(Quoting motto of
Irregular
Moguls.
Kipling - Poems
G.
(Spurring up wearily.
) Why did you keep me waiting so long?
Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.
(AN INTERVAL OF THREE WEEKS. )
GILDED YOUTH. (Sitting on railings opposite Town Hall. ) Hullo, Gadsby!
'Been trotting out the Gorgonzola! We all thought it was the Gorgon
you're mashing.
Capt. G. (With withering emphasis. ) You young cub! What the--does it
matter to you?
Proceeds to read GILDED YOUTH a lecture on discretion and deportment,
which crumbles latter like a Chinese Lantern. Departs fuming.
(FURTHER INTERVAL OF FIVE WEEKS. ) SCENE. Exterior of New Simla Library
on a foggy evening. Miss THREEGAN and Miss DEERCOURT meet among the
'rickshaws. Miss T. is carrying a bundle of books under her left arm.
Miss D. (Level intonation. ) Well?
Miss T. (Ascending intonation. ) Well?
Miss D. (Capturing her friend's left arm, taking away all the books,
placing books in 'rickshaw, returning to arm, securing hand by third
finger and investigating. ) Well! You bad girl! And you never told me.
Miss T. (Demurely. ) He--he--he only spoke yesterday afternoon.
Miss D. Bless you, dear! 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 tomorrow. (Gets into
'rickshaw. ) O Emma!
Miss D. (With intense interest. ) Yes, dear?
Miss T. (Piano. ) It's quite true--about-the-egg.
Miss D. What egg?
Miss T. (Pianissimo prestissimo. ) The egg without the salt. (Forte. )
Chalo ghar ko jaldi, jhampani! (Go home, jhampani. )
THE WORLD WITHOUT
Certain people of importance.
SCENE. Smoking-room of the Degchi 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.
BLAYNE. Phew! The Judge ought to be hanged in his own store-godown. Hi,
khitmatgar! Pour a whiskey-peg, to take the taste out of my mouth.
CURTISS. (Royal Artillery. ) That's it, is it? What the deuce made you
dine at the Judge's? You know his bandobust.
Blayne. 'Thought it couldn't be worse than the Club, but I'll swear he
buys ullaged liquor and doctors it with gin and ink (looking round the
room. ) Is this all of you tonight?
DOONE. (P. W. D. ) Anthony was called out at dinner. 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. Any one at the
Judge's, Blayne?
Blayne. Cockley and his memsahib looking awfully white and fagged.
Female girl--couldn'tcatch the name--on her way to the Hills,
under the Cockleys' charge--the Judge, and Markyn fresh from
Simla--disgustingly fit.
Curtiss. Good Lord, how truly magnificent! Was there enough ice? When I
mangled garbage there I got one whole lump--nearly as big as a walnut.
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'tcome 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 Gadsby's hooked at last!
DROPPING CHORUS. How much? The Devil! Markyn was pulling your leg. Not
GADSBY!
Blayne. (Humming. ) "Yea, verily, verily, verily! Verily, verily, I say
unto thee. " Theodore, the gift 'o God! Our Phillup! It's been given out
up above.
MACKESY. (Barrister-at-Law. ) Huh! 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. Gadsby turned pink and said it was so.
Curtiss. Poor old Caddy! They all do it. Who's she? Let's hear the
details.
Blayne. She's a girl--daughter of a Colonel Somebody.
Doone. Simla's stiff with Colonels' daughters. Be more explicit.
Blayne. Wait a shake. What was her name? Thresomething. Three--
Curtiss. Stars, perhaps. Caddy knows that brand.
Blayne. Threegan--Minnie Threegan.
Mackesy. Threegan Isn't she a little bit of a girl with red hair?
Blayne. 'Bout that--from what from what Markyn said.
Mackesy. Then I've met her. She was at Lucknow last season. 'Owned a
permanently juvenile Mamma, and danced damnably. I say, Jervoise, you
knew the Threegans, didn't you?
JERVOISE. (Civilian of twenty-five years' service, waking up from his
doze. ) Eh? What's that? Knew who? How? I thought I was at Home, confound
you!
Mackesy. The Threegan girl's engaged, so Blayne says.
Jervoise. (Slowly. ) Engaged--en-gaged! Bless my soul! I'm getting an old
man! Little Minnie Threegan engaged. It was only the other day I went
home with them in the Surat--no, the Massilia--and she was crawling
about on her hands and knees among the ayahs. 'Used to call me the
"Tick Tack Sahib" because I showed her my watch. And that was in
Sixty-Seven--no, Seventy. Good God, how time flies! I'm an old man.
