CAPT. M. (Brandishing scabbarded sword.)
Woman, produce those shoes! Some one lend me
a bread-knife. We mustn’t crack Gaddy’s
head more than it is. (Slices heel off white satin
slipper and puts slipper up 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 bag.
Bride
slips out quietly into ’rickshaw and departs
towards
the sunset.
CAPT. M. (In the open.) Stole away, by
Jove! So much, the worse for Gaddy! Here
he is. Now Gaddy, this’ll be livelier than
Amdheran! Where’s your horse?
CAPT. G. (Furiously, seeing that the women
are out of earshot.) Where the ——
is my Wife?
CAPT. 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.
CAPT. 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
Patna.
CAPT. M. For your life and your love—ride,
Gaddy!—And God bless you!
Throws half a pound of rice at G., who disappears,
bowed forward on the saddle, in a cloud of sunlit
dust.
CAPT. 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 her horse.) Really, Captain
Mafflin! You are more plain spoken than polite!
CAPT. 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.
And ye shall be as—Gods!
SCENE.—Thymy grass-plot at back of the
Mahasu dak-bungalow, overlooking little wooded valley.
On the left, glimpse of the Dead Forest of Fagoo;
on the right, Simla Hills. In background, line
of the Snows. CAPTAIN GADSBY, now three weeks
a husband, is smoking the pipe of peace on a rug in
the sunshine. Banjo and tobacco-pouch on rug.
Overhead the Fagoo eagles. MRS. G. comes out
of bungalow.
MRS. G. My husband!
CAPT. 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 17th.
CAPT. G. Did you give her my love?
MRS. G. No, I kept all that for myself. (Sitting
down by his side.)
I thought you wouldn’t mind.
CAPT. G. (With mock sternness.) I object
awf’ly. How did you know that it was yours
to keep?
