused ? Captain G. — No, of course. I merely mean that it couldn't interest you. 5 66 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. Mes. Gr. — It's your work and — and, if you'd let me, I'dj count all these things up. If they are too heavy, you know] by h(jw much they are too heavy, and you must have a list of tilings made out to your scale of lightness, and Captain G. — I've got both scales somewhere in my head ; but it's hard to tell how light you can make a head-stall, for instance, until you liave actually had a model made. Mes. G. — But if you read out the list, I could copy it down, and pin it up there just above your table. Wouldn't that do ? Captain G. — It would be awf'ly nice, dear, but it would be giving you trouble for nothing. I can't work that way. I go by rule of thumb. I know the present scale of weights, and the other one — the one that I'm trying to work to — will shift and vary so much that I couldn't be certain, even if I wrote it down. Mrs. G. — I'm so sorry. I thought I might help. Is there anything else that I could be of use in ? Captain G. {looking round the room). — I can't think of anything. You're always helping me, you know. Mrs. G.— Am I ? How ? Captain G. — You are you of course, and as long as you're near me — I can't explain exactly, but it's in the air. Mrs. G. — And that's why you wanted to send me away? Captain G. — That's only when I'm trying to do work — grubby work like this. Mrs. G. — Mafflin's better then, isn't he ? Captain G. (rashly). — Of course he is. Jack and I have been thinking down the same grove for two or three years, about this equipment. It's our hobby, and it may really be useful some day. Mrs. G. (aftei- a pause). — And that's all that you have away from me ? Captain G. — It isn't very far away from you now. Take care that the oil on that bit doesn't come off' on your dress. Mrs. G. — I wish — I wish so much that I could really \ FA TIMA. 67 help you. I believe I could — if I left the room. But that's not what I mean. Captain G. {aside). — Give me patience! I wish she would go. {Aloud.) I assure you you can't do anything for me, Minnie, and I nmst really settle down to this. Where's my pouch ? Mks. G. {crossing to writing-table). — Here you are, Bear. What a mess you keep your table in ! Captain G. — Don't touch it. There's a method in my madness, though you mightn't think it. Mks. G. {at table).— 1 want to look — Uo you keep accounts, Pip ? Captain G. {bending over saddlery). — Of a sort. Are you rummaging among the Troop papers ? Be careful. Mks. G. — Why ? I shan't disturb anything. Good gracious ! I had no idea that you had anything to do with so many sick horses. Captain G. — 'Wish I hadn't, but they insist on falling sick. Minnie, if I were you, I really should not investigate those papers. You may come across something that you won't like. Mks. G. — Why will you always treat me like a child ? I know I'm not displacing the horrid things. Captain G. {resignedly). — Very well, then. Don't blame me if anything happens. Play with the table and let me go on with the saddlery. {Slipping hand into trouser-pocket.) Oh, the deuce ! Mks. G. {her back to G^.).— What's that for ? Captain G.— Nothing. {Aside.) There's not much of importance in it, but I wish I'd torn it up. Mrs. G. {turning over contents of table). — 1 know you'll hate me for this ; but I want to see what your work is like. {A pause.) Pip, what are " farcy-buds " ? Captain G. — Hah ! Would you really like to know ? They aren't pretty things. Mks. G. — This Journal of Veterinary Science says they are of " absorbing interest ". Tell me. 68 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. Captain G. {aside). — It may turn hei^ attention. Gives a long and designedly loathsome account of glanders and farcy. Mes. Gt. — Oh, that's enough. Don't go on ! Captain G. — But you wanted to know. Then these things suppurate and matterate and spread Mes. G. — Pip, you're making me sick ! You're a horrid, disgusting school-boy. Captain G. {on Ms knees among the bridles). — You asked to be told. It's not my fault if you worry me into talking about horrors. Mrs. G. — Why didn't you say no ? Captain G. — Good Heavens, child! Have you come in here simply to bully me? Mrs. G. — I bully yon ? How could I ! You're so strong. {Hysterically .) Strong enough to pick me up and put me outside the door, and leave me there to cry. Aren't you ? Captain G. — It seems to me that you're an irrational little