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Here, Gaddy, take the chit to Bingle and ride hell-for-leather. It'll do you good. I can't go. JUNIOR CHAPLAIN. Do him good! Let him lie down. Your horse is blocking my cart please! On paper if you like. Turn in, Gadsby, and I'll bring Bingle back ahem 'hell-for-leather. He can drive too. I shouldn't care to go that pace in a bamboo cart. What a faith he must have in his Maker of harness!
Isn't the best squadron of the best regiment of the best cavalry in all the world good enough for you? M. Does she say that she doesn't like India? G. That's the worst of it. She won't for fear of leaving me. M. What are the Hills made for? G. Not for my wife at any rate. M. You know too much, Gaddy, and I don't like you any the better for it! G. Never mind that.
I don't suppose my father can last much longer, and that means the title, and so on. Take six months, then, and come out in October. If I could slay off a brother or two, I s'pose I should be a Marquis of sorts. Any fool can be that; but it needs men, Gaddy men like you to lead flanking squadrons properly.
DOONE. Yes, poor brute. That smashed Benoit's chances of promotion altogether. Mrs. Benoit used to ask: 'Was you goin' to the dance this evenin'? CURTISS. Hang it all! Gaddy hasn't married beneath him. There's no tar-brush in the family, I suppose. JERVOISE. Tar-brush! Not an anna. You young fellows talk as though the man was doing the girl an honour in marrying her.
I'm so important that Government can't find a substitute if I go away. Ye-es, I'd like to be Gaddy, whoever his wife may be. CURTISS. You've passed the turn of life that Mackesy was speaking of. DOONE. Indeed I have, but I never yet had the brutality to ask a woman to share my life out here. BLAYNE. On my soul I believe you're right. I'm thinking of Mrs. Cockley. The woman's an absolute wreck.
They return and M. compounds a four-finger peg. CAPT. G. O bus! bus! It'll make me as drunk as an owl. CAPT. M. Curious thing, 'twon't have the slightest effect on you. Drink it off, chuck yourself down there, and go to bye-bye. CAPT. G. It's absurd. I shan't sleep. I know I shan't! Falls into heavy doze at end of seven minutes. CAPT. M. watches him tenderly. CAPT. M. Poor old Gaddy!
Markyn was pulling your leg. Not GADDY! Verily, verily, I say unto thee. Theodore, the gift o' God! Our Phillup! It's been given out up above. Women will give out anything. What does accused say? BLAYNE. Markyn told me that he congratulated him warily one hand held out, t'other ready to guard. Gaddy turned pink and said it was so. CURTISS. Poor old Gaddy! They all do it. Who's she?
One hundred and thirty-seven new horses to be licked into shape somehow before Luck comes round again; a hairy-heeled draft who'll give more trouble than the horses; a camp next cold weather for a certainty; ourselves the first on the roster; the Russian shindy ready to come to a head at five minutes' notice, and you, the best of us all, backing out of it all! Think a little, Gaddy.
CURTISS. Then we're pretty certain to have a heavy go of it. Heigho! I shouldn't mind changing places with Gaddy for a while. 'Sport with Amaryllis in the shade of the Town Hall, and all that. Oh, why doesn't somebody come and marry me, instead of letting me go into cholera camp? MACKESY. Ask the Committee. CURTISS. You ruffian! You'll stand me another peg for that. Blayne, what will you take?
It's a heathen custom. Give me the big bag. Bride slips out quietly into 'rickshaw and departs towards the sunset. So much, the worse for Gaddy! Here he is. Now Gaddy, this'll be livelier than Amdheran! Where's your horse? CAPT. M. Half-way to Mahasu by this time. You'll have to ride like Young Lochinvar. Horse comes round on his hind legs; refuses to let G. handle him.
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