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I'm going to bed if you begin squabbling. Thank Goodness, here's Anthony looking like a ghost. Enter ANTHONY, Indian Medical Staff, very white and tired. ANTHONY. 'Evening, Blayne. It's raining in sheets. Whiskey-peg, lao, Khitmatgar. The roads are something ghastly. CURTISS. How's Mingle? ANTHONY. Very bad, and more frightened. I handed him over to Fewton.
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.
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