baby. Are you quite well ? Mrs. G. — Do I look ill ? {Returning to table.) Who is your lady friend with the big grey envelope and the fat monogram outside ? Captain G. {aside). — Then it wasn't in the drawers, con- found it. {Aloud.) " God made her, therefore let her pass for a woman." You remember what farcy-buds are like ? - Mrs. G. {showing envelope). — This has nothing to do with ihem. I'm going to open it. Ma_y I ? Captain G. — Certainly, if you want to. I'd sooner you didn't though. I don't ask to look at your letters to the Deercourt girl. Mrs. G. — You'd better not. Sir! {Takes letter from enve- lope.) Now may I look ? If you say no, I shall cry. Captain G. — You've never cried in my knowledge of you, and I don't believe you could. Mrs. G. — I feel very like it to-day, Pip. Don't be hard on me. {Reads letter.) It begins in the middle, without any " Dear Captain Gadsby " or anything. How funny ! FA TIM A. 6g Captain G. (aside) . — No, it's not Dear Captain Gadsby or anything, now. How funny ! Mrs. G. — What a strange letter! (Beads.) " And so the moth has come too near the candle at last, and has been singed into — shall I say Respectability ? I congratulate him, and hope he will be as happy as he deserves to be." What does that mean? Is she congratulating you about our marriage ? Captain G. — Yes, I suppose so. Mrs. G. (still reading letter). — She seems to be a particular friend of yours. Captain G. — Yes. She was an excellent matron of sorts — a Mrs. Herriott— wife of a Colonel Herriott. I used to know some of her people at home long ago — before I came out. Mrs. G. — Some Colonel's wives are young — as young as me. I knev/ one who was younger. Captain G. — Then it couldn't have been Mrs. Herriott. She was old enough to have been your mother, dear. Mrs. G. — I remember now. Mrs. Scargill was talking about her at the Dutfins' tennis, before you came for me, on Tuesday. Captain Mafflin said she was a " dear old woman ". Do you know I think Maftlin is a very clumsy man with his feet. Captain G. (aside). — Good old Jack! (Aloud.) Why, dear. Mrs. G. — He had put his cup down on the ground then, and he literally stepped into it. Some of the tea spirted over my dress — the grey one. I meant to tell you about it before. Captaix G. (aside). — There are the makings of a strategist about Jack, though his methods are coarse. (Aloud.) You'd better get a new dress, then. (Aside.) Let us pray that that will turn her. Mrs. G. —Oh, it isn't stained in the least. I only thought that I'd tell you. (Returning to letter.) What an extra- 70 THE STORY OF THE GADS B VS. ordinary person ! (Beads.) " But need I remind you that you have taken upon yourself a charge of wardship " — what in the world is a charge of wardship ? — " which, as you yourself know, may end in Consequences — — " Captain G. {aside). — It's safest to let 'em see everything as they come across it : but 'seems to me that there are ex- ceptions to the rule. {Aloud.) I told you that there was nothing to be gained from re-arranging my table. Mrs. G-. {absently). — What does the woman mean ? She goes on talking about Consequences — " almost inevitable Con- sequences " with a capital C — for half a page. {Flusldng scarlet) Oh, good gracious ! How abominable ! Captain G. {^jrompthj). Do you think so ? Doesn't it show a sort of motherly interest in us ? {Aside.) Thank Heaven, Harry always wrapped her meaning up safely. {Aloud.) Is it absolutely necessary to go on with the letter, darling ? Mrs. G. — It's impertinent —it's simply horrid. What right has this woman to write in this way to you ? She oughtn't to. Captain G. — When you write to the Deercourt girl I notice that you generally fill three or four sheets. Can't you let an old woman babble on paper once in a way ? She means well. Mrs. G. — I don't care. She shouldn't write, and if she did, you ought to have shown me her letter. Captain G.