Chapter IV: Part 4

'Not more than in reason, if you mane me, ye warped walkin '-shtick. I have been young, an' for why should I not have tuk what I cud? Did I iver, whin I was Corp'ril, use the rise av my rank--wan step an' that taken away, more's the sorrow an' the fault av me!--to prosecute a nefarious inthrigue, as O'Hara did? Did I, whin I was Corp'ril, lay my spite upon a man an' make his life a dog's life from day to day? Did I lie, as O'Hara lied, till the young wans in the Tyrone turned white wid the fear av the Judgment av God killin' thim all in a lump, as ut killed the woman at Devizes? I did not! I have sinned my sins an' I have made my confesshin, an' Father Victor knows the worst av me. O'Hara was tuk, before he cud spake, on Rafferty's doorstep, an' no man knows the worst av him. But this much I know!

'The Tyrone was recruited any fashion in the ould days. A draf from Connemara--a draf' from Portsmouth--a draf' from Kerry, an' that was a blazin' bad draf'--here, there and iverywhere--but the large av thim was Oirish--Black Oirish. Now there are Oirish an' Oirish. The good are good as the best, but the bad are wurrst than the wurrst. 'Tis this way. They clog together in pieces as fast as thieves, an' no wan knows fwhat they will do till wan turns informer an' the gang is bruk. But ut begins again, a day later, meetin' in holes an' corners an' swearin' bloody oaths an' shtickin' a man in the back an' runnin' away, an' thin waitin' for the blood-money on the reward papers--to see if ut's worth enough. Those are the Black Oirish, an' 'tis they that bring dishgrace upon the name av Oireland, an' thim I wud kill--as I nearly killed wan wanst.

'But to reshume. My room--'twas before I was married--was wid twelve av the scum av the earth--the pickin's av the gutter--mane men that wud neither laugh nor talk nor yet get dhrunk as a man shud. They thried some av their dog's thricks on me, but I dhrew a line round my cot, an' the man that thransgressed ut wint into hospital for three days good.

'O'Hara had put his spite on the room--he was my Colour Sargint--an' nothin' cud we do to plaze him. I was younger than I am now, an' I tuk what I got in the way av dressing down and punishment-dhrill wid my tongue in my cheek. But it was diff'rint wid the others, an' why I cannot say, excipt that some men are borrun mane an' go to dhirty murdher where a fist is more than enough. Afther a whoile, they changed their chune to me an' was desp'rit frien'ly--all twelve av thim cursin' O'Hara in chorus.

'“Eyah,” sez I, “O'Hara's a divil an' I'm not for denyin' ut, but is he the only man in the wurruld? Let him go. He'll get tired av findin' our kit foul an' our 'coutrements onproperly kep'.”

'“We will _not_ let him go,” sez they.

'“Thin take him,” sez I, “an' a dashed poor yield you will get for your throuble.”

'“Is he not misconductin' himself wid Slimmy's wife?” sez another.

'“She's common to the rig'mint,” sez I. “Fwhat has made ye this partic'lar on a suddint?”

'“Has he not put his spite on the roomful av us? Can we do anythin' that he will not check us for?” sez another.

'“That's thrue,” sez I.

'“Will ye not help us to do aught,” sez another--“a big bould man like you.”

'“I will break his head upon his shoulthers av he puts hand on me,” sez I. “I will give him the lie av he says that I'm dhirty, an' I wud not mind duckin' him in the Artillery troughs if ut was not that I'm thryin' for my shtripes.”

'“Is that all ye will do?” sez another. “Have ye no more spunk than that, ye blood-dhrawn calf?”

'“Blood-dhrawn I may be,” sez I, gettin' back to my cot an' makin' my line round ut; “but ye know that the man who comes acrost this mark will be more blood-dhrawn than me. No man gives me the name in my mouth,” I sez. “Ondersthand, I will have no part wid you in anythin' ye do, nor will I raise my fist to my shuperior. Is any wan comin' on?” sez I.

'They made no move, tho' I gave them full time, but stud growlin' an' snarlin' together at wan ind av the room. I tuk up my cap and wint out to Canteen, thinkin' no little av mesilf, and there I grew most ondacintly dhrunk in my legs. My head was all reasonable.

'“Houligan,” I sez to a man in E Comp'ny that was by way av bein' a frind av mine; “I'm overtuk from the belt down. Do you give me the touch av your shoulther to presarve my formation an' march me acrost the ground into the high grass. I'll sleep ut off there,” sez I; an' Houligan--he's dead now, but good he was while he lasted--walked wid me, givin' me the touch whin I wint wide, ontil we came to the high grass, an', my faith, the sky an' the earth was fair rowlin' undher me. I made for where the grass was thickust, an' there I slep' off my liquor wid an easy conscience. I did not desire to come on books too frequent; my characther havin' been shpotless for the good half av a year.

'Whin I roused, the dhrink was dyin' out in me, an' I felt as though a she-cat had littered in my mouth. I had not learned to hould my liquor wid comfort in thim days. 'Tis little betther I am now. “I will get Houligan to pour a bucket over my head,” thinks I, an' I wud ha' risen, but I heard some wan say: “Mulvaney can take the blame av ut for the backslidin' hound he is.”

'“Oho!” sez I, an' my head rang like a guard-room gong: “fwhat is the blame that this young man must take to oblige Tim Vulmea?” For 'twas Tim Vulmea that shpoke.

'I turned on my belly an' crawled through the grass, a bit at a time, to where the spache came from. There was the twelve av my room sittin' down in a little patch, the dhry grass wavin' above their heads an' the sin av black murdher in their hearts. I put the stuff aside to get a clear view.

'“Fwhat's that?” sez wan man, jumpin' up.

'“A dog,” says Vulmea. “You're a nice hand to this job! As I said, Mulvaney will take the blame--av ut comes to a pinch.”

'“'Tis harrd to swear a man's life away,” sez a young wan.

'“Thank ye for that,” thinks I. “Now, fwhat the divil are you paragins conthrivin' against me?”

