_Mrs. Prattleton._ Yes, so _sad_ for him, poor dear; but of course
whenever his father dies, he'll be _quite_ comfortable. (_Recognising
a military acquaintance._) Oh, Captain CLINKER, do come and tell me
what they're supposed to be doing out there, and whether they've begun
yet.
_Capt. Clinker_ (_R.A._). Nothin' much goin' on at present. Ah, they
seem to be wakin' up now a bit. (_As the band strikes up._) There's
the general salute; now they're goin' to make a start.
_Mrs. Pratt._ Who is that little man in the baggy black frock, rather
like a dressing-gown, and the cocked hat; and why is he galloping out
here?
_Capt. C._ He's the inspectin' officer; takin' up his position for the
march past, don't you know.
_Mrs. Pratt_. Oh; and they're all going to march past _him_. How nice!
But there's _another_ officer in a cocked hat; is _he_ inspecting,
too?
_Capt. C._ Only their tongues; he's the regimental Pill--the _doctor_,
you know.
_Mrs. Pratt._ (_disenchanted_). I quite thought he must be a general
at _least_. Dear me, there's one man in a red coat and a helmet. What
is _he_ doing here?
_Capt. C._ That's the adjutant.
_Mrs. Pratt_. Oh; and the adjutant always wears a helmet. I _see_.
They've hung red silk round the kettledrums; (_pleased_) that's _real_
soldiering, isn't it?
_Officers_ (_as the regiment marches past by squadrons_). Right
whe-eel! Eyes right! For-ward! Dress up to your leaders there!
_Capt. C._ (_with languid approbation_). The dressin's not half bad.
_Mrs. Pratt._ No, they're dressed very like Hussars--or is it
Artillery I mean? I always had an idea the Yeomanry wore _comic_
uniforms--with shirt-collars, you know, and old-fashioned milk-pail
hats with feathers and things. But (_disappointedly_) there's nothing
ridiculous about these. What a frisky animal that trumpeter is riding;
look at him caracoling about!
_Capt. C._ Trumpeters and serjeant-majors always the best mounted.
_Mrs. Pratt._ Are they? I wonder why _that_ is. (_As the regiment
ranks by in single file._) But they've _all_ got beautiful horses.
_Capt. C._ (_critically_). H'm, they're a fair-lookin' lot. Fall off a
bit behind, some of 'em.
_Mrs. Pratt._ Do they? Then they can't be very good riders, _can_
they?
_Capt. C._ These fellows? They ought to be; most of 'em, you see, hunt
their horses regularly.
_Mrs. Pratt._ (_with a mental vision of dismounted troopers chasing
their chargers about the ground_). What fun! I should like to see them
do that. (_As the regiment trots past in sections._) But they don't
seem to come off over the trotting.
[Illustration: "'Twas onfortunate fur Garge, him bein' th' only man as
fell arf."]
_Capt. C._ Not quite; the leaders don't keep their distance, so the
men can't keep up. Still, considering how short a time they've been
out, you can't expect----
_Mrs. Pratt._ No; and they haven't tried to _gallop_ yet, have they?
Some of the horses are cantering now, though; it looks so much nicer
than if they all trotted, _I_ think.
_Capt. C._ Don't fancy their Colonel would agree with you there.
_Mrs. Pratt._ What a shame to keep those poor soldiers out there all
by themselves; they don't have any fun, and they only get in the way
of the others when they turn round. Oh, look at them now--they're all
coming straight at us, and waving their swords!
_Capt. C._ Pursuin' practice at the gallop; doin' it rather decently,
too.
_Mrs. Pratt._ But _do_ you think we're safe just here? Suppose they
can't stop themselves in time!
_Capt. C._ No danger of that; too heavily bitted to get out of
hand.... There, you see, they're all wheelin' round. That'll be the
wind up. Yes, they're drawn up in line; officers called to the front.
Now the inspecting officer is makin' a few remarks, butterin' 'em up
all round, you know. It's all over.
_Mrs. Pratt._ Really? It's been a great success, hasn't it? I enjoy
a review so much better when they don't have any horrid firing. Don't
you?
[Captain CLINKER _assents, to save trouble_.
* * * * *