— Can't you understand why I kept it to myself, or must I explain at length — as I explained the farcy-buds ? Mrs. G. {furiously). — Pip, I hate you ! This is as bad as those idiotic saddle-bags on the floor. Never mind whether it would please me or not, you ought to have given it to me to read. Captain G. — It comes to the same thing. You took it yourself. Mrs. G. — Yes, but if I hadn't taken it, you wouldn't have I FA TIM A. 7 1 said a word. I think this Harriet Herriott — it's like a name in a book — is an interfering old Thing. Captain G. {aside). — So long as you thoroughly under- stand that she is old, I don't much care what you think. {Aloud.) Very good, dear. Would you like to write and tell her so ? She's seven thousand miles away. Mes. G. — I don't want to have anything to do with her; but you ought to have told me. {Turniiuj to last page of letter.) And she patronizes me, too. i've never seen her ! {Reads.) " I do not know how the world stands with you. In all human probability I shall never know, but whatever I may have said before, I pray for her sake more than for yours that all may be well. I have learnt what misery means, and I dare not wish that anyone dear to you should share my knowledge." Captain G. — Good God ! Can't you leave that letter alone, or, at least, can't you refrain from reading it aloud ? I've been through it once. Put it back on the desk. Do you hear me ? Mrs. G. {irresolutely). — I sh — shan't ! {Looks at G.'s eyes.) Oh, Pip, please ! I didn't mean to make you angry — 'Deed, I didn't. Pip, I'm so sorry. I know I've wasted your time Captain G. {grimly). — You have. Now, will you be good enough to go — if there is nothing more in my room that you are anxious to pry into ? Mrs. G. {putting out her hands). — Oh, Pip, don't look at me like that ! I've never seen you look like that before, and it liu-urts me ! I'm sorry. I oughtn't to have been here at all, and — and — and — {sobbing). Oh, be good to me ! Be good to me ! There's only you — anywhere ! Breaks down in long chair, hiding face in cushions. Captain G. {aside). — She doesn't know how she flicked me on the raw. {Aloud, bending over chair.) I didn't mean to be harsh, dear— I didn't really. You can stay here as long as you please, and do what you please. Don't cry like 1 72 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. that. You'll make yourself sick. (Aside.) What on earth has come over her? (Aloud.) Darling, what's the matter with you ? Mrs. G. (her face still hidden). — Let me go — let me go to my own room. Only — only say you aren't angry with me. Captain G. — Angry with you, love. Of course not. I was angry with myself. I'd lost my temper over the sad- dlery. Don't hide your face, Pussy. I want to kiss it. Bends lotver, Mrs. G. slides right arm round his neck. Several interludes and much solhing. Mrs. G. (in a whisper). — I didn't mean about the jam when I came in to tell you Cai'TAIN G. — Bother the jam and the equipment ! (Tn- terlude.) Mrs. G. (still more faintly). — My finger wasn't scalded at all. I — I wanted to speak to you about — about — something else, and — I didn't know how. Captain G. — Speak away, then. (Looking into her eyes.) Eh ! Wha — at ? Minnie ! Here, don't go away ! You ^| don't mean ? Mrs. G. (hysterically, hacking to portiere and hiding her face in its folds). — The — the Almost Inevitable Consequences ! (Flits through portiere as G. attempts to catch her, and holts herself in her oiun ovom.) Captmn G. (his arms full of portiere) . — Oh ! (Sitting down heavily in chair.) I'm a brute — a pig — a bully, and a blackguard. My poor, poor little darling ! " JNIade to be amused only ! " CUETAIN. THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW. " Knowing Good aiul Evil." QCENE. — The Gcuhhys' bungalow in the Plains in June. VJ Punkah coolies asleep in verandah where Captain Gadsby is ivalkiny up and down. Doctor^s trap in porch. Junior Chaplain fluettiatincj generally and uneasily through the house. Time — 3"40 a.m. Heat 94° in verandah. IJocTOR {coming into verandah and touching G. on the shoidder). — You had better go in and see her now. Captaix G. {the colour of good cigar-ash). — Eh, wha-at ? Oil, yes, of course. What did you say ? Doctor {syllable by syllable). — Go — in— to — the — room — and — see — her. She wants to speak to you. {Aside, testily.) I shall have him on my hands next. Junior Chaplain {in half-lighted dining-room). — Isn't there any ? Doctor {savagely). — Hsh, you little fool ! Junior Chaplain. — Let me do my work. Gadsby, stop a minute ! {Edges after G.) Doctor. — Wait till she sends fur you at least — at least. Man alive, he'll kill you if you go in there ! What are you botherin<:f him for ? Junior Chaplain {coming into verandah). — I've given him a stiff brandy-peg. He wants it. You've forgotten him for the last ten hours and — forgotten yourself too. G. enters bed-room, which is lighted by one night-lamp. Ayah on the floor pretending to be asleep. Voice {from the bed). — All down the street — such bonfires ! Ayah, go and put them out ! {Appealingly.) How can I sleep with an installation of the CLE. in my room ? No — not CLE. Something else. What was it ? Captain G. (tryhuj to control his voice). — IMinnie, I'm here. 74 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. {Bending over led.) Don't you know me, Minnie ? It's me — it's Phil — it's your husband. Voice {mechanically).