“An' since 'twas very clear we drank only ginger-beer,
Faith, there must ha' been some stingo in the ginger.”
Come back, you maniac. I'm going to take you home, and you're going to
lie down.
CAPT. G. What on earth do I want to lie down for?
CAPT. M. Give me a light from your cheroot and see.
CAPT. G. (Watching cheroot-butt quiver like a tuning-fork.) Sweet state
I'm in!
CAPT. M. You are. I'll get you a peg and you'll go to sleep.
They return and M. compounds a four-finger peg.
CAPT. G. O bus! bus! It'll make me as drunk as an owl.
CAPT. M. 'Curious thing, 'twon't have the slightest effect on you. Drink
it off, chuck yourself down there, and go to bye-bye.
CAPT. G. It's absurd. I sha'n't sleep, I know I sha'n't!
(Falls into heavy doze at end of seven minutes. CAPT. M. watches him
tenderly.)
CAPT. M. Poor old Gandy! I've seen a few turned off before, but never
one who went to the gallows in this condition. 'Can't tell how it
affects 'em, though. It's the thoroughbreds that sweat when they're
backed into double-harness.--And that's the man who went through the
guns at Amdheran like a devil possessed of devils. (Leans over G.) But
this is worse than the guns, old pal--worse than the guns, isn't it? (G.
turns in his sleep, and M. touches him clumsily on the forehead.) Poor,
dear old Gaddy I Going like the rest of 'em--going like the rest of
'em--Friend that sticketh closer than a brother--eight years. Dashed
bit of a slip of a girl--eight weeks! And--where's your friend? (Smokes
disconsolately till church clock strikes three.)
CAPT. M. Up with you! Get into your kit.
CAPT. C. Already? Isn't it too soon? Hadn't I better have a shave?
CAPT. M. No! You're all right. (Aside.) He'd chip his chin to pieces.
CAPT. C. What's the hurry?
CAPT. M. You've got to be there first.
CAPT. C. To be stared at?
CAPT. M. Exactly. You're part of the show. Where's the burnisher? Your
spurs are in a shameful state.
CAPT. G. (Gruffly.) Jack, I be damned if you shall do that for me.
CAPT. M. (More gruffly.) Dry' up and get dressed! If I choose to clean
your spurs, you're under my orders.
CAPT. G. dresses. M. follows suit.
CAPT. M. (Critically, walking round.) M'yes, you'll do. Only don't look
so like a criminal. Ring, gloves, fees--that's all right for me. Let
your moustache alone. Now, if the ponies are ready, we'll go.
CAPT. G. (Nervously.) It's much too soon. Let's light up! Let's have a
peg! Let's--CAPT. M. Let's make bally asses of ourselves!