And you may go into every room of the house and see everything that is
there, but into the Blue Room you must _not_ go.--_The Story of Blue
Beard._
SCENE.--_The_ GADSBYS' _bungalow in the Plains. Time,_ 11 A. M. _on a
Sunday morning._ CAPTAIN GADSBY, _in his shirt-sleeves, is bending over
a complete set of Hussar's equipment, from saddle to picketing-rope,
which is neatly spread over the floor of his study. He is smoking an
unclean briar, and his forehead is puckered with thought._
CAPT. G. (_To himself, fingering a headstall._) Jack's an ass. There's
enough brass on this to load a mule--and, if the Americans know anything
about anything, it can be cut down to a bit only. 'Don't want the
watering-bridle, either. Humbug!--Half a dozen sets of chains and
pulleys for one horse! Rot! (_Scratching his head._) Now, let's consider
it all over from the beginning. By Jove, I've forgotten the scale of
weights! Ne'er mind. 'Keep the bit only, and eliminate every boss from
the crupper to breastplate. No breastplate at all. Simple leather strap
across the breast--like the Russians. Hi! Jack never thought of _that!_
MRS. G. (_Entering hastily, her hand bound in a cloth._) Oh, Pip, I've
scalded my hand over that horrid, horrid Tiparee jam!
CAPT. G. (_Absently._) Eh! Wha-at?
MRS. G. (_With round-eyed reproach._) I've scalded it _aw_-fully! Aren't
you sorry? And I _did_ so want that jam to jam properly.
CAPT. G. Poor little woman! Let me kiss the place and make it well.
(_Unrolling bandage._) You small sinner! Where's that scald? I can't see
it.
MRS. G. On the top of the little finger. There!--It's a most 'normous
big burn!
CAPT. G. (_Kissing little finger._) Baby! Let Hyder look after the jam.
You know I don't care for sweets.
MRS. G. In-deed?--Pip!
CAPT. G. Not of that kind, anyhow. And now run along, Minnie, and leave
me to my own base devices. I'm busy.
MRS. G. (_Calmly settling herself in long chair._) So I see. What a mess
you're making! Why have you brought all that smelly leather stuff into
the house?
CAPT. G. To play with. Do you mind, dear?
MRS. G. Let _me_ play too. I'd like it.
CAPT. G. I'm afraid you wouldn't, Pussy--Don't you think that jam will
burn, or whatever it is that jam does when it's not looked after by a
clever little housekeeper?
MRS. G. I thought you said Hyder could attend to it. I left him in the
veranda, stirring--when I hurt myself so.
CAPT. G. (_His eye returning to the equipment._) Po-oor little
woman!--Three pounds four and seven is three eleven, and that can be
cut down to two eight, with just a _lee_-tle care, without weakening
anything. Farriery is all rot in incompetent hands. What's the use of a
shoe-case when a man's scouting? He can't stick it on with a lick--like
a stamp--the shoe! Skittles!
MRS. G. What's skittles? Pah! What _is_ this leather cleaned with?
CAPT. G. Cream and champagne and--Look here, dear, do you really want to
talk to me about anything important?
MRS. G. No. I've done my accounts, and I thought I'd like to see what
you're doing.
CAPT. G. Well, love, now you've seen and--Would you mind?--That is to
say--Minnie, I really _am_ busy.
MRS. G. You want me to go?
CAPT. G. Yes, dear, for a little while. This tobacco will hang in your
dress, and saddlery doesn't interest you.
MRS. G. Everything you do interests me, Pip.
CAPT. G. Yes, I know, I know, dear. I'll tell you all about it some day
when I've put a head on this thing. In the meantime--
MRS. G. I'm to be turned out of the room like a troublesome child?
CAPT. G. No-o. I don't mean that exactly. But, you see, I shall be
tramping up and down, shifting these things to and fro, and I shall be
in your way. Don't you think so?
MRS. G. Can't I lift them about? Let me try. (_Reaches forward to
trooper's saddle._)
CAPT. G. Good gracious, child, don't touch it. You'll hurt yourself.
(_Picking up saddle._) Little girls aren't expected to handle _numdahs._
Now, where would you like it put? (_Holds saddle above his head._)
MRS. G. (_A break in her voice._) Nowhere. Pip, how good you are--and
how strong! Oh, what's that ugly red streak inside your arm?
CAPT. G. (_Lowering saddle quickly._) Nothing. It's a mark of sorts.
(_Aside._) And Jack's coming to tiffin with _his_ notions all cut and
dried!
MRS. G. I know it's a mark, but I've never seen it before. It runs all
up the arm. What is it?