— It' q me— it's Phil — it's your hus- band. Captain G. — She doesn't know me! It's your own husband, darling. Voice. — ^Your own husband, darling. Ayah {with an inspiration). — Mcmsahih understanding all / saying. Captain G. — Make her understand me then — quick ! Ayah {hand on Mrs. G.'s forehead). — Mcmsahih ! Captain Sahih have sent Salaam — wanting see you. Voice. Salam do. {Fretfidly.) I know I'm not fit to be seen. Ayah {aside to G.). — Say " marncen " same as at breakfash. Captain G. — Good morning, little woman. How are we to-day ? Voice.— That's Phil. Poor old Phil. (Viciously) Phil, you fool, I can't see you. Come nearer. Captain G. — Minnie ! Minnie ! It's me — you know me ? Voice {mockingly). — Of course I do. Who does not know the man who was so cruel to his wife — almost the only one he ever had ? Captain G. — Yes, dear. Yes — of course, of course. But won't you speak to him ? He wants to speak to you so much. VoiCK. — They'd never let him in. The Doctor would stop him even if he were in the house. He'll never come. {Despairingly.) Oh Judas ! Judas ! Judas ! Captain G. {putting out his arms). — They have let him in, and he always was in the house. Oh my love — don't you know me ? Voice (m a half chant). — "And it came to jDass at the eleventh hour that this poor soul repented." It knocked at the gates, but they were shut — tight as a plaster — a great, THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW. 75 burning plaster. They had pasted our marriage certificate all across the door and it was made of red-hot iron. People really ought to be more careful, you know. Captain G. — What am I to do ? {Tahcs her in his arms.) Minnie ! speak to me — to Phil. Voice. — What shall I say? Oh tell me what to say before it's too late ! Tliey are all going away and I can't say anything. Captain G. — Say you know me ! Only say you know me! DOCTOK {who has entered quietly). — For pity's sake don't take it too much to heart, Gadsby. It's this way sometimes. They won't recognise. They say all sorts of queer things — don't you sec ? Captain G. — All right! All right! Go away now! she'll recognise me ; you're bothering her. She mitst — mustn't she, Doc. ? Doctor. — She will before — Have I your leave to try — Captain G. — Anything you please so long as she'll know me. It's only a question of — hours, isn't it ? Doctor {professionally). — While there's life there's hope, y'know. But don't build on it. Captain G. — I don't. Pull her together if it's possible. {Aside.) What have I done to deserve this ? Doctor (betiding over bed). — Now Mrs. Gadsby. We shall be all right to-morrow — You must take it, or I shan't let Phil see you — It isn't nasty, is it ? Voice. — Medicines ! Always more medicines. Can't you leave me alone ? Captain G. — Oh leave her in peace. Doc. ! Doctor {stepping hack, — aside). — May I be forgiven if I've done wrong. {Aloud.) In a few minutes she ought to be sensible ; but I daren't tell you to look for anything. It's only Captain G. — What ? Go on, man. Doctor {in a whisper). — Forcing the last rally. o y6 THE STORY OF THE GADSDYS. Captain G. — Then leave us alone. Doctor. — Don't mind what she says at first, if you can. They — they — they turn against those they love most some- times in this — It's hard, but Captain G. — Am I her husband or are you ? Leave us alone for whatever time we have together. Voice {confidentially). — And we were engaged quite suddenly, Emma. I assure you that I iiever thought of it for a moment ; but, my little Me ! — I don't know what I should have done if he liadn't proposed. Captain G. — She thinks of that Deercourt girl before she thinks of me. {Aloud) Minnie ! Voice. — Not from the shops. Mummy dear. You can get the real leaves I'rom Kaintu, and {laughing loealdy) never mind about the blossoms. Dead white silk is only fit for widows, and I ivont wear it. It's as bad as a winding-sheet. {A long imuse.) Captain G. — I never asked a favour yet. If there is anybody to listen to me, let her know me — even if I die too ! Voice {very faintly). — Pip, Pip, dear. Captain G. — I'm here, darling. Voice. — What