Rudyard Kipling: 440+ Short Stories in One Edition (Illustrated). Редьярд Джозеф Киплинг

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.

      CAPT. G. (Grimly.) No. 'Twasn't an accident. I got it—from a man—in Afghanistan.

      MRS. G. In action? Oh, Pip, and you never told me!

      CAPT. G. I'd forgotten all about it.

      MRS. G. Hold up your arm! What a horrid, ugly scar! Are you sure it doesn't hurt now? How did the man give it you?

      CAPT. G. (Desperately looking at his watch.) With a knife. I came down—old Van Loo did, that's to say—and fell on my leg, so I couldn't run. And then this man came up and began chopping at me as I sprawled.

      MRS. G. Oh, don't, don't! That's enough!—Well, what happened?

      CAPT. G. I couldn't get to my holster, and Mafflin came round the corner and stopped the performance.

      MRS. G. How? He's such a lazy man, I don't believe he did.

      CAPT. G. Don't you? I don't think the man had much doubt about it. Jack cut his head off.

      MRS. G. Cut—his—head—off! 'With one blow,' as they say in the books?

      CAPT. G. I'm not sure. I was too interested in myself to know much about it. Anyhow, the head was off, and Jack was punching old Van Loo in the ribs to make him get up. Now you know all about it, dear, and now—

      MRS. G. You want me to go, of course. You never told me about this, though I've been married to you for ever so long; and you never would have told me if I hadn't found out; and you never do tell me anything about yourself, or what you do, or what you take an interest in.

      CAPT. G. Darling, I'm always with you, aren't I?

      MRS. G. Always in my pocket, you were going to say. I know you are; but you are always thinking away from me.

      CAPT. G. (Trying to hide a smile.) Am I? I wasn't aware of it. I'm awf'ly sorry.

      MRS. G. (Piteously.) Oh, don't make fun of me! Pip, you know what I mean. When you are reading one of those things about Cavalry, by that idiotic Prince—why doesn't he be a Prince instead of a stable-boy?

      CAPT. G. Prince Kraft a stable-boy—Oh, my Aunt! Never mind, dear. You were going to say?

      MRS. G. It doesn't matter; you don't care for what I say. Only—only you get up and walk about the room, staring in front of you, and then Mafflin comes in to dinner, and after I'm in the drawing-room I can hear you and him talking, and talking, and talking, about things I can't understand, and—oh, I get so tired and feel so lonely!—I don't want to complain and be a trouble, Pip; but I do—indeed I do!

      CAPT. G. My poor darling! I never thought of that. Why don't you ask some nice people in to dinner?

      MRS. G. Nice people! Where am I to find them? Horrid frumps! And if I did, I shouldn't be amused. You know I only want you.

      CAPT. G. And you have me surely, Sweetheart?

      MRS. G. I have not! Pip, why don't you take me into your life?

      CAPT. G. More than I do? That would be difficult, dear.

      MRS. G. Yes, I suppose it would—to you. I'm no help to you—no companion to you; and you like to have it so.

      CAPT. G. Aren't you a little unreasonable, Pussy?

      MRS. G. (Stamping her foot.) I'm the most reasonable woman in the world—when I'm treated properly.

      CAPT. G. And since when have I been treating you improperly?

      MRS. G. Always—and since the beginning. You know you have.

      CAPT. G. I don't; but I'm willing to be convinced.

      MRS. G. (Pointing to saddlery.) There!

      CAPT. G. How do you mean?

      MRS. G. What does all that mean? Why am I not to be told? Is it so precious?

      CAPT. G. I forget its exact Government value just at present. It means that it is a great deal too heavy.

      MRS. G. Then why do you touch it?

      CAPT. G. To make it lighter. See here, little love, I've one notion and Jack has another, but we are both agreed that all this equipment is about thirty pounds too heavy. The thing is how to cut it down without weakening any part of it, and, at the same time, allowing the trooper to carry everything he wants for his own comfort—socks and shirts and things of that kind.

      MRS. G. Why doesn't he pack them in a little trunk?

      CAPT. G. (Kissing her.) Oh, you darling! Pack them in a little trunk, indeed! Hussars don't carry trunks, and it's a most important thing to make the horse do all the carrying.

      MRS. G. But why need you bother about it? You're not a trooper.

      CAPT. G. No; but I command a few score of him; and equipment is nearly everything in these