Complete Works of Rudyard Kipling (Illustrated) (171 page)

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.