has happened ? They've been bothering me so with medicines and things, and they wouldn't let you come and see me. I was never ill before. Am I ill now ? Captain G. — You — you aren't quite well. Voice. — How funny ! Have I been ill long ? Captain G. — Some days ; but you will be all right in a little time. Voice. — Do you think so, Pip ? I don't feel well and — Oh ! what have they done to my hair ? Captain G. — I d-d-don't know. Voice — They've cut it off. What a shame ! Captain G. — It must have been to make your head coolei. Voice. — 'Just like a boy's wig. Don't I look hoirid ! Captain G. — Never looked prettier in your life, dear. {Aside.) How am I to ask her to say good-bye ? THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW. 77 Voice.— I don't fed pretty. I feel very ill. My heart won't work. It's nearly dead inside me, and there's a funny feeling in my eyes. Everything seems the same distance — you and the wardrobe and the table — inside my eyes or miles away. Wliat does it mean, Pip ? Captain G. — You're a little feverish, Sweetheart — very feverish. {Breakinrj down.) My love ! my love ! How can I let you go ? VoK'E. — I thought so. Why didn't you tell me that at first? Captain G.— What ? Voice. — That I am going to — die. Captain G. — But you aren't ! You shan't ! Ayah {dcpimuj into verandah after a glance at the led). — Cuolie boy — stop pulling punkah. Voice. — It's hard, J'ip. So very, very hard after one year— just one year. {Wailing.) And I'm only twenty. Most girls aren't even married at twenty. Can't they da anything to help me ? I don't want to die. Captain G. — Hush, dear. You won't. Voice. —What's the use of talking. Help me! You've never failed me yet. Oh, Phil, help me to keep alive I {Feverishly.) I don't believe you wish me to live. You weren't a bit sorry when that horrid Baby thing died. I wish I'd killed Baby ! Captain G. {drawing his hand across his forehead). — It's more than a man's meant to bear— it's not right. {Aloud.) Minnie love, I'd die for you if it would help. Voice. — No more death. There's enough already. Pip, don't you die too. Captain G. — I wish I dared. Voice.— It says:— "Till Death do ns part". Nothing after that . . . and so it would be no use. It stops at the dying. Why does it stop there ? Only such a very short life, too. Pip, I'm sorry we married. Captain G. — No ! Anything but that, Min ! Voice. — Because you'll forget and I'll forget. Oh Pip, yS THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. dont forget ! I alwaj^s loved you, though I was cross some- times. If I ever did anything that you didn't like say you forgive me now. Captain G. — You never did, darling. On my soul and honour you never did. I haven't a thing to forgive you. Voice. — I sulked for a whole week about bedding out those petunias. ( With a laugh.) What a little wretch I was, and how grieved you were ! Forgive me that, Pip. Captain G. — There's nothing to forgive. It was my fault. They iverc too near the drive. For God's sake don't talk so, Minnie ! There's such a lot to say and so little time to say it in. Voice. — Say that you'll always love me — until the end. Captain G. — Until the end. {Carried away.) It's a lie. It must be, because we've loved each other. This isn't the end. Voice (relapsing into semi- delirium). My Church-service has an ivory cross on the back, and it says so, so it must be true. "Till death do us part." But that's a lie. {With a parody of G.'s manner.) A danmed lie ! {Beeklessly.) Yes, I can swear as well as Trooper Pip. I can't make my head think, though. That's because they cut off my hair. How can one think with one's head all fuzzy ? {Pleadingly.) Hold me, Pip ! Keep me with you always and always. {Relapsing.) But if you marry the Thorniss -girl when I'm dead, I'll come back and howl under our bed- room window all night. Oh bother! You'll think I'm jackals. Pip, what time is it ? Captain G. — A little before the dawn, dear. Voice. — I wonder where I shall be this time to-morrow ? Captain G. — Would you like to see the Padre ? Voice.— Why should I ? He'd tell me that I am going to Heaven ; and that wouldn't be true, because you are here. Do you recollect when he upset the cream-ice all over his trousers at the Gassers' tennis ? Captain G. — Yes, dear. Voice. — I often wondered whether he got another pair THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW. 79 of trousers; but then his are so shiny all over, that you really couldn't tell unless you were told. Let's call him in and ask. Captain G. {gravely). — No. I don't think he'd like that. 