The Story of the Gadsbys

CAPT. G. ‘Must be – unless we’ve appropriated all the happiness in the world.

MRS. G. (Looking toward Simla.) Poor dears! Just fancy if we have!

CAPT. G. Then we’ll hang on to the whole show, for it’s a great deal too jolly to lose – eh, wife o’ mine?

MRS. G. O Pip! Pip! How much of you is a solemn, married man and how much a horrid slangy schoolboy?

CAPT. G. When you tell me how much of you was eighteen last birthday and how much is as old as the Sphinx and twice as mysterious, perhaps I’ll attend to you. Lend me that banjo. The spirit moveth me to jowl at the sunset.

MRS. G. Mind! It’s not tuned. Ah! How that jars!

CAPT G. (Turning pegs.) It’s amazingly different to keep a banjo to proper pitch.

MRS. G. It’s the same with all musical instruments, What shall it be?

CAPT. G. “Vanity,” and let the hills hear. (Sings through the first and hal’ of the second verse. Turning to MRS. G.) Now, chorus! Sing, Pussy!

BOTH TOGETHER. (Con brio, to the horror of the monkeys who are settling for the night.) —

“Vanity, all is Vanity,” said Wisdom, scorning me —
I clasped my true Love’s tender hand and answered frank and free-ee
“If this be Vanity who’d be wise? If this be Vanity who’d be wise?
If this be Vanity who’d be wi-ise (Crescendo.) Vanity let it be!”

MRS. G. (Defiantly to the grey of the evening sky.) “Vanity let it be!”

ECHO. (Prom the Fagoo spur.) Let it be!

FATIMA

And you may go in every room of the house and see everything that is there, but into the Blue Room you must not go. – The Story of Blue Beard.

SCENE. – The GADSBYS’ bungalow in the Plains. Time, 11 A. M. on a Sunday morning. Captain GADSBY, in his shirt-sleeves, is bending over a complete set of Hussar’s equipment, from saddle to picketing-rope, which is neatly spread over the floor of his study. He is smoking an unclean briar, and his forehead is puckered with thought.

CAPT. G. (To himself, fingering a headstall.) Jack’s an ass. There’s enough brass on this to load a mule – and, if the Americans know anything about anything, it can be cut down to a bit only. ‘Don’t want the watering-bridle, either. Humbug! – Half a dozen sets of chains and pulleys for one horse! Rot! (Scratching his head.) Now, let’s consider it all over from the be-ginning. By Jove, I’ve forgotten the scale of weights! Ne’er mind. ‘Keep the bit only, and eliminate every boss from the crupper to breastplate. No breastplate at all. Simple leather strap across the breast-like the Russians. Hi! Jack never thought of that!

MRS. G. (Entering hastily, her hand bound in a cloth.) Oh, Pip, I’ve scalded my hand over that horrid, horrid Tiparee jam!

CAPT. G. (Absently.) Eb! Wha-at?

MRS. G. (With round-eyed reproach.) I’ve scalded it aw-fully! Aren’t you sorry? And I did so want that jam to jam properly.

CAPT. G. Poor little woman! Let me kiss the place and make it well. (Unrolling bandage.) You small sinner! Where’s that scald? I can’t see it.

MRS. G. On the top of the little finger. There! – It’s a most ‘normous big burn!

CAPT. G. (Kissing little finger.) Baby! Let Hyder look after the jam. You know I don’t care for sweets.

MRS. G. In-deed? – Pip!

CAPT. G. Not of that kind, anyhow. And now run along, Minnie, and leave me to my own base devices. I’m busy.

MRS. G. (Calmly settling herself in long chair.) So I see. What a mess you’re making! Why have you brought all that smelly leather stuff into the house?

CAPT. G. To play with. Do you mind, dear?

MRS. G. Let me play too. I’d like it.

CAPT. G. I’m afraid you wouldn’t. Pussy – Don’t you think that jam will burn, or whatever it is that jam does when it’s not looked after by a clever little housekeeper?

MRS. G. I thought you said Hyder could attend to it. I left him in the veranda, stirring – when I hurt myself so.

CAPT. G. (His eye returning to the equipment.) Po-oor little woman! – Three pounds four and seven is three eleven, and that can be cut down to two eight, with just a lee-tle care, without weakening anything. Farriery is all rot in incompetent hands. What’s the use of a shoe-case when a man’s scouting? He can’t stick it on with a lick-like a stamp – the shoe! Skittles —

MRS. G. What’s skittles? Pah! What is this leather cleaned with?

CAPT. G. Cream and champagne and – Look here, dear, do you really want to talk to me about anything important?

MRS. G. No. I’ve done my accounts, and I thought I’d like to see what you’re doing.

CAPT. G. Well, love, now you’ve seen and – Would you mind? – That is to say – Minnie, I really am busy.

MRS. G. You want me to go?

CAPT. G, Yes, dear, for a little while. This tobacco will hang in your dress, and saddlery doesn’t interest you.

MRS. G. Everything you do interests me, Pip.

CAPT. G. Yes, I know, I know, dear. I’ll tell you all about it some day when I’ve put a head on this thing. In the meantime —

MRS. G. I’m to be turned out of the room like a troublesome child?

CAPT. G. No-o. I don’t mean that exactly. But, you see, I shall be tramping up and down, shifting these things to and fro, and I shall be in your way. Don’t you think so?

MRS. G. Can’t I lift them about? Let me try. (Reaches forward to trooper’s saddle.)

CAPT. G. Good gracious, child, don’t touch it. You’ll hurt yourself. (Picking up saddle.) Little girls aren’t expected to handle numdahs. Now, where would you like it put? (Holds saddle above his head.)

MRS. G. (A break in her voice.) Nowhere. Pip, how good you are – and how strong! Oh, what’s that ugly red streak inside your arm?

CAPT. G. (Lowering saddle quickly.) Nothing. It’s a mark of sorts. (Aside.) And Jack’s coming to tiffin with his notions all cut and dried!

MRS. G. I know it’s a mark, but I’ve never seen it before. It runs all up the arm. What is it?

CAPT. G. A cut – if you want to know.

MRS. G. Want to know! Of course I do! I can’t have my husband cut to pieces in this way. How did it come? Was it an accident? Tell me, Pip.