'“'Tis as easy as dhrinkin' your quart,” sez Vulmea. “At seven or thereon, O'Hara will come acrost to the Married Quarters, goin' to call on Slimmy's wife, the swine! Wan av us'll pass the wurrd to the room an' we shtart the divil an' all av a shine--laughin' an' crackin' on an' t'rowin' our boots about. Thin O'Hara will come to give us the ordher to be quiet, the more by token bekaze the room-lamp will be knocked over in the larkin'. He will take the straight road to the ind door where there's the lamp in the veranda, an' that'll bring him clear against the light as he shtands. He will not be able to look into the dhark. Wan av us will loose off, an' a close shot ut will be, an' shame to the man that misses. 'Twill be Mulvaney's rifle, she that is at the head av the rack--there's no mistakin' that long-shtocked, cross-eyed bitch even in the dhark.”

'The thief misnamed my ould firin'-piece out av jealousy--I was pershuaded av that--an' ut made me more angry than all.

'But Vulmea goes on: “O'Hara will dhrop, an' by the time the light's lit again, there'll be some six av us on the chest av Mulvaney, cryin' murdher an' rape. Mulvaney's cot is near the ind door, an' the shmokin' rifle will be lyin' undher him whin we've knocked him over. We know, an' all the rig'mint knows, that Mulvaney has given O'Hara more lip than any man av us. Will there be any doubt at the Coort-Martial? Wud twelve honust sodger-bhoys swear away the life av a dear, quiet, swate-timpered man such as is Mulvaney--wid his line av pipe-clay roun' his cot, threatenin' us wid murdher av we overshtepped ut, as we can truthful testify?”

'“Mary, Mother av Mercy!” thinks I to mesilf; “it is this to have an unruly mimber an' fistes fit to use! Oh the sneakin' hounds!”

'The big dhrops ran down my face, for I was wake wid the liquor an' had not the full av my wits about me. I laid shtill an' heard thim workin' themselves up to swear my life by tellin' tales av ivry time I had put my mark on wan or another; an' my faith, they was few that was not so dishtinguished. 'Twas all in the way av fair fight, though, for niver did I raise my hand excipt whin they had provoked me to ut.

'“'Tis all well,” sez wan av thim, “but who's to do this shootin'?”

'“Fwhat matther?” sez Vulmea. “'Tis Mulvaney will do that--at the Coort-Martial.”

'“He will so,” sez the man, “but whose hand is put to the trigger--_in the room?_”

'“Who'll do ut?” sez Vulmea, lookin' round, but divil a man answeared. They began to dishpute till Kiss, that was always playin' Shpoil Five, sez: “Thry the kyards!” Wid that he opined his tunic an' tuk out the greasy palammers, an' they all fell in wid the notion.

'“Deal on!” sez Vulmea, wid a big rattlin' oath, “an' the Black Curse av Shielygh come to the man that will not do his duty as the kyards say. Amin!”

'“Black Jack is the masther,” sez Kiss, dealin'. Black Jack, Sorr, I shud expaytiate to you, is the Ace av Shpades which from time immimorial has been intimately connect wid battle, murdher an' suddin death.

'_Wanst_ Kiss dealt an' there was no sign, but the men was whoite wid the workin's av their sowls. _Twice_ Kiss dealt an' there was a gray shine on their cheeks like the mess av an egg. _Three_ times Kiss dealt an' they was blue. “Have ye not lost him?” sez Vulmea, wipin' the sweat on him; “Let's ha' done quick!” “Quick ut is,” sez Kiss, t'rowin' him the kyard; an' ut fell face up on his knee--Black Jack!

'Thin they all cackled wid laughin'. “Duty thrippence,” sez wan av thim, “an' damned cheap at that price!” But I cud see they all dhrew a little away from Vulmea an' lef' him sittin' playin' wid the kyard. Vulmea sez no word for a whoile but licked his lips--cat-ways. Thin he threw up his head an' made the men swear by ivry oath known to stand by him not alone in the room but at the Coort-Martial that was to set on _me!_ He tould off five av the biggest to stretch me on my cot whin the shot was fired, an' another man he tould off to put out the light, an' yet another to load my rifle. He wud not do that himself; an' that was quare, for 'twas but a little thing considerin'.

'Thin they swore over again that they wud not bethray wan another, an' crep' out av the grass in diff'rint ways, two by two. A mercy ut was that they did not come on me. I was sick wid fear in the pit av my stummick--sick, sick, sick! Afther they was all gone, I wint back to Canteen an' called for a quart to put a thought in me. Vulmea was there, dhrinkin' heavy, an' politeful to me beyond reason. “Fwhat will I do--fwhat will I do?” thinks I to mesilf whin Vulmea wint away.

'Presintly the Arm'rer Sargint comes in stiffin' an' crackin' on, not pleased wid any wan, bekaze the Martini Henri bein' new to the rig'mint in those days we used to play the mischief wid her arrangements. 'Twas a long time before I cud get out av the way av thryin' to pull back the back-sight an' turnin' her over afther firin'--as if she was a Snider.

'“Fwhat tailor-men do they give me to work wid?” sez the Arm'rer Sargint. “Here's Hogan, his nose flat as a table, laid by for a week, an' ivry Comp'ny sendin' their arrums in knocked to small shivreens.”

'“Fwhat's wrong wid Hogan, Sargint?” sez I.

'“Wrong!” sez the Arm'rer Sargint; “I showed him, as though I had been his mother, the way av shtrippin' a 'Tini, an' he shtrup her clane an' easy. I tould him to put her to again an' fire a blank into the blow-pit to show how the dirt hung on the groovin'. He did that, but he did not put in the pin av the fallin'-block, an' av coorse whin he fired he was strook by the block jumpin' clear. Well for him 'twas but a blank--a full charge wud ha' cut his oi out.”

'I looked a thrifle wiser than a boiled sheep's head. “How's that, Sargint?” sez I.

'“This way, ye blundherin' man, an' don't you be doin' ut,” sez he. Wid that he shows me a Waster action--the breech av her all cut away to show the inside--an' so plazed he was to grumble that he dimonstrated fwhat Hogan had done twice over. “An' that comes av not knowin' the wepping you're purvided wid,” sez he.