'Your head comfy, Sweetheart ? Voice {faintly, 'icith a sigh of contentment). — Yeth ! Gracious Pip, when did. you shave last ? Your chin's worse than the barrel of a musical-box. No, don't lift it up. I like it. [A pause.) You said you've never cried at all. You're crying all over my cheek. Captain G. — I — I— I can't help it, dear. Voice. — How funny ! I couldn't cry now to save my life. {G. shivers.) I want to sing. Captain G. — Won't it tire you ? 'Better not, perliaps. Voice. — Why ? I ivonH be ordered about ! {Begins in a hoarse quaver) : — Minnie bakes oaten cake, Minnie brews ale, All because her Johnnie's coming home from the sea (That's parade, Pip), And she grows red as rose who was so pale : And "are you sure the church-clock goes ? " says she. {Pettishly.) I knew I couldn't take the last note. How do the bass chords run .? {Puts out her hands and begins flaying piano on the sheet.) Captain G. {catching up hands). Ah ! Don't do that, Pussy, if you love me. Voice. — Love you ? Of course I do. Who else should it be ? {A pause,) Voice {very clearly). — Pip, I'm going now. Something's choking me cruelly. {Indistinctly.) Into the dark — without you, my heart. But it's a lie, dear — we mustn't believe it. For ever and ever, living or dead. Don't let me go, my husband — hold me tight. They can't — what- ever happens. {A cough.) Pip — my Pip ! Not for always — and — so — soon! {Voice ceases.) Pause of ten minutes. G. huries his face in the side of the bed, while Ayah lends over bed from opposite side and feels Mrs. G.'s breast and forehead. 80 THE STORY OF THE CADSBYS. Captain G. {rising). — Ayah, tell the Doctor. Ayah {still hy bedside, loith a shriek) . — Ai ! Ai ! Breaking ! My Memsaliih ! Not getting — not have got — broken fever now — sweat have come ! (Fiercely to G.) You go tell Doctor ! Oh, my Memsahib ! DOCTOK {entering hastily). — Come away, Gadsby. (Bends overbed.) Eh? The clev What inspired you to stop the punkah ? Get out, man — go away — wait outside ! Go! Here Ayah? (Over his shoidder to G.) Mind, I promise nothing. The dawn breaks as G. stumbles into the garden. Captain Mafflin {reinhig wp at the gate, on his ivay to parade, and very soberly). — Old man, how goes ? Captain G. {dazed). — I don't quite know. Stay a bit. Have a drink or something. Don't run away. You're just You knew that. G. — I didn't care. It took the edge off him. M. — Took the edge off him ! Gaddy, you — you— you mustn't, you know ! Think of the men. G. — That's another thing I am afraid of. D'you s'pose they know. M. — Let's hope not ; but they're deadly quick to spot skrim — little things of that kind. See hei-e, old man, send the wife home for the hot weather and come to Kashmir with me. We'll start a boat on the Dal or cross the Ehotang — ibex or idleness — which you please. Only come ! You're a bit off your oats, and you're talking nonsense. Look at the Colonel — swag-bellied rascal that he is. He has a wife and no end of a bow-window of his own. Can any one of us ride round him — chalkstones and all? /can't, and I think lean shove a crock along a bit. Q. — Some men are different. I haven't the nerve. Lord help me, I haven't the nerve ! I've taken up a hole and a half to get my knees well under the wallets. I can't help it. I'm so afraid of anything happening to me. On my soul I ou "SOLDIERS THREE:" Stories of liarracJc-rooiii Life, IN SPECIALLY DESIGNED PIC PURE COVER. Price -ONE RUPEE. I)y the Same AtUhor, UNIFORM WITH THE ABOVE, "THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS:" A Tale without a Plot, IN SPECIALLY DESIGNED PICTURE COVER. Price-ONF; RUPEE. By the Same AutJior, UNIFORM WITH THE ABOVE, "IN BLACK AND WHITE:" stories of Native Life, IN SPECULLY DESIGNED PICTURE COVER. Price-ONE RUPEE. By the Same Author, UNIFORM WITH THE ABOVE, "UNDER THE DEODARS:" III Social Bye-Ways. IN SPECIALLY DESIGNED PICTURE COVER. Price-ONE RUPEE. The above series are illustrative of the four main features of Anglo-Indian Life, u/z. ; — THE MILITARY, DOMESTIC, NATIVE AND SOCIAL, AND FORM THE FIRST FOUR VOLUMES OF A. H. WHEELER. & CO.'S INDIAN RAILWAY LIBRARY. By the same Author, In specially designed picture wrapper, price 1/- each. 1. "Soldiers Three." 2. "The Story of the Gadsbys." 3. " In Black and White." 4 "Wee Willie Winkie," and other Stories. 5. 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