I remember when Threegan married Miss Derwent--daughter of old Hooky
Derwent--but that was before your time. And so the little baby's engaged
to have a little baby of her own! Who's the other fool?
Mackesy. Gadsby of the Pink Hussars.
Jervoise. 'Never met him. Threegan lived in debt, married in debt,
and'll die in debt. 'Must be glad to get the girl off his hands.
Blayne. Caddy has money--lucky devil. Place at Home, too.
Doone. He comes of first-class stock. 'Can't quite understand his being
caught by a Colonel's daughter, and (looking cautiously round room. )
Black Infantry at that! No offence to you, Blayne.
Blayne. (Stiffly. ) Not much, thaanks.
Curtiss.
(Quoting motto of Irregular Moguls. ) "We are what we are," eh,
old man? But Gadsby was such a superior animal as a rule. Why didn't he
go Home and pick his wife there?
Mackesy. They are all alike when they come to the turn into the
straight. About thirty a man begins to get sick of living alone.
Curtiss. And of the eternal mutton--chop in the morning.
Doone. It's a dead goat as a rule, but go on, Mackesy.
Mackesy. If a man's once taken that way nothing will hold him, Do you
remember Benoit of your service, Doone? They transferred him to Tharanda
when his time came, and he married a platelayer's daughter, or something
of that kind. She was the only female about the place.
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! Gadsby 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 honor in marrying her. 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? I thought the Gunners had
a clean sheet.
Curtiss. No, worse luck. Two cases yesterday--one died--and if we have a
third, out we go. Is there any shooting at Beora, Doone?
Doone. The country's under water, except the patch by the Grand Trunk
Road. I was there yesterday, looking at a bund, and came across four
poor devils in their last stage. It's rather bad from here to Kuchara.
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? Mackesy is fine on moral grounds. Done, have you any
preference?
Doone. Small glass Kummel, please. Excellent carminative, these days.
Anthony told me so.
Mackesy. (Signing voucher for four drinks. ) Most unfair punishment.
I only thought of Curtiss as Actaeon being chivied round the billiard
tables by the nymphs of Diana.
Blayne. Curtiss would have to import his nymphs by train. Mrs. Cockley's
the only woman in the Station. She won't leave Cockley, and he's doing
his best to get her to go.
Curtiss. Good, indeed! Here's Mrs. Cockley's health. To the only wife in
the Station and a damned brave woman!
OMNES. (Drinking. ) A damned brave woman
Blayne. I suppose Gadsby will bring his wife here at the end of the cold
weather. They are going to be married almost immediately, I believe.
Curtiss. Gadsby may thank his luck that the Pink Hussars are all
detachment and no headquarters this hot weather, or he'd be torn
from the arms of his love as sure as death. Have you ever noticed the
thorough-minded way British Cavalry take to cholera? It's because they
are so expensive. If the Pinks had stood fast here, they would have been
out in camp a month ago. Yes, I should decidedly like to be Gadsby.
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 become of the six hundred you rooked
from our table last month?
Blayne. It took unto itself wings. I think an enterprising tradesman got
some of it, and a shroff gobbled the rest--or else I spent it.
Curtiss. Gadsby never had dealings with a shroff in his life.
Doone. Virtuous Gadsby! If I had three thousand a month, paid from
England, I don't think I'd deal with a shroff either.
Mackesy. (Yawning. ) Oh, it's a sweet life! I wonder whether matrimony
would make it sweeter.
Curtiss. Ask Cockley--with his wife dying by inches!
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? 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. I'm so important that Government can't find a substitute
if I go away. Ye-es, I'd like to be Gadsby, 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.
Doone. Exactly. Because she stays down here. The only way to keep her
fit would be to send her to the Hills for eight months--and the same
with any woman. I fancy I see myself taking a wife on those terms.
Mackesy. With the rupee at one and sixpence. The little Doones would be
little Debra Doones, with a fine Mussoorie @chi-chi anent to bring home
for the holidays.
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! 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.
Mingle might just as well have called him in the first place, instead of
bothering me.
Blayne. He's a nervous little chap. What has he got, this time?
Anthony. 'Can't quite say. A very bad tummy and a blue funk so far. He
asked me at once if it was cholera, and I told him not to be a fool.
That soothed him.
Curtiss. Poor devil! The funk does half the business in a man of that
build.
Anthony. (Lighting a cheroot. ) I firmly believe the funk will kill him
if he stays down. You know the amount of trouble he's been giving Fewton
for the last three weeks. He's doing his very best to frighten himself
into the grave.
GENERAL CHORUS. Poor little devil! Why doesn't he get away?
