CAPT. M. (_Quickly._) On your own front--one length. Take her with you.
I don't come. You've nothing to say. (CAPT. G. _jingles up to altar._)
CAPT. M. (_In a piercing rattle meant to be a whisper._)
Kneel, you stiff-necked ruffian! Kneel!
PADRE. . . . whose daughters are ye so long as ye do well and are not
afraid with any amazement.
CAPT. M. Dismiss! Break off! Left wheel!
_All troop to vestry. They sign._
CAPT. M. Kiss Her, Gaddy.
CAPT. G. (_Rubbing the ink into his glove._) Eh! Wha--at?
CAPT. M. (_Taking one pace to Bride._) If you don't, I shall.
CAPT. G. (_Interposing an arm._) Not this journey!
_General kissing, in which_ CAPT. G. _is pursued by
unknown female._
CAPT. G. (_Faintly to_ M.) This is Hades! Can I wipe my face now?
CAPT. M. My responsibility has ended. Better ask _Missis_ Gadsby.
CAPT. G. _winces as though shot and procession is
Mendelssohned out of Church to house, where usual
tortures take place over the wedding-cake._
CAPT. M. (_At table._) Up with you, Gaddy. They expect a speech.
CAPT. G. (_After three minutes' agony._) Ha-hmmm. (_Thunders of
applause._)
CAPT. M. Doocid good, for a first attempt. Now go and change your kit
while Mamma is weeping over--'the Missus.' (CAPT. G. _disappears._ CAPT.
M. _starts up tearing his hair._) It's not _half_ legal. Where are the
shoes? Get an _ayah._