M. At forty you'll be a fool of a J.P. landlord. At fifty you'll own a
bath-chair, and The Brigadier, if he takes after you, will be fluttering
the dovecotes of--what's the particular dunghill you're going to? Also,
Mrs. Gadsby will be fat.
G. (_Limply._) This is rather more than a joke.
M. D'you think so? Isn't cutting the Service a joke? It generally takes
a man fifty years to arrive at it. You're quite right, though. It is
more than a joke. You've managed it in thirty-three.
G. Don't make me feel worse than I do. Will it satisfy you if I own that
I am a shirker, a skrim-shanker, and a coward?
M. It will _not_, because I'm the only man in the world who can talk to
you like this without being knocked down. You mustn't take all that I've
said to heart in this way. I only spoke--a lot of it at least--out of
pure selfishness, because, because--Oh, damn it all, old man,--I don't
know _what_ I shall do without you. Of course, you've got the money
and the place and all that--and there are two very good reasons why you
should take care of yourself.
G. 'Doesn't make it any the sweeter. I'm backing out--I know I am. I
always had a soft drop in me somewhere--and I daren't risk any danger to
_them._
M. Why in the world should you? You're bound to think of your
family--bound to think. Er-hmm. If I wasn't a younger son I'd go too--be
shot if I wouldn't!
G. Thank you, Jack. It's a kind lie, but it's the blackest you've told
for some time. I know what I'm doing, and I'm going into it with my eyes
open. Old man, I _can't_ help it. What would you do if you were in my
place?
M. (_Aside._) 'Couldn't conceive any woman getting permanently between
me and the Regiment. (_Aloud._) 'Can't say. 'Very likely I should do
no better. I'm sorry for you--awf'ly sorry--but 'if them's your
sentiments,' I believe, I really do, that you are acting wisely.
G. Do you? I hope you do. (_In a whisper._) Jack, be very sure of
yourself before you marry. I'm an ungrateful ruffian to say this, but
marriage--even as good a marriage as mine has been--hampers a man's
work, it cripples his sword-arm, and oh, it plays Hell with his notions
of duty! Sometimes--good and sweet as she is--sometimes I could wish
that I had kept my freedom--No, I don't mean that exactly.
MRS. G. (_Coming down the veranda._) What are you wagging your head
over, Pip?
M. (_Turning quickly._) Me, as usual. The old sermon. Your husband is
recommending me to get married. 'Never saw such a one-ideaed man!
MRS. G. Well, why don't you? I daresay you would make some woman very
happy.
G. There's the Law and the Prophets, Jack. Never mind the Regiment. Make
a woman happy. (_Aside._) O Lord!
M. We'll see. I must be off to make a Troop Cook desperately unhappy.
I won't have the wily Hussar fed on Government Bullock Train
shinbones--(_Hastily._) Surely black ants can't be good for The
Brigadier. He's picking 'em off the matting and eating 'em. Here, Senor
Commandante Don Grubbynose, come and talk to me. (_Lifts_ G. JUNIOR _in
his arms._) 'Want my watch? You won't be able to put it into your mouth,
but you can try. (G. JUNIOR _drops watch, breaking dial and hands._)
MRS. G. Oh, Captain Mafflin, I _am_ so sorry! Jack, you bad, bad little
villain. Ahhh!
M. It's not the least consequence, I assure you. He'd treat the world in
the same way if he could get it into his hands. Everything's made to be
played with and broken, isn't it, young 'un?
* * * * *
MRS. G. Mafflin didn't at all like his watch being broken, though he
was too polite to say so. It was entirely his fault for giving it to
the child. Dem little puds are werry, werry feeble, aren't dey, my
Jack-in-de-box? (_To_ G.) What did he want to see you for?
G. Regimental shop as usual.
MRS. G. The Regiment! _Always_ the Regiment. On my word, I sometimes
feel jealous of Mafflin.
G. (_Wearily._) Poor old Jack? I don't think you need. Isn't it time
for The _Butcha_ to have his nap? Bring a chair out here, dear. I've got
something to talk over with you.