Anthony. 'Can't. He has his leave all right, but he's so dipped he can't
take it, and I don't think his name on paper would raise four annas.
Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.
(AN INTERVAL OF THREE WEEKS. )
GILDED YOUTH. (Sitting on railings opposite Town Hall. ) Hullo, Gadsby!
'Been trotting out the Gorgonzola! We all thought it was the Gorgon
you're mashing.
Capt. G. (With withering emphasis. ) You young cub! What the--does it
matter to you?
Proceeds to read GILDED YOUTH a lecture on discretion and deportment,
which crumbles latter like a Chinese Lantern. Departs fuming.
(FURTHER INTERVAL OF FIVE WEEKS. ) SCENE. Exterior of New Simla Library
on a foggy evening. Miss THREEGAN and Miss DEERCOURT meet among the
'rickshaws. Miss T. is carrying a bundle of books under her left arm.
Miss D. (Level intonation. ) Well?
Miss T. (Ascending intonation. ) Well?
Miss D. (Capturing her friend's left arm, taking away all the books,
placing books in 'rickshaw, returning to arm, securing hand by third
finger and investigating. ) Well! You bad girl! And you never told me.
Miss T. (Demurely. ) He--he--he only spoke yesterday afternoon.
Miss D. Bless you, dear! 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 tomorrow. (Gets into
'rickshaw. ) O Emma!
Miss D. (With intense interest. ) Yes, dear?
Miss T. (Piano. ) It's quite true--about-the-egg.
Miss D. What egg?
Miss T. (Pianissimo prestissimo. ) The egg without the salt. (Forte. )
Chalo ghar ko jaldi, jhampani! (Go home, jhampani. )
THE WORLD WITHOUT
Certain people of importance.
SCENE. Smoking-room of the Degchi 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.
BLAYNE. Phew! The Judge ought to be hanged in his own store-godown. Hi,
khitmatgar! Pour a whiskey-peg, to take the taste out of my mouth.
CURTISS. (Royal Artillery. ) That's it, is it? What the deuce made you
dine at the Judge's? You know his bandobust.
Blayne. 'Thought it couldn't be worse than the Club, but I'll swear he
buys ullaged liquor and doctors it with gin and ink (looking round the
room. ) Is this all of you tonight?
DOONE. (P. W. D. ) Anthony was called out at dinner. 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. Any one at the
Judge's, Blayne?
Blayne. Cockley and his memsahib looking awfully white and fagged.
Female girl--couldn'tcatch the name--on her way to the Hills,
under the Cockleys' charge--the Judge, and Markyn fresh from
Simla--disgustingly fit.
Curtiss. Good Lord, how truly magnificent! Was there enough ice? When I
mangled garbage there I got one whole lump--nearly as big as a walnut.
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'tcome 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 Gadsby's hooked at last!
DROPPING CHORUS. How much? The Devil! Markyn was pulling your leg. Not
GADSBY!
Blayne. (Humming. ) "Yea, verily, verily, verily! Verily, verily, I say
unto thee. " Theodore, the gift 'o God! Our Phillup! It's been given out
up above.
MACKESY. (Barrister-at-Law. ) Huh! 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. Gadsby turned pink and said it was so.
Curtiss. Poor old Caddy! They all do it. Who's she? Let's hear the
details.
Blayne. She's a girl--daughter of a Colonel Somebody.
Doone. Simla's stiff with Colonels' daughters. Be more explicit.
Blayne. Wait a shake. What was her name? Thresomething. Three--
Curtiss. Stars, perhaps. Caddy knows that brand.
Blayne. Threegan--Minnie Threegan.
Mackesy. Threegan Isn't she a little bit of a girl with red hair?
Blayne. 'Bout that--from what from what Markyn said.
Mackesy. Then I've met her. She was at Lucknow last season. 'Owned a
permanently juvenile Mamma, and danced damnably. I say, Jervoise, you
knew the Threegans, didn't you?
JERVOISE. (Civilian of twenty-five years' service, waking up from his
doze. ) Eh? What's that? Knew who? How? I thought I was at Home, confound
you!
Mackesy. The Threegan girl's engaged, so Blayne says.
Jervoise. (Slowly. ) Engaged--en-gaged! Bless my soul! I'm getting an old
man! Little Minnie Threegan engaged. It was only the other day I went
home with them in the Surat--no, the Massilia--and she was crawling
about on her hands and knees among the ayahs. 'Used to call me the
"Tick Tack Sahib" because I showed her my watch. And that was in
Sixty-Seven--no, Seventy. Good God, how time flies! I'm an old man.
I remember when Threegan married Miss Derwent--daughter of old Hooky
Derwent--but that was before your time. And so the little baby's engaged
to have a little baby of her own! Who's the other fool?