'“Thank ye, Sargint,” sez I; “I will come to you again for further information.”

'“Ye will not,” sez he. “Kape your clanin'-rod away from the breech-pin or you will get into throuble.”

'I wint outside an' I could ha' danced wid delight for the grandeur av ut. “They will load my rifle, good luck to thim, whoile I'm away,” thinks I, and back I wint to the Canteen to give them their clear chanst.

'The Canteen was fillin' wid men at the ind av the day. I made feign to be far gone in dhrink, an', wan by wan, all my roomful came in wid Vulmea. I wint away, walkin' thick an' heavy, but not so thick an' heavy that any wan cud ha' tuk me. Sure and thrue, there was a kyartridge gone from my pouch an' lyin' snug in my rifle. I was hot wid rage against thim all, an' I worried the bullet out wid my teeth as fast as I cud, the room bein' empty. Then I tuk my boot an' the clanin'-rod and knocked out the pin av the fallin'-block. Oh, 'twas music when that pin rowled on the flure! I put ut into my pouch an' stuck a dab av dirt on the holes in the plate, puttin' the fallin'-block back. “That'll do your business, Vulmea,” sez I, lyin' easy on the cot. “Come an' sit on my chest the whole room av you, an' I will take you to my bosom for the biggest divils that iver cheated halter.” I wud have no mercy on Vulmea. His oi or his life--little I cared!

'At dusk they came back, the twelve av thim, an' they had all been dhrinkin'. I was shammin' sleep on the cot. Wan man wint outside in the veranda. Whin he whishtled they began to rage roun' the room an' carry on tremenjus. But I niver want to hear men laugh as they did--skylarkin' too! 'Twas like mad jackals.

'“Shtop that blasted noise!” sez O'Hara in the dark, an' pop goes the room-lamp. I cud hear O'Hara runnin' up an' the rattlin' av my rifle in the rack an' the men breathin' heavy as they stud roun' my cot. I cud see O'Hara in the light av the veranda lamp, an' thin I heard the crack av my rifle. She cried loud, poor darlint, bein' mishandled. Next minut' five men were houldin' me down. “Go easy,” I sez; “fwhat's ut all about?”

'Thin Vulmea, on the flure, raised a howl you cud hear from wan ind av cantonmints to the other. “I'm dead, I'm butchered, I'm blind!” sez he. “Saints have mercy on my sinful sowl! Sind for Father Constant! Oh sind for Father Constant an' let me go clean!” By that I knew he was not so dead as I cud ha' wished.

'O'Hara picks up the lamp in the veranda wid a hand as stiddy as a rest. “Fwhat damned dog's thrick is this av yours?” sez he, an turns the light on Tim Vulmea that was shwimmin' in blood from top to toe. The fallin'-block had sprung free behin' a full charge av powther--good care I tuk to bite down the brass af ther takin' out the bullet that there might be somethin' to give ut full worth--an' had cut Tim from the lip to the corner av the right eye, lavin' the eyelid in tatthers, an' so up an' along by the forehead to the hair. 'Twas more av a rakin' plough, if you will ondherstand, than a clean cut; an' niver did I see a man bleed as Vulmea did. The dhrink an' the stew that he was in pumped the blood strong. The minut' the men sittin' on my chest heard O'Hara spakin' they scatthered each wan to his cot, an' cried out very politeful: “Fwhat is ut, Sargint?”

'“Fwhat is ut!” sez O'Hara, shakin' Tim. “Well an' good do you know fwhat ut is, ye skulkin' ditch-lurkin' dogs! Get a _doolie,_ an' take this whimperin' scutt away. There will be more heard av ut than any av you will care for.”

'Vulmea sat up rockin' his head in his hand an' moanin' for Father Constant.

'“Be done!” sez O'Hara, dhraggin' him up by the hair. “You're none so dead that you cannot go fifteen years for thryin' to shoot me.”

'“I did not,” sez Vulmea; “I was shootin' mesilf.”

'“That's quare,” sez O'Hara, “for the front av my jackut is black wid your powther.” He tuk up the rifle that was still warm an' began to laugh. “I'll make your life Hell to you,” sez he, “for attempted murdher an' kapin' your rifle onproperly. You'll be hanged first an' thin put undher stoppages for four fifteen. The rifle's done for,” sez he.

'“Why, 'tis my rifle!” sez I, comin' up to look; “Vulmea, ye divil, fwhat were you doin' wid her--answer me that?”

'“Lave me alone,” sez Vulmea; “I'm dyin'!”

'“I'll wait till you're betther,” sez I, “an' thin we two will talk ut out umbrageous.”

'O'Hara pitched Tim into the _doolie_, none too tinder, but all the bhoys kep' by their cots, which was not the sign av innocint men. I was huntin' ivrywhere for my fallin'-block, but not findin' ut at all. I niver found ut.

'”_Now_ fwhat will I do?” sez O'Hara, swinging the veranda light in his hand an' lookin' down the room. I had hate and contimpt av O'Hara an' I have now, dead tho' he is, but, for all that, will I say he was a brave man. He is baskin' in Purgathory this tide, but I wish he cud hear that, whin he stud lookin' down the room an' the bhoys shivered before the oi av him, I knew him for a brave man an' I liked him _so_.

'“Fwhat will I do?” sez O'Hara agin, an' we heard the voice av a woman low an' sof' in the veranda. 'Twas Slimmy's wife, come over at the shot, sittin' on wan av the benches an' scarce able to walk.

'“O Denny!--Denny, dear,” sez she, “have they kilt you?”

'O'Hara looked down the room again an' showed his teeth to the gum. Then he spat on the flure.

'“You're not worth ut,” sez he. “Light that lamp, ye dogs,” an' wid that he turned away, an' I saw him walkin' off wid Slimmy's wife; she thryin' to wipe off the powther-black on the front av his jackut wid her handkerchief. “A brave man you are,” thinks I--“a brave man an' a bad woman.”

