The Story of the Gadsbys. Rudyard Kipling

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      CAPT. G. (Looking bewilderedly at the tea-table.) Eggs! (Aside.) O Hades! She must have a nursery-tea at this hour. S’pose they’ve wiped her mouth and sent her to me while the Mother is getting on her duds. (Aloud.) No, thanks.

      Miss T. (Crimson with confusion.) Oh! I didn’t mean that. I wasn’t thinking of mou – eggs for an instant. I mean salt. Won’t you have some sa – sweets? (Aside.) He’ll think me a raving lunatic. I wish Mamma would come.

      CAPT. G. (Aside.) It was a nursery-tea and she’s ashamed of it. By Jove! She doesn’t look half bad when she colors up like that. (Aloud, helping himself from the dish.) Have you seen those new chocolates at Peliti’s?

      Miss T. No, I made these myself. What are they like?

      CAPT. G. These! De-licious. (Aside.) And that’s a fact.

      Miss T. (Aside.) Oh, bother! he’ll think I’m fishing for compliments. (Aloud.) No, Peliti’s of course.

      CAPT. G. (Enthusiastically.) Not to compare with these. How d’you make them? I can’t get my khansamah to understand the simplest thing beyond mutton and fowl.

      Miss T. Yes? I’m not a khansamah, you know. Perhaps you frighten him. You should never frighten a servant. He loses his head. It’s very bad policy.

      CAPT. G. He’s so awf’ly stupid.

      Miss T. (Folding her hands in her Zap.) You should call him quietly and say: “O khansamah jee!”

      CAPT. G. (Getting interested.) Yes? (Aside.) Fancy that little featherweight saying, “O khansamah jee” to my bloodthirsty Mir Khan!

      Miss T Then you should explain the dinner, dish by dish.

      CAPT. G. But I can’t speak the vernacular.

      Miss T. (Patronizingly.) You should pass the Higher Standard and try.

      CAPT. G. I have, but I don’t seem to be any the wiser. Are you?

      Miss T. I never passed the Higher Standard. But the khansamah is very patient with me. He doesn’t get angry when I talk about sheep’s topees, or order maunds of grain when I mean seers.

      CAPT. G. (Aside with intense indignation.) I’d like to see Mir Khan being rude to that girl! Hullo! Steady the Buffs! (Aloud.) And do you understand about horses, too?

      Miss T. A little – not very much. I can’t doctor them, but I know what they ought to eat, and I am in charge of our stable.

      CAPT. G. Indeed! You might help me then. What ought a man to give his sais in the Hills? My ruffian says eight rupees, because everything is so dear.

      Miss T. Six rupees a month, and one rupee Simla allowance – neither more nor less. And a grass-cut gets six rupees. That’s better than buying grass in the bazar.

      CAPT. G. (Admiringly.) How do you know?

      Miss T. I have tried both ways.

      CAPT. G. Do you ride much, then? I’ve never seen you on the Mall.

      Miss T. (Aside.) I haven’t passed him more than fifty times. (Aloud.) Nearly every day.

      CAPT. G. By Jove! I didn’t know that. Ha – Hamm (Pulls at his moustache and is silent for forty seconds.) Miss T. (Desperately, and wondering what will happen next.) It looks beautiful. I shouldn’t touch it if I were you. (Aside.) It’s all Mamma’s fault for not coming before. I will be rude!

      CAPT. G. (Bronzing under the tan and bringing down his hand very quickly.) Eh! What-at! Oh, yes! Ha! Ha! (Laughs uneasily.) (Aside.) Well, of all the dashed cheek! I never had a woman say that to me yet. She must be a cool hand or else – Ah! that nursery-tea!

      VOICE PROM THE UNKNOWN. Tchk! Tchk! Tchk!

      CAPT. G. Good gracious! What’s that?

      Miss T. The dog, I think. (Aside.) Emma has been listening, and I’ll never forgive her!

      CAPT. G. (Aside.) They don’t keep dogs here. (Aloud.) ‘Didn’t sound like a dog, did it?

      Miss T. Then it must have been the cat. Let’s go into the veranda. What a lovely evening it is!

      Steps into veranda and looks out across the hills into sunset. The CAPTAIN follows.

      CAPT. G. (Aside.) Superb eyes! I wonder that I never noticed them before! (Aloud.) There’s going to be a dance at Viceregal Lodge on Wednesday. Can you spare me one?

      Miss T. (Shortly.) No! I don’t want any of your charity-dances. You only ask me because Mamma told you to. I hop and I bump. You know I do!

      CAPT. G. (Aside.) That’s true, but little girls shouldn’t understand these things. (Aloud.) No, on my word, I don’t. You dance beautifully.

      Miss T. Then why do you always stand out after half a dozen turns? I thought officers in the Army didn’t tell fibs.

      CAPT. G. It wasn’t a fib, believe me. I really do want the pleasure of a dance with you.

      Miss T. (Wickedly.) Why? Won’t Mamma dance with you any more?

      CAPT. G. (More earnestly than the necessity demands.) I wasn’t thinking of your Mother. (Aside.) You little vixen!

      Miss T. (Still looking out of the window.) Eh? Oh, I beg your par don. I was thinking of something else.

      CAPT. G. (Aside.) Well! I wonder what she’ll say next. I’ve never known a woman treat me like this before. I might be – Dash it, I might be an Infantry subaltern! (Aloud.) Oh, please don’t trouble. I’m not worth thinking about. Isn’t your Mother ready yet?

      Miss T. I should think so; but promise me, Captain Gadsby, you won’t take poor dear Mamma twice round Jakko any more. It tires her so.

      CAPT. G. She says that no exercise tires her.

      Miss T. Yes, but she suffers afterward. You don’t know what rheumatism is, and you oughtn’t to keep her out so late, when it gets chill in the evenings.

      CAPT. G. (Aside.) Rheumatism. I thought she came off her horse rather in a bunch. Whew! One lives and learns. (Aloud.) I’m sorry to hear that. She hasn’t mentioned it to me.

      Miss T. (Flurried.) Of course not! Poor dear Mamma never would. And you mustn’t say that I told you either. Promise me that you won’t. Oh, CAPTAIN Gadsby, promise me you won’t!

      CAPT. G. I am dumb, or – I shall be as soon as you’ve given me that dance, and another – if you can trouble yourself to think about me for a minute.

      Miss T. But you won’t like it one little bit. You’ll be awfully sorry afterward.

      CAPT. G. I shall like it above all things, and I shall only be sorry that I didn’t get more. (Aside.) Now what in the world am I saying?

      Miss T. Very well. You will have only yourself to thank if your toes are trodden on. Shall we say Seven?

      CAPT. G. And Eleven. (Aside.) She can’t be more than eight stone, but, even then, it’s an absurdly small foot. (Looks at his own riding boots.)

      Miss T. They’re beautifully СКАЧАТЬ