Rudyard Kipling

“ MRS. H. You call yourself a man of the world, don't you? Do men of the world behave like Devils when they a woman the honor to get tired of her?
CAPT. G. I'm sure I don't know. Don't speak so loud!
MRS. H. Keep us respectable, O Lord, whatever happens. Don't be afraid of my compromising you. You've chosen your ground far too well, and I've been properly brought up. (Lowering fan.) Haven't you any pity, Pip, except for yourself? ”

“ CAPT. M. I remember a man, though, who told me, the night after Amdheran, when we were picketed under Jagai, and he'd left his sword—by the way, did you ever pay Ranken for that sword?—in an Utmanzai's head—that man told me that he'd stick by me and the Pinks as long as he lived. I don't blame him for not sticking by me—I'm not much of a man—but I do blame him for not sticking by the Pink Hussars.
CAPT. G. (Uneasily.) We were little more than boys then. Can't you see, Jack, how things stand? 'Tisn't as if we were serving for our bread. We've all of us, more or less, got the filthy lucre. ”

“ I don't know why I'm telling you, Pip; but if ever you marry again- (Interlude.) Take your hand from my mouth or I'll bite! In the future, then remember—I don't know quite how to put it!
CAPT. G. (Snorting indignantly.) Don't try. “Marry again,” indeed!
MRS. G. I must. Listen, my husband. Never, never, never tell your wife anything that you do not wish her to remember and think over all her life. Because a woman—yes, I am a woman—can't forget. ”

“ CURTISS. How's Mingle?
ANTHONY. Very bad, and more frightened. I handed him over to Few-ton. 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.
CURTIS. 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. ”

“ I ought to be proud of having kept such a man so long.
Capt. G. (aside) .—It only remains to pray for the end of the dinner. (Aloud.) You know what I think of myself.
Mrs. H.—As it's the only person in the world you ever do think of, and as I know your mind thoroughly—I do. You want to get it all over and . . . Oh, I can't keep you back! And you're going—think of it, Pip—to throw me over for another woman. And you swore that all other women were . . . Pip, my Pip! She can't care for you as I do. Believe me, she can't! Is it any one that I know? ”

“ Miss THREEGAN. (Extracting long lavender silk stocking from the rubbish.) You know him better than I do.
Miss D. Oh, do be sympathetic, Minnie! I'm sure he does. At least I would be sure if he wasn't always riding with that odious Mrs. Hagan.
Miss T. I suppose so. How does one manage to dance through one's heels first? Look at this—isn't it shameful? (Spreads stocking—heel on open hand for inspection.)
Miss D. Never mind that! You can't mend it. Help me with this hateful bodice. I've run the string so, and I've run the string so, and I can't make the fulness come right. ”

“ I say, aren't we much too soon? There are no end of people inside. I say, aren't we much too late? Stick by me, Jack! What the devil do I do?
CAPT. M. Strike an attitude at the head of the aisle and wait for Her. (G. groans as M. wheels him into position before three hundred eyes.)
CAPT. M. (Imploringly.) Gaddy, if you love me, for pity's sake, for the Honor of the Regiment, stand up! Chuck yourself into your uniform! Look like a man! I've got to speak to the Padre a minute. (G. breaks into a gentle Perspiration.) your face I'll never man again. Stand up! ”

“ Have you heard about Gandy?
ANTHONY. No. Divorce Court at last?
BLAYNE. Worse. He's engaged!
ANTHONY. How much? He can't be!
BLAYNE. He is. He's going to be married in a few weeks. Markyn told me at the Judge's this evening. It's pukka.
ANTHONY. You don't say so? Holy Moses! There'll be a shine in the tents of Kedar.
CURTISS. 'Regiment cut up rough, think you?
ANTHONY. 'Don't know anything about the Regiment.
MACKESY. It is bigamy, then?
ANTHONY. Maybe. Do you mean to say that you men have forgotten, or is there more charity in the world than I thought? ”

“ CAPT. G. Good-morning, little woman. How are we to-day?
VOICE. That's Phil. Poor old Phil. (Viciously.) Phil, you fool, I can't see you. Come nearer.
CAPT. G. Minnie! Minnie! It's me—you know me?
VOICE. (Mockingly.) Of course I do. Who does not know the man who was so cruel to his wife—almost the only one he ever had? ”

“ Ye-es, I'd like to be Gandy, whoever his wife may be.
CURTISS. You've passed the turn of life that Mackesy was speaking of.
DONE. 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.
DONE. 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. ”

“ Captain G.—Here! Because we care for each other. So it's all right.
Mrs. G. (as a troop of grey monkeys crash through the branches) .—So it's all right. But Darwin says that we came from those!
Captain G. (placidly) .—Ah! Darwin was never in love with an angel. That settles it. Sstt, you brutes! Monkeys, indeed! You shouldn't read those books.
Mrs. G. (folding her hands) .—If it pleaseth my Lord the King to issue proclamation ——
Captain G.—Don't, dear one. There are no orders between us. Only I'd rather you didn't. They lead to nothing and bother people's heads. ”

“ H.—Watch! (Sends a glance to the Vaynor man, who tries vainly to combine a mouthful of ice pudding, a smirk of self-satisfaction, a glare of intense devotion and the stolidity of a British dining countenance.)
Capt. G. (critically) .—He doesn't look pretty. Why didn't you wait till the spoon was out of his mouth?
Mrs. H.—To amuse you. She'll make an exhibition of you as I've made of him; and people will laugh at you. O, Pip, can't you see that? It's as plain as the noonday sun. You'll be trotted about and told lies, and made a fool of like the others. ”

