M. At forty you'll be a fool of a J. P. landlord. At fifty
you'll own a bath-chair, and The Brigadier, if he takes after you,
will be fluttering the dovecotes of-what's the particular dunghill
you're going to? Also, Mrs. Gadsby will be fat.
CAPT. G. (Limply.) This is rather more than a joke.
CAPT. M. D'you think so? Isn't cutting the Service a joke? It
generally takes a man fifty years to arrive at it. You're quite right,
though. It is more than a joke. You've managed it in thirty-three.
CAPT. G. Don't make me feel worse than I do. Will it satisfy you
if I own that I am a shirker, a skrim-shanker, and a coward?
CAPT. M. It wil! not, because I'm the only man in the world who
can talk to you like this without being knocked down. You mustn't
take all that I've said to heart in this way. I only spoke-a lot of it at
least-out of pure selfishness, because, because-Oh, damn it all, old
man,-I don't know what I shall do without you. Of course, you've
got the money and the place and all that-and there are two very
good reasons why you should take care of yourself.
CAPT. G. 'Doesn't make it any sweeter. I'm backing out-I know I
am. I always had a soft drop in me somewhere-and I daren't risk
any danger to them.
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