CAPT. M. rides up.
CAPT. M. 'Mornin', Mrs. Gadsby. How's the Infant Phenomenon
and the Proud Proprietor?
Mas. G. You'll find them in the front veranda; go through the
house. I'm Martha just now.
CAPT. M, 'Cumbered about with cares of Khitmatgars? I fly.
Passes into front veranda, where GADSBV is watching GADSBY
JUNIOR, aged ten months, crawling about the matting.
CAPT. M. What's the trouble, Gaddy-spoiling an honest man's
Europe morning this way? (Seeing G. JUNIOR.) By Jove, that
yearling's comm' on amaxingly! Any amount of bone below the
knee there.
CAPT. G. Yes, he's a healthy little scoundrel. Don't you think his
hair's growing?
CAPT. M. Let's have a look. Hi! Hst Come here, General Luck,
and we'll report on you.
MRS. G. (Within.) What absurd name will you give him next?
Why do you call him that?
CAPT. M. Isn't he our Inspector-General of Cavalry? Doesn't he
come down in his seventeen-two perambulator every morning the
Pink Hussars parade? Don't wriggle, Brigadier. Give us your
private opinion on the way the third squadron went past. 'Trifle
ragged, weren t they?
CAPT. G. A bigger set of tailors than the new draft I don't wish to
see.
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