“ 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.
DONE. 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? DONE. That's the pull you Army men have over us. Ten days are nothing in your sight. ”

“ Voice.—I thought so. Why didn't you tell me that at first?
Captain G.—What?
Voice.—That I am going to . . . die.
Captain G.—But you aren't! You shan't!
Ayah (stepping into verandah after a glance at the bed) .—Coolie boy—stop pulling punkah.
Voice.—It's hard, Pip. So very, very hard after one year—just one year. (Wailing.) And I'm only twenty. Most girls aren't even married at twenty. Can't they do anything to help me? I don't want to die. ”

“ G. (lowering voice) .—It never passes with me, Jack. I'm always thinking about it. Phil Gadsby funking a fall on parade! Sweet picture, isn't it? Draw it for me.
M. (gravely) .—Heaven forbid! A man like you can't be as bad as that. A fall is no nice thing, but one never gives it a thought.
G.—Doesn't one? Wait till you've got a wife and a youngster of your own, and then you'll know how the roar of the squadron behind you turns you cold all up the back. ”

“ Captain G.—Little Featherweight, it's my opinion that we are a couple of idiots.
Mrs. G.—We're the only two sensible people in the world! Ask the eagle. He's coming by.
Captain G.—Ah! I dare say he's seen a good many sensible people at Mahasu. They say that those birds live for ever so long.
Mrs. G.—How long?
Captain G.—A hundred and twenty years.
Mrs. G.—A hundred and twenty years! O-oh! And in a hundred and twenty years where will these two sensible people be? ”

“ DOCTOR. Don't mind what she says at first, if you can. They—they-they turn against those they love most sometimes in this.—It's hard, but—
CAPT. G. Am I her husband or are you? Leave us alone for what time we have together. ”

“ Any fool can be that; but it needs men, Gaddy—men like you—to lead flanking squadrons properly. Don't you delude yourself into the belief that you're going Home to take your place and prance about among pink-nosed Kabuli dowagers. You aren't built that way. I know better.
CAPT. G. A man has a right to live his life as happily as he can. You aren't married. ”

“ CAPT. M. For your life and your love-ride, Gaddy—And God bless you!
Throws half a pound of rice at G. who disappears, bowed forward on the saddle, in a cloud of sunlit dust.
CAPT. M. I've lost old Gaddy. (Lights cigarette and strolls off, singing absently) :—
“You may carve it on his tombstone, you may cut it on his card, That a young man married is a young man marred!”
Miss DEERCOURT. (From her horse.) Really, Captain Mafflin! You are more plain spoken than polite!
CAPT. M. (Aside.) They say marriage is like cholera. 'Wonder who'll be the next victim. ”

“ 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. ”

“ And I know he has nothing more than a wet-weather tummy if he could only keep a hand on himself.
BLAYNE. That's bad. That's very bad. Poor little Miggy. Good little chap, too. I say—
ANTHONY. What do you say?
BLAYNE. Well, look here—anyhow. If it's like that—as you say—I say fifty.
CURTISS. I say fifty.
MACKESY. I go twenty better.
DONE. Bloated Croesus of the Bar! I say fifty. Jervoise, what do you say? Hi! Wake up!
JERVOISE. Eh? What's that? What's that?
CURTISS. We want a hundred rupees from you. You're a bachelor drawing a gigantic income, and there's a man in a hole. ”

“ You never intend to leave us. You can't. Isn't the best squadron of the best regiment of the best cavalry in all the world good enough for you?
CAPT. G. (Jerking his head over his shoulder.) She doesn't seem to thrive in this God-forsaken country, and there's The Butcha to be considered and all that, you know.
CAPT. M. Does she say that she doesn't like India?
CAPT. G. That's the worst of it. She won't for fear of leaving me.
CAPT. M. What are the Hills made for?
CAPT. G. Not for my wife, at any rate.
CAPT. M. You know too much, Gaddy, and—I don't like you any the better for it! ”

“ I'm awfully happy, but I don't mind telling you that I'm in a blue funk!
CAPT. M. (Gravely.) Are you? I should never have noticed it. You don't look like it.
CAPT. G. Don't I? That's all right. (Spinning round.) On my soul and honor, Jack, She's the sweetest little angel that ever came down from the sky. There isn't a woman on earth fit to speak to Her.
CAPT. M. (Aside.) And this is old Gandy! (Aloud.) Go on if it relieves you.
CAPT. G. You can laugh! That's all you wild asses of bachelors are fit for.
CAPT. M. (Drawling.) You never would wait for the troop to come up. ”

“ If thou hast run with the footmen and they have wearied thee, then how canst thou contend with horses? And if in the land of peace wherein thou trustedst they wearied thee, then how wilt thou do in the swelling of Jordan? ”

“ Mrs. G.—It's impertinent—it's simply horrid. What right has this woman to write in this way to you? She oughtn't to.
Captain G.—When you write to the Deercourt girl I notice that you generally fill three or four sheets. Can't you let an old woman babble on paper once in a way? She means well.
Mrs. G.—I don't care. She shouldn't write, and if she did, you ought to have shown me her letter.
Captain G.—Can't you understand why I kept it to myself, or must I explain at length—as I explained the farcy-buds? ”