'No wan said a word for a time. They was all ashamed, past spache.

'“Fwhat d'you think he will do?” sez wan av thim at last. “He knows we're all in ut.”

'“Are we so?” sez I from my cot. “The man that sez that to me will be hurt. I do not know,” sez I, “fwhat onderhand divilmint you have conthrived, but by what I've seen I know that you cannot commit murdher wid another man's rifle--such shakin' cowards you are. I'm goin' to slape,” I sez, “an' you can blow my head off whoile I lay.” I did not slape, though, for a long time. Can ye wonder?

'Next morn the news was through all the rig'mint, an' there was nothin' that the men did not tell. O'Hara reports, fair an' easy, that Vulmea was come to grief through tamperin' wid his rifle in barricks, all for to show the mechanism. An' by my sowl, he had the impart'nince to say that he was on the shpot at the time an' cud certify that ut was an accidint! You might ha' knocked my roomful down wid a straw whin they heard that. 'Twas lucky for thim that the bhoys were always thryin' to find out how the new rifle was made, an' a lot av thim had come up for easin' the pull by shtickin' bits av grass an' such in the part av the lock that showed near the thrigger. The first issues of the 'Tinis was not covered in, an' I mesilf have eased the pull av mine time an' agin. A light pull is ten points on the range to me.

'“I will not have this foolishness!” sez the Colonel. “I will twist the tail off Vulmea!” sez he; but whin he saw him, all tied up an' groanin' in hospital, he changed his will. “Make him an early convalescint,” sez he to the Doctor, an' Vulmea was made so for a warnin'. His big bloody bandages an' face puckered up to wan side did more to kape the bhoys from messin' wid the insides av their rifles than any punishmint.

'O'Hara gave no reason for fwhat he'd said, an' all my roomful were too glad to inquire, tho' he put his spite upon thim more wearin' than before. Wan day, howiver, he tuk me apart very polite, for he cud be that at the choosin'.

'“You're a good sodger, tho' you're a damned insolint man,” sez he.

'“Fair words, Sargint,” sez I, “or I may be insolint again.”

'“'Tis not like you,” sez he, “to lave your rifle in the rack widout the breech-pin, for widout the breech-pin she was whin Vulmea fired. I should ha' found the break av ut in the eyes av the holes, else,” he sez.

'“Sargint,” sez I, “fwhat wud your life ha' been worth av the breech-pin had been in place, for, on my sowl, my life wud be worth just as much to me av I tould you whether ut was or was not. Be thankful the bullet was not there,” I sez.

'“That's thrue,” sez he, pulling his moustache; “but I do not believe that you, for all your lip, was in that business.”

'“Sargint,” I sez, “I cud hammer the life out av a man in ten minuts wid my fistes if that man dishpleased me; for I am a good sodger, an' I will be threated as such, an' whoile my fistes are my own they're strong enough for all work I have to do. They do not fly back towards me!” sez I, lookin' him betune the eyes.

'“You're a good man,” sez he, lookin' me betune the eyes--an' oh he was a gran'-built man to see!--“you're a good man,” he sez, “an' I cud wish, for the pure frolic av ut, that I was not a Sargint, or that you were not a Privit; an' you will think me no coward whin I say this thing.”

'“I do not,” sez I. “I saw you whin Vulmea mishandled the rifle. But, Sargint,” I sez, “take the wurrd from me now, spakin' as man to man wid the shtripes off, tho' 'tis little right I have to talk, me being fwhat I am by natur'. This time ye tuk no harm, an' next time ye may not, but, in the ind, so sure as Slimmy's wife came into the veranda, so sure will ye take harm--an' bad harm. Have thought, Sargint,” sez I. “Is ut worth ut?”

'“Ye're a bould man,” sez he, breathin' harrd. “A very bould man. But I am a bould man tu. Do you go your way, Privit Mulvaney, an' I will go mine.”

'We had no further spache thin or afther, but, wan by another, he drafted the twelve av my room out into other rooms an' got thim spread among the Comp'nies, for they was not a good breed to live together, an' the Comp 'ny orf'cers saw ut. They wud ha' shot me in the night av they had known fwhat I knew; but that they did not.

'An', in the ind, as I said, O'Hara met his death from Rafferty for foolin' wid his wife. He wint his own way too well--Eyah, too well! Shtraight to that affair, widout turnin' to the right or to the lef', he wint, an' may the Lord have mercy on his sowl. Amin!'

''Ear! 'Ear!' said Ortheris, pointing the moral with a wave of his pipe. 'An' this is 'im 'oo would be a bloomin' Vulmea all for the sake of Mullins an' a bloomin' button! Mullins never went after a woman in his life. Mrs. Mullins, she saw 'im one day--'

'Ortheris,' I said, hastily, for the romances of Private Ortheris are all too daring for publication, 'look at the sun. It's a quarter past six!'

'O Lord! Three quarters of an hour for five an' a 'arf miles! We'll 'ave to run like Jimmy O.'

The Three Musketeers clambered on to the bridge, and departed hastily in the direction of the cantonment road. When I overtook them I offered them two stirrups and a tail, which they accepted enthusiastically. Ortheris held the tail, and in this manner we trotted steadily through the shadows by an unfrequented road.

At the turn into the cantonments we heard carriage wheels. It was the Colonel's barouche, and in it sat the Colonel's wife and daughter. I caught a suppressed chuckle, and my beast sprang forward with a lighter step.

The Three Musketeers had vanished into the night.

L'ENVOI

And they were stronger hands than mine
That digged the Ruby from the earth--
More cunning brains that made it worth
The large desire of a King;
And bolder hearts that through the brine
Went down the Perfect Pearl to bring.

Lo, I have made in common clay
Rude figures of a rough-hewn race;
For Pearls strew not the market-place
In this my town of banishment,
Where with the shifting dust I play
And eat the bread of Discontent.

Yet is there life in that I make,--
Oh Thou who knowest, turn and see,
As Thou hast power over me,
So I have power over these,
Because I wrought them for Thy sake,
And breathed in them mine agonies.