Mackesy. Gadsby of the Pink Hussars.
Jervoise. 'Never met him. Threegan lived in debt, married in debt,
and'll die in debt. 'Must be glad to get the girl off his hands.
Blayne. Caddy has money--lucky devil. Place at Home, too.
Doone. He comes of first-class stock. 'Can't quite understand his being
caught by a Colonel's daughter, and (looking cautiously round room. )
Black Infantry at that! No offence to you, Blayne.
Blayne. (Stiffly. ) Not much, thaanks.
Curtiss.
(Quoting motto of Irregular Moguls. ) "We are what we are," eh,
old man? But Gadsby was such a superior animal as a rule. Why didn't he
go Home and pick his wife there?
Mackesy. They are all alike when they come to the turn into the
straight. About thirty a man begins to get sick of living alone.
Curtiss. And of the eternal mutton--chop in the morning.
Doone. It's a dead goat as a rule, but go on, Mackesy.
Mackesy. If a man's once taken that way nothing will hold him, Do you
remember Benoit of your service, Doone? They transferred him to Tharanda
when his time came, and he married a platelayer's daughter, or something
of that kind. She was the only female about the place.
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! Gadsby 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 honor in marrying her. 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? I thought the Gunners had
a clean sheet.
Curtiss. No, worse luck. Two cases yesterday--one died--and if we have a
third, out we go. Is there any shooting at Beora, Doone?
Doone. The country's under water, except the patch by the Grand Trunk
Road. I was there yesterday, looking at a bund, and came across four
poor devils in their last stage. It's rather bad from here to Kuchara.
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? Mackesy is fine on moral grounds. Done, have you any
preference?
Doone. Small glass Kummel, please. Excellent carminative, these days.
Anthony told me so.
Mackesy. (Signing voucher for four drinks. ) Most unfair punishment.
I only thought of Curtiss as Actaeon being chivied round the billiard
tables by the nymphs of Diana.
Blayne. Curtiss would have to import his nymphs by train. Mrs. Cockley's
the only woman in the Station. She won't leave Cockley, and he's doing
his best to get her to go.
Curtiss. Good, indeed! Here's Mrs. Cockley's health. To the only wife in
the Station and a damned brave woman!
OMNES. (Drinking. ) A damned brave woman
Blayne. I suppose Gadsby will bring his wife here at the end of the cold
weather. They are going to be married almost immediately, I believe.
Curtiss. Gadsby may thank his luck that the Pink Hussars are all
detachment and no headquarters this hot weather, or he'd be torn
from the arms of his love as sure as death. Have you ever noticed the
thorough-minded way British Cavalry take to cholera? It's because they
are so expensive. If the Pinks had stood fast here, they would have been
out in camp a month ago. Yes, I should decidedly like to be Gadsby.
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 become of the six hundred you rooked
from our table last month?
Blayne. It took unto itself wings. I think an enterprising tradesman got
some of it, and a shroff gobbled the rest--or else I spent it.
Curtiss. Gadsby never had dealings with a shroff in his life.
Doone. Virtuous Gadsby! If I had three thousand a month, paid from
England, I don't think I'd deal with a shroff either.
Mackesy. (Yawning. ) Oh, it's a sweet life! I wonder whether matrimony
would make it sweeter.
Curtiss. Ask Cockley--with his wife dying by inches!
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? 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. I'm so important that Government can't find a substitute
if I go away. Ye-es, I'd like to be Gadsby, 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.
Doone. Exactly. Because she stays down here. The only way to keep her
fit would be to send her to the Hills for eight months--and the same
with any woman. I fancy I see myself taking a wife on those terms.
Mackesy. With the rupee at one and sixpence. The little Doones would be
little Debra Doones, with a fine Mussoorie @chi-chi anent to bring home
for the holidays.
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! 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.
Mingle might just as well have called him in the first place, instead of
bothering me.
Blayne. He's a nervous little chap. What has he got, this time?
Anthony. 'Can't quite say. A very bad tummy and a blue funk so far. He
asked me at once if it was cholera, and I told him not to be a fool.
That soothed him.
Curtiss. Poor devil! The funk does half the business in a man of that
build.
Anthony. (Lighting a cheroot. ) I firmly believe the funk will kill him
if he stays down. You know the amount of trouble he's been giving Fewton
for the last three weeks. He's doing his very best to frighten himself
into the grave.
GENERAL CHORUS. Poor little devil! Why doesn't he get away?
Anthony. 'Can't. He has his leave all right, but he's so dipped he can't
take it, and I don't think his name on paper would raise four annas.
