STENTORIAN JUDGE (_in Arena_). Corporal Binks! (_The Assistants give a
finishing blow to the peg, and fall back._ Corporal BINKS _gallops in,
misses the peg, and rides off, relieving his feelings by whirling his
lance defiantly in the air_.) Corporal Binks--nothing!
A GUSHING LADY. Poor dear thing! I _do_ wish he'd struck it! He did look
so disappointed, and so did that sweet horse!
THE JUDGE. Sergeant Spanker! (Sergeant S. _gallops in, spears the peg
neatly, and carries it off triumphantly on the point of the lance, after
which he rides back and returns the peg to the Assistants as a piece of
valuable property of which he has accidentally deprived them._) Sergeant
Spanker--eight! (_Applause; the Assistants drive in another peg._)
Corporal Cutlash! (Corporal C. _enters, strikes the peg, and dislodges
without securing it. Immense applause from the Crowd._) Corporal
Cutlash--two!
THE GUSHING LADY. Only two, and when he really did hit the peg! I do
call that a shame. I should have given him more marks than the other
man--he has such a _much_ nicer face!
A CHILD WITH A THIRST FOR INFORMATION. Uncle, why do they call it
_tent_-pegging?
THE UNCLE. Why? Well, because those pegs are what they fasten down tents
with.
THE CHILD. But why isn't there a tent now?
UNCLE. Because there's no use for one.
CHILD. Why?
UNCLE. Because all they want to do is to pick up the peg with the point
of their lance.
CHILD. Yes, but why _should_ they want to do it?
UNCLE. Oh, to amuse their horses. (_The_ CHILD _ponders upon this answer
with a view to a fresh catechism upon the equine passion for
entertainment, and the desirability, or otherwise, of gratifying it_.)
A CHATTY MAN IN THE PROMENADE (_to his_ NEIGHBOUR). Takes a deal of
practice to strike them pegs fair and full.
HIS NEIGHBOUR (_who holds advanced Socialistic opinions_). Ah, I
dessay--and a pity they can't make no better use o' their time! Spoiling
good wood, _I_ call it. I don't see no point in it myself.
THE CHATTY MAN. Well, it shows they can _ride_, at any rate.
THE SOCIALIST. Ride? O' course they can _ride_--we pay enough for 'aving
'em taught, don't we? But you mark my words, the People won't put up
with this state of things much longer--keepin' a set of 'ired murderers
in luxury and hidleness. I tell yer, wherever I come across one of these
great lanky louts strutting about in his red coat, as if he was one of
the lords of the hearth, well--it makes my nose bleed, ah--it _does_!
THE CHATTY MAN. If that's the way you talk to him, I ain't surprised if
it do.
THE JUDGE. Sword _versus_ Sword! Come in there! (_Two mounted
Combatants, in leather jerkins and black visors, armed with swordsticks,
enter the ring_; JUDGE _introduces them to audience with the aid of a
flag_.) Corporal JONES, of the Wessex Yeomanry; Sergeant SMITH, of the
Manx Mounted Infantry. (_Their swords are chalked by the Assistants._)
Are you ready? Left turn! Countermarch! Engage! (_The Combatants wheel
round and face one another, each vigorously spurring his horse and
prodding cautiously at the other; the two horses seem determined not to
be drawn into the affair themselves on any account, and take no personal
interest in the conflict; the umpires skip and dodge at the rear of the
horses, until one of the Combatants gets in with a rattling blow on the
other's head, to the intense delight of audience. Both men are brushed
down, and their weapons re-chalked, whereupon they engage once
more--much to the disgust of their horses, who had evidently been hoping
it was all over. After the contest is finally decided, a second pair of
Combatants_ _enter; one is mounted on a black horse, the other on a
chestnut, who refuses to lend himself to the business on any terms, and
bolts on principle; while the rider of the black horse remains in
stationary meditation._) Go on--that black horse--go on! (_The chestnut
is at length brought up to the scratch snorting, but again flinches, and
retires with his rider._)
THE CROWD (_to rider of black horse_). Go on, now's your chance! 'It
him! (_The recipient of these counsels pursues his antagonist, and
belabours him and his horse with impartial good-will until separated by
the Umpires, who examine the chalk-marks with a professional scrutiny._)
THE JUDGE. Here, you on the black horse, you mustn't hit that other
horse about the head. (_The man addressed appears rebuked and surprised
under his black-wired visor._) THE JUDGE (_reassuringly_). It's all
_right_, you know; only, don't do it again, that's all! (_The Combatant
sits up again._)
THE GUSHING LADY. Oh, I can't bear to look on, really. I'm _sure_ they
oughtn't to hit so hard--_how_ their poor dear heads must ache! Isn't
that chestnut a _duck_? I'm sure he's trying to save his master from
getting hurt--they're such sensible creatures, horses are! (_Artillery
teams drive in, and gallop between the posts; the Crowd going frantic
with delight when the posts remain upright, and roaring with laughter
when one is knocked over._)