Small mirth was in the making. Now
I lift the cloth that clokes the clay,
And, wearied, at Thy feet I lay
My wares ere I go forth to sell.
The long _bazar_ will praise--but Thou--
Heart of my heart, have I done well?

POOR DEAR MAMMA

The wild hawk to the wind-swept sky,
The deer to the wholesome wold,
And the heart of a man to the heart of a maid,
As it was in the days of old.
_Gypsy Song._

SCENE.--_Interior of_ MISS MINNIE THREEGAN'S _bedroom at Simla._ MISS THREEGAN, _in window-seat, turning over a drawerful of things._ MISS EMMA DEERCOURT, _bosom-friend, who has come to spend the day, sitting on the bed, manipulating the bodice of a ballroom frock and a bunch of artificial lilies of the valley_. _Time,_ 5.30 P. M. _on a hot May afternoon._

MISS DEERCOURT. And _he_ said: 'I shall _never_ forget this dance,' and, of course, I said: 'Oh! how _can_ you be so silly!' Do you think he meant anything, dear?

MISS THREEGAN. (_Extracting long lavender silk stocking from the rubbish._) You know him better than _I_ do.

MISS D. Oh, _do_ be sympathetic, Minnie! I'm _sure_ he does. At least I _would_ be sure if he wasn't always riding with that odious Mrs. Hagan.

MISS T. I suppose so. How _does_ one manage to dance through one's heels first? Look at this--isn't it shameful? (_Spreads stocking-heel on open hand for inspection_)

MISS D. Never mind that! You can't mend it. Help me with this hateful bodice, I've run the string _so_, and I've run the string _so_, and I can't make the fulness come right. Where would you put this? (_Waves lilies of the valley._)

MISS T. As high up on the shoulder as possible.

MISS D. Am I quite tall enough? I know it makes May Olger look lop-sided.

MISS T. Yes, but May hasn't your shoulders. Hers are like a hock-bottle.

BEARER. (_Rapping at door._) Captain Sahib _aya._

MISS D. (_Jumping up wildly, and hunting for body, which she has discarded owing to the heat of the day._) Captain Sahib! What Captain Sahib? Oh, good gracious, and I'm only half dressed! Well, I shan't bother.

MISS T. (_Calmly._) You needn't. It isn't for us. That's Captain Gadsby. He is going for a ride with Mamma. He generally comes five days out of the seven.

AGONISED VOICE. (_From an inner apartment._) Minnie, run out and give Captain Gadsby some tea, and tell him I shall be ready in ten minutes; and, O Minnie, come to me an instant, there's a dear girl!

MISS T. Oh, bother! (_Aloud._) Very well, Mamma.

_Exit, and reappears, after five minutes, flushed, and rubbing her fingers._

MISS D. You look pink. What has happened?

MISS T. (_In a stage whisper._) A twenty-four-inch waist, and she won't let it out. Where _are_ my bangles? (_Rummages on the toilet-table, and dabs at her hair with a brush in the interval._)

MISS D. Who is this Captain Gadsby? I don't think I've met him.

MISS T. You _must_ have. He belongs to the Harrar set. I've danced with him, but I've never talked to him. He's a big yellow man, just like a newly-hatched chicken, with an e-normous moustache. He walks like this (_imitates Cavalry swagger_), and he goes 'Ha-Hmmm!' deep down in his throat when he can't think of anything to say. Mamma likes him. I don't.

MISS D. (_Abstractedly_.) Does he wax his moustache?

MISS T. (_Busy with powder-puff_.) Yes, I think so. Why?

MISS D. (_Bending oner the bodice and sewing furiously_.) Oh, nothing--only--

MISS T. (_Sternly_.) Only what? Out with it, Emma.

MISS D. Well, May Olger--she's engaged to Mr. Charteris, you know--said--Promise you won't repeat this?

MISS T. Yes, I promise. What did she say?

MISS D. That--that being kissed (_with a rush_) by a man who _didn't_ wax his moustache was--like eating an egg without salt.

MISS T. (_At her full height, with crushing scorn_.) May Olger is a horrid, nasty _Thing_, and you can tell her I said so. I'm glad she doesn't belong to my set--I must go and feed this _man!_ Do I look presentable?

MISS D. Yes, perfectly. Be quick and hand him over to your Mother, and then we can talk. _I_ shall listen at the door to hear what you say to him.

MISS T. 'Sure I don't care. _I'm_ not afraid of Captain Gadsby.

_In proof of this swings into drawing-room with a mannish stride followed by two short steps, which produces the effect of a restive horse entering. Misses CAPTAIN GADSBY, who is sitting in the shadow of the window-curtain, and gazes round helplessly._

CAPTAIN GADSBY. (_Aside_.) The filly, by Jove! 'Must ha' picked up that action from the sire. (_Aloud, rising_.) Good evening, Miss Threegan.

MISS T. (_Conscious that she is flushing_.) Good evening, Captain Gadsby. Mamma told me to say that she will be ready in a few minutes. Won't you have some tea? (_Aside_.) I hope Mamma will be quick. What _am_ I to say to the creature? (_Aloud and abruptly_.) Milk and sugar?

CAPT. G. No sugar, tha-anks, and very little milk. Ha-Hmmm.

MISS T. (_Aside_.) If he's going to do that, I'm lost. I shall laugh. I _know_ I shall!

CAPT. G. (_Pulling at his moustache and watching it sideways down his nose_.) Ha-Hmmm. (_Aside_.) 'Wonder what the little beast can talk about. 'Must make a shot at it.

MISS T. (_Aside_.) Oh, this is agonising. I _must_ say something.

BOTH TOGETHER. Have you been---

CAPT. G. I beg your pardon. You were going to say---

MISS T. (_Who has been watching the moustache with awed fascination_.) Won't you have some eggs?

CAPT. G. (_Looking bewilderedly at the tea-table_.) Eggs! (_A side_.) O Hades! She must have a nursery-tea at this hour. S'pose they've wiped her mouth and sent her to me while the Mother is getting on her duds. (_Aloud_.) No, thanks.

