MISS D. (Level intonation.) Well?
MISS T. (Ascending intonation.) Well?
MISS D. (Capturing her friend’s left arm,
taking away all the books, placing books in ’rickshaw,
returning to arm, securing hand by the third finger
and investigating.) Well! 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’rickshaw.) O
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! (Go home, jhampani.)
Certain people of importance.
SCENE.—Smoking-room of the Deychi Club.
Time, 10.30 P. M. of a stuffy night in the
Rains. Four men dispersed in picturesque attitudes
and easy-chairs. To these enter BLAYNE of
the Irregular Moguls, in evening dress.
BLAYNE. Phew! The Judge ought to be hanged
in his own store-godown. Hi, khitmatgar!
Poora whiskey-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 bandobust.
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 tonight?
DOONE. (P. W. D.) Anthony was called out
at dinner. Mingle had a pain in his tummy.
CURTISS. Miggy dies of cholera once a week in
the Rains, and gets drunk on chlorodyne in between.
’Good little chap, though. Any one at the
Judge’s, Blayne?
BLAYNE. Cockley and his memsahib looking
awfully white and fagged. ’Female girl—couldn’t
catch the name—on her way to the Hills,
under the Cockleys’ charge—the Judge,
and Markyn fresh from Simla— disgustingly
fit.
CURTISS. Good Lord, how truly magnificent!
Was there 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 every one 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! Markyn told me.
DOONE. Who’s dead now?
BLAYNE. No one that I know of; but Gaddy’s
hooked at last!
DROPPING CHORUS. How much? The Devil!
Markyn was pulling your leg. Not
GADDY!
