It's not
bad enough to croak over. Here, Gaddy, take the chit to Bingle
and ride hell-for-leather. It'll do you good. I can't go.
JUNIOR CHAPLAIN. Do him good! (Smiling.) Give me the chit
and I'll drive. Let him lie down. Your horse is blocking my
cart-please!
CAPT. M. (Slowly without reining back.) I beg your pardon-I'll
apologize. On paper if you like.
JUNIOR CHAPLAIN. (Flicking M.'s charger.) That'll do, thanks.
Turn in, Gadsby, and I'll bring Bingle back-ahem-"hell-for-
leather."
CAPT. M. (Solus.) It would have served me right if he'd cut me
across the face. He can drive too. I shouldn't care to go that pace in
a bamboo cart. What a faith he must have in his Maker-of harness!
Come hup, you brute! (Gallops off to parade, blowing his nose, as
the sun rises.)
(INTERVAL OF' FIVE WEEKS.)
MRS. G. (Very white and pinched, in morning wrapper at break
fast table.) How big and strange the room looks, and how glad I am
to see it again! What dust, though! I must talk to the servants.
Sugar, Pip? I've almost forgotten. (Seriously.) Wasn't I very ill?
CAPT. G. Iller than I liked. (Tenderly.) Oh, you bad little Pussy,
what a start you gave me'
MRS.
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