MISS T. (_Crimson with confusion_.) Oh! I didn't mean that. I wasn't thinking of mou--eggs for an instant. I mean _salt_. Won't you have some sa--- sweets? (_Aside_.) He'll think me a raving lunatic. I wish Mamma would come.

CAPT. G. (_Aside_.) It _was_ a nursery-tea and she's ashamed of it. By Jove! She doesn't look half bad when she colours up like that. (_Aloud, helping himself from the dish_.) Have you seen those new chocolates at Peliti's?

MISS T. No, I made these myself. What are they like?

CAPT. G. These! _De_-licious. (_Aside_.) And that's a fact.

MISS T. (_Aside_.) Oh, bother! he'll think I'm fishing for compliments. (_Aloud_.) No, Peliti's of course.

CAPT. G. (_Enthusiastically_.) Not to compare with these. How d'you make them? I can't get my _khansamah_ to understand the simplest thing beyond mutton and fowl.

MISS T. Yes? I'm not a _khansamah_, you know. Perhaps you frighten him. You should never frighten a servant. He loses his head. It's very bad policy.

CAPT. G. He's so awf'ly stupid.

MISS T. (_Folding her hands in her lap_.) You should call him quietly and say: 'O _khansamah jee!_'

CAPT. G. (_Getting interested_.) Yes? (_Aside_.) Fancy that little featherweight saying, 'O _khansamah jee_' to my bloodthirsty Mir Khan!

MISS T. Then you should explain the dinner, dish by dish.

CAPT. G. But I can't speak the vernacular.

MISS T. (_Patronizingly_.) You should pass the Higher Standard and try.

CAPT. G. I have, but I don't seem to be any the wiser. Are you?

MISS T. I never passed the Higher Standard. But the _khansamah_ is very patient with me. He doesn't get angry when I talk about sheep's _topees_, or order _maunds_ of grain when I mean _seers_.

CAPT. G. (_Aside, with intense indignation_.) I'd like to see Mir Khan being rude to that girl! Hullo! Steady the Buffs! (_Aloud_.) And do you understand about horses, too?

MISS T. A little--not very much. I can't doctor them, but I know what they ought to eat, and I am in charge of our stable.

CAPT. G. Indeed! You might help me then. What ought a man to give his _sais_ in the Hills? My ruffian says eight rupees, because everything is so dear.

MISS T. Six rupees a month, and one rupee Simla allowance--neither more nor less. And a grass-cut gets six rupees. That's better than buying grass in the bazar.

CAPT. G. (_Admiringly_.) How do you know?

MISS T. I have tried both ways.

CAPT. G. Do you ride much, then? I've never seen you on the Mall.

MISS T. (_Aside_.) I haven't passed him _more_ than fifty times. (_Aloud_.) Nearly every day.

CAPT. G. By Jove! I didn't know that. Ha-Hmmm! (_Pulls at his moustache and is silent for forty seconds_.)

MISS T. (_Desperately, and wondering what will happen next._) It looks beautiful. I shouldn't touch it if I were you. (_Aside_.) It's all Mamma's fault for not coming before. I _will_ be rude!

CAPT. G. (_Bronzing under the tan and bringing down his hand very quickly_.) Eh! Wha-at! Oh, yes! Ha! Ha! (_Laughs uneasily_.) (_Aside_.) Well, of _all_ the dashed cheek! I never had a woman say that to me yet. She must be a cool hand or else--Ah! that nursery-tea!

VOICE FROM THE UNKNOWN. Tchk! Tchk! Tchk!

CAPT. G. Good Gracious! What's that?

MISS T. The dog, I think. (_Aside_.) Emma _has_ been listening, and I'll never forgive her!

CAPT. G. (_Aside_.) They don't keep dogs here. (_Aloud_.) Didn't sound like a dog, did it?

MISS T. Then it must have been the cat. Let's go into the veranda. What a lovely evening it is!

_Steps into veranda and looks out across the hills into sunset. The Captain follows._

CAPT. G. (_Aside_.) Superb eyes! I wonder that I never noticed them before! (_Aloud_.) There's going to be a dance at Viceregal Lodge on Wednesday. Can you spare me one?

MISS T. (_Shortly_.) No! I don't want any of your charity-dances. You only ask me because Mamma told you to. I hop and I bump. You _know_ I do!

CAPT. G. (_Aside_.) That's true, but little girls shouldn't understand these things. (_Aloud_.) _No_, on my word, I don't. You dance beautifully.

MISS T. Then why do you always stand out after half a dozen turns? I thought officers in the Army didn't tell fibs.

CAPT. G. It wasn't a fib, believe me. I really _do_ want the pleasure of a dance with you.

MISS T. (_Wickedly_.) Why? Won't Mamma dance with you any more?

CAPT. G. (_More earnestly than the necessity demands_.) I wasn't thinking of your Mother. (_Aside_.) You little vixen!

MISS T. (_Still looking out of the window_.) Eh? Oh, I beg your pardon. I was thinking of something else.

CAPT. G. (_Aside_.) Well! I wonder what she'll say next. I've never known a woman treat _me_ like this before. I might be--Dash it, I might be an Infantry subaltern! (_Aloud_.) Oh, _please_ don't trouble. I'm not worth thinking about. Isn't your Mother ready yet?

MISS T. I should think so; but promise me, Captain Gadsby, you won't take poor dear Mamma twice round Jakko any more. It tires her so.

CAPT. G. She says that no exercise tires her.

MISS T. Yes, but she suffers afterwards. _You_ don't know what rheumatism is, and you oughtn't to keep her out so late, when it gets chill in the evenings.

CAPT. G. (_Aside_.) Rheumatism! I _thought_ she came off her horse rather in a bunch. Whew! One lives and learns. (_Aloud_.) I'm sorry to hear that. She hasn't mentioned it to me.

MISS T. (_Flurried_.) Of course not! Poor dear Mamma never would. And you mustn't say that I told you either. Promise me that you won't. Oh, Captain Gadsby, _promise_ me you won't!