CAPT. G. A cut--if you want to know.
MRS. G. Want to know! Of course I do! I can't have my husband cut to
pieces in this way. How did it come? Was it an accident? Tell me, Pip.
CAPT. G. (_Grimly._) No. 'Twasn't an accident. I got it--from a man--in
Afghanistan.
MRS. G. In action? Oh, Pip, and you _never_ told me!
CAPT. G. I'd forgotten all about it.
MRS. G. Hold up your arm! What a horrid, ugly scar! Are you sure it
doesn't hurt now? How did the man give it you?
CAPT. G. (_Desperately looking at his watch._) With a knife. I came
down--old Van Loo did, that's to say--and fell on my leg, so I couldn't
run. And then this man came up and began chopping at me as I sprawled.
MRS. G. Oh, don't, don't! That's enough!--Well, what happened?
CAPT. G. I couldn't get to my holster, and Mafflin came round the corner
and stopped the performance.
MRS. G. How? He's such a lazy man, I don't believe he did.
CAPT. G. Don't you? I don't think the man had much doubt about it. Jack
cut his head off.
MRS. G. Cut--his--head--off! 'With one blow,' as they say in the books?
CAPT. G. I'm not sure. I was too interested in myself to know much about
it. Anyhow, the head was off, and Jack was punching old Van Loo in the
ribs to make him get up. Now you know all about it, dear, and now--
MRS. G. You want me to go, of course. You never told me about this,
though I've been married to you for _ever_ so long; and you never
_would_ have told me if I hadn't found out; and you never _do_ tell me
anything about yourself, or what you do, or what you take an interest
in.
CAPT. G. Darling, I'm always with you, aren't I?
MRS. G. Always in my pocket, you were going to say. I know you are; but
you are always _thinking_ away from me.
CAPT. G. (_Trying to hide a smile._) Am I? I wasn't aware of it. I'm
awf'ly sorry.
MRS. G. (_Piteously._) Oh, don't make fun of me! Pip, you know what I
mean. When you are reading one of those things about Cavalry, by that
idiotic Prince--why doesn't he _be_ a Prince instead of a stable-boy?
CAPT. G. Prince Kraft a stable-boy--Oh, my Aunt! Never mind, dear. You
were going to say?
MRS. G. It doesn't matter; you don't care for what I say. Only--only
you get up and walk about the room, staring in front of you, and then
Mafflin comes in to dinner, and after I'm in the drawing-room I can
hear you and him talking, and talking, and talking, about things I can't
understand, and--oh, I get _so_ tired and feel _so_ lonely!--I don't
want to complain and be a trouble, Pip; but I do--indeed I do!
CAPT. G. My poor darling! I never thought of that. Why don't you ask
some nice people in to dinner?
MRS. G. Nice people! Where am I to find them? Horrid frumps! And if I
_did_, I shouldn't be amused. You know I only want _you._
CAPT. G. And you have me surely, Sweetheart?
MRS. G. I have not! Pip, why don't you take me into your life?
CAPT. G. More than I do? That would be difficult, dear.
MRS. G. Yes, I suppose it would--to you. I'm no help to you--no
companion to you; and you like to have it so.
CAPT. G. Aren't you a little unreasonable, Pussy?
MRS. G. (_Stamping her foot._) I'm the most reasonable woman in the
world--when I'm treated properly.
CAPT. G. And since when have I been treating you improperly?
MRS. G. Always--and since the beginning. You _know_ you have.
CAPT. G. I don't; but I'm willing to be convinced.
MRS. G. (_Pointing to saddlery._) There!
CAPT. G. How do you mean?
MRS. G. What does all _that_ mean? Why am I not to be told? Is it so
precious?
CAPT. G. I forget its exact Government value just at present. It means
that it is a great deal too heavy.
MRS. G. Then why do you touch it?
CAPT. G. To make it lighter. See here, little love, I've one notion
and Jack has another, but we are both agreed that all this equipment is
about thirty pounds too heavy. The thing is how to cut it down without
weakening any part of it, and, at the same time, allowing the trooper
to carry everything he wants for his own comfort--socks and shirts and
things of that kind.
MRS. G. Why doesn't he pack them in a little trunk?
CAPT. G. (_Kissing her._) Oh, you darling! Pack them in a little trunk,
indeed! Hussars don't carry trunks, and it's a most important thing to
make the horse do all the carrying.
MRS. G. But why need _you_ bother about it? You're not a trooper.
CAPT. G. No; but I command a few score of him; and equipment is nearly
everything in these days.