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BLAYNE. Phew! The Judge ought to be hanged in his own store-godown. Hi, khitmatgar! Poora whiskey-peg, to take the taste out of my mouth. What the deuce made you dine at the Judge's? You know his bandobust. Is this all of you tonight? Mingle had a pain in his tummy. CURTISS. Miggy dies of cholera once a week in the Rains, and gets drunk on chlorodyne in between. 'Good little chap, though.
You're all too conceited nothing's good enough for you. BLAYNE. Not even an empty Club, a dam' bad dinner at the Judge's, and a Station as sickly as a hospital. You're quite right. We're a set of Sybarites. DOONE. Luxurious dogs, wallowing in CURTISS. Prickly heat between the shoulders. I'm covered with it. Let's hope Beora will be cooler. BLAYNE. Whew! Are you ordered into camp, too?
BLAYNE. Go home and get a fool of a girl to come out to what is it Thackeray says? 'the splendid palace of an Indian pro-consul. DOONE. Which reminds me. My quarters leak like a sieve. I had fever last night from sleeping in a swamp. And the worst of it is, one can't do anything to a roof till the Rains are over. CURTISS. What's wrong with you?
What had Markyn to say for himself? BLAYNE. 'Seems that every one is having a fairly good time up there in spite of the rain. By Jove, that reminds me! I know I hadn't come across just for the pleasure of your society. News! Great news! Markyn told me. DOONE. Who's dead now? BLAYNE. No one that I know of; but Gaddy's hooked at last! DROPPING CHORUS. How much? The Devil!
Yes, I should decidedly like to be Gaddy. MACKESY. He'll go Home after he's married, and send in his papers see if he doesn't. BLAYNE. Why shouldn't he? Hasn't he money? Would any one of us be here if we weren't paupers? DOONE. Poor old pauper! What has became of the six hundred you rooked from our table last month? BLAYNE. It took unto itself wings.
You haven't eighty rotting Tommies to take into a running stream. DOONE. No: but I'm mixed boils and bad language. I'm a regular Job all over my body. It's sheer poverty of blood, and I don't see any chance of getting richer either way. BLAYNE. Can't you take leave? DOONE. That's the pull you Army men have over us. Ten days are nothing in your sight.
ANTHONY. He had to go to Simla to look after a globetrotter relative of his a person with a title. Uncle or aunt. BLAYNE. And there he got engaged. No law prevents a man growing tired of a woman. ANTHONY. Except that he mustn't do it till the woman is tired of him. And the Herriott woman was not that. CURTISS. She may be now. Two months of Naini Tal work wonders.
Deegie's influence would have led them to take other men's wives. It ought to have made them afraid of the judgment of Providence. ANTHONY. Mrs. Herriott will make Gaddy afraid of something more than the judgment of Providence, I fancy. BLAYNE. Supposing things are as you say, he'll be a fool to face her. He'll sit tight at Simla.
CURTISS. And a pair of be-ewtiful sambhur-horns for Doone to wear, free of expense, presented by DOONE. Yes, it's an enchanting prospect. By the way, the rupee hasn't done falling yet. The time will come when we shall think ourselves lucky if we only lose half our pay. CURTISS. Surely a third's loss enough. Who gains by the arrangement? That's what I want to know. BLAYNE. The Silver Question!
And I'm to be bridesmaid, aren't I? You know you promised ever so long ago. MISS T. Of course. I'll tell you all about it to-morrow. MISS D. What egg? Certain people of importance. SCENE. Smoking-room of the Deychi Club. Time, 10.30 P. M. of a stuffy night in the Rains. Four men dispersed in picturesque attitudes and easy-chairs. To these enter BLAYNE of the Irregular Moguls, in evening dress.
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