CAPT. G. I am dumb, or--I shall be as soon as you've given me that dance, and another--if you can trouble yourself to think about me for a minute.

MISS T. But you won't like it one little bit. You'll be awfully sorry afterwards.

CAPT. G. I shall like it above all things, and I shall only be sorry that I didn't get more. (_Aside_.) Now what in the world am I saying?

MISS T. Very well. You will have only yourself to thank if your toes are trodden on. Shall we say Seven?

CAPT. G. And Eleven. (_Aside_.) She can't be more than eight stone, but, even then, it's an absurdly small foot. (_Looks at his own riding boots_.)

MISS T. They're beautifully shiny. I can almost see my face in them.

CAPT. G. I was thinking whether I should have to go on crutches for the rest of my life if you trod on my toes.

MISS T. Very likely. Why not change Eleven for a square?

CAPT. G. No, _please!_ I want them both waltzes. Won't you write them down?

MISS T. _I_ don't get so many dances that I shall confuse them. _You_ will be the offender.

CAPT. G. Wait and see! (_Aside_.) She doesn't dance perfectly, perhaps, but--

MISS T. Your tea must have got cold by this time. Won't you have another cup?

CAPT. G. No, thanks. Don't you think it's pleasanter out in the veranda? (_Aside_.) I never saw hair take that colour in the sunshine before. (_Aloud_.) It's like one of Dicksee's pictures.

MISS T. Yes! It's a wonderful sunset, isn't it? (_Bluntly_.) But what do _you_ know about Dicksee's pictures?

CAPT. G. I go Home occasionally. And I used to know the Galleries. (_Nervously_.) You mustn't think me only a Philistine with--a moustache.

MISS T. Don't! _Please_ don't! I'm _so_ sorry for what I said then. I was _horribly_ rude. It slipped out before I thought. Don't you know the temptation to say frightful and shocking things just for the mere sake of saying them? I'm afraid I gave way to it.

CAPT. G. (_Watching the girl as she flushes_.) I _think_ I know the feeling. It would be terrible if we all yielded to it, wouldn't it? For instance, I might say--

POOR DEAR MAMMA. (_Entering, habited, hatted, and booted_.) Ah, Captain Gadsby! 'Sorry to keep you waiting. 'Hope you haven't been bored. 'My little girl been talking to you?

MISS T. (_Aside_.) I'm not sorry I spoke about the rheumatism. I'm not! I'm NOT! I only wish I'd mentioned the corns too.

CAPT. G. (_Aside_.) What a shame! I wonder how old she is. It never occurred to me before. (_Aloud_.) We've been discussing 'Shakespeare and the musical glasses' in the veranda.

MISS T. (_Aside._) Nice man! He knows that quotation. He _isn't_ a Philistine with a moustache. (_Aloud._) Good-bye, Captain Gadsby. (_Aside._) What a huge hand and _what_ a squeeze! I don't suppose he meant it, but he has driven the rings into my fingers.

POOR DEAR MAMMA. Has Vermillion come round yet? Oh, yes! Captain Gadsby, don't you think that the saddle is too far forward? (_They pass into the front veranda._)

CAPT. G. (_Aside._) How the dickens should I know what she prefers? She told me that she doted on horses. (_Aloud._) I think it is.

MISS T. (_Coming out into front veranda._) Oh! Bad Buldoo! I must speak to him for this. He has taken up the curb two links, and Vermillion hates that. (_Passes out and to horse's head._)

CAPT. G. Let me do it.

MISS T. No, Vermillion understands me. Don't you, old man? (_Looses curb-chain skilfully, and pats horse on nose and throttle._) Poor Vermillion! _Did_ they want to cut his chin off? There!

CAPTAIN GADSBY _watches the interlude with undisguised admiration._

POOR DEAR MAMMA. (_Tartly to_ MISS T.) You've forgotten your guest, I think, dear.

MISS T. Good gracious! So I have! Good-bye. (_Retreats indoors hastily_)

POOR DEAR MAMMA. (_Bunching reins in fingers hampered by too tight gauntlets_) Captain Gadsby!

CAPTAIN GADSBY _stoops and makes the foot-rest._

POOR DEAR MAMMA _blunders, halts too long, and breaks through it._

CAPT. G. (_Aside_.) Can't hold up eleven stone for ever. It's all your rheumatism. (_Aloud_.) Can't imagine why I was so clumsy. (_Aside_.) Now Little Featherweight would have gone up like a bird.

_They ride out of the garden. The Captain falls back._

CAPT. G. (_Aside_.) How that habit catches her under the arms! Ugh!

POOR DEAR MAMMA. (_With the worn smile of sixteen seasons, the worse for exchange_.) You're dull this afternoon, Captain Gadsby.

CAPT. G. (_Spurring up wearily_.) Why did you keep me waiting so long?

_Et caetera, et caetera, et caetera._

(AN INTERVAL OF THREE WEEKS.)

GILDED YOUTH. (_Sitting on railings opposite Town Hall_.) Hullo, Gaddy! 'Been trotting out the Gorgonzola! We all thought it was the Gorgon you're mashing.

CAPT. G. (_With withering emphasis_.) You young cub! What the ---- does it matter to you?

_Proceeds to read GILDED YOUTH a lecture on discretion and deportment, which crumbles latter like a Chinese Lantern. Departs fuming._

(FURTHER INTERVAL OF FIVE WEEKS.)

SCENE.--_Exterior of New Simla Library on a foggy evening_. MISS THREEGAN _and_ MISS DEERCOURT _meet among the 'rickshaws_. MISS T. _is carrying a bundle of books under her left arm_.

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_.)

THE WORLD WITHOUT

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!

BLAYNE. (Humming.) 'Yea, verily, verily, verily! Verily, verily, I say unto thee.' Theodore, the gift o' God! Our Phillup! It's been given out up above.

MACKESY. (_Barrister-at-Law_.) Huh! Women will give out anything. What does accused say?

BLAYNE. Markyn told me that he congratulated him warily--one hand held out, t'other ready to guard. Gaddy turned pink and said it was so.

CURTISS. Poor old Gaddy! They all do it. Who's _she?_ Let's hear the details.

BLAYNE. She's a girl--daughter of a Colonel Somebody.

DOONE. Simla's stiff with Colonels' daughters. Be more explicit.

BLAYNE. Wait a shake. What _was_ her name? Three--something. Three--

CURTISS. Stars, perhaps. Gaddy knows _that_ brand.

BLAYNE. Threegan--Minnie Threegan.

MACKESY. Threegan! Isn't she a little bit of a girl with red hair?

BLAYNE. 'Bout that--from what Markyn said.

MACKESY. Then I've met her. She was at Lucknow last season. 'Owned a permanently juvenile Mamma, and danced damnably. I say, Jervoise, you knew the Threegans, didn't you?

JERVOISE. (_Civilian of twenty-five years' service, waking up from his doze_.) Eh? What's that? Knew who? How? I thought I was at Home, confound you!

MACKESY. The Threegan girl's engaged, so Blayne says.

JERVOISE. (_Slowly_.) Engaged--engaged! Bless my soul! I'm getting an old man! Little Minnie Threegan engaged. It was only the other day I went home with them in the _Surat_--no, the _Massilia_--and she was crawling about on her hands and knees among the _ayahs_. 'Used to call me the '_Tick Tack Sahib_' because I showed her my watch. And that was in Sixty-seven--no, Seventy. Good God, how time flies! I'm an old man. I remember when Threegan married Miss Derwent--daughter of old Hooky Derwent--but that was before your time. And so the little baby's engaged to have a little baby of her own! Who's the other fool?

MACKESY. Gadsby of the Pink Hussars.

JERVOISE. 'Never met him. Threegan lived in debt, married in debt, and'll die in debt. 'Must be glad to get the girl off his hands.

BLAYNE. Gaddy has money--lucky devil. Place at Home, too.

DOONE. He comes of first-class stock. 'Can't quite understand his being caught by a Colonel's daughter, and (_looking cautiously round room_) Black Infantry at that! No offence to you, Blayne.

BLAYNE. (_Stiffly_.) Not much, tha-anks.

CURTISS. (_Quoting motto of Irregular Moguls_.) 'We are what we are,' eh, old man? But Gaddy was such a superior animal as a rule. Why didn't he go Home and pick his wife there?

MACKESY. They are all alike when they come to the turn into the straight. About thirty a man begins to get sick of living alone--

CURTISS. And of the eternal muttony-chop in the morning.

DOONE. It's dead goat as a rule, but go on, Mackesy.

MACKESY. If a man's once taken that way nothing will hold him. Do you remember Benoit of your service, Doone? They transferred him to Tharanda when his time came, and he married a platelayer's daughter, or something of that kind. She was the only female about the place.

DOONE. Yes, poor brute. That smashed Benoit's chances of promotion altogether. Mrs. Benoit used to ask: 'Was you goin' to the dance this evenin'?'

CURTISS. Hang it all! Gaddy hasn't married beneath him. There's no tar-brush in the family, I suppose.

JERVOISE. Tar-brush! Not an anna. You young fellows talk as though the man was doing the girl an honour in marrying her. You're all too conceited--nothing's good enough for you.

BLAYNE. Not even an empty Club, a dam' bad dinner at the Judge's, and a Station as sickly as a hospital. You're quite right. We're a set of Sybarites.

DOONE. Luxurious dogs, wallowing in---

CURTISS. Prickly heat between the shoulders. I'm covered with it. Let's hope Beora will be cooler.

BLAYNE. Whew! Are _you_ ordered into camp, too? I thought the Gunners had a clean sheet.

CURTISS. No, worse luck. Two cases yesterday--one died--and if we have a third, out we go. Is there any shooting at Beora, Doone?

DOONE. The country's under water, except the patch by the Grand Trunk Road. I was there yesterday, looking at a bund, and came across four poor devils in their last stage. It's rather bad from here to Kuchara.

CURTISS. Then we're pretty certain to have a heavy go of it. Heigho! I shouldn't mind changing places with Gaddy for a while. 'Sport with Amaryllis in the shade of the Town Hall, and all that. Oh, why doesn't somebody come and marry me, instead of letting me go into cholera camp?

MACKESY. Ask the Committee.

CURTISS. You ruffian! You'll stand me another peg for that. Blayne, what will you take? Mackesy is fine on moral grounds. Doone, have you any preference?

DOONE. Small glass Kummel, please. Excellent carminative, these days. Anthony told me so.

MACKESY. (_Signing voucher for four drinks._) Most unfair punishment. I only thought of Curtiss as Actaeon being chivied round the billiard tables by the nymphs of Diana.

BLAYNE. Curtiss would have to import his nymphs by train. Mrs. Cockley's the only woman in the Station. She won't leave Cockley, and he's doing his best to get her to go.

CURTISS. Good, indeed! Here's Mrs. Cockley's health. To the only wife in the Station and a damned brave woman!

OMNES. (_Drinking._) A damned brave woman!

BLAYNE. I suppose Gaddy will bring his wife here at the end of the cold weather. They are going to be married almost immediately, I believe.

CURTISS. Gaddy may thank his luck that the Pink Hussars are all detachment and no headquarters this hot weather, or he'd be torn from the arms of his love as sure as death. Have you ever noticed the thorough-minded way British Cavalry take to cholera? It's because they are so expensive. If the Pinks had stood fast here, they would have been out in camp a month ago. Yes, I should decidedly like to be Gaddy.

MACKESY. He'll go Home after he's married, and send in his papers--see if he doesn't.

BLAYNE. Why shouldn't he? Hasn't he money? Would any one of us be here if we weren't paupers?

DOONE. Poor old pauper! What has became of the six hundred you rooked from our table last month?

BLAYNE. It took unto itself wings. I think an enterprising tradesman got some of it, and a _shroff_ gobbled the rest--or else I spent it.

CURTISS. Gaddy never had dealings with a _shroff_ in his life.

DOONE. Virtuous Gaddy! If _I_ had three thousand a month, paid from England, I don't think I'd deal with a _shroff_ either.