Complete Works of Rudyard Kipling (Illustrated) (170 page)

‘“Ye’re a bould man,” sez he, breathin’ harrd. “A very bould man. But I am a bould man tu. Do you go your way, Privit Mulvaney, an’ I will go mine.”

‘We had no further spache thin or afther, but, wan by another, he drafted the twelve av my room out into other rooms an’ got thim spread among the Comp’nies, for they was not a good breed to live together, an’ the Comp ‘ny orf’cers saw ut. They wud ha’ shot me in the night av they had known fwhat I knew; but that they did not.

‘An’, in the ind, as I said, O’Hara met his death from Rafferty for foolin’ wid his wife. He wint his own way too well — Eyah, too well! Shtraight to that affair, widout turnin’ to the right or to the lef’, he wint, an’ may the Lord have mercy on his sowl. Amin!’

‘‘Ear! ‘Ear!’ said Ortheris, pointing the moral with a wave of his pipe. ‘An’ this is ‘im ‘oo would be a bloomin’ Vulmea all for the sake of Mullins an’ a bloomin’ button! Mullins never went after a woman in his life. Mrs. Mullins, she saw ‘im one day — ’

‘Ortheris,’ I said, hastily, for the romances of Private Ortheris are all too daring for publication, ‘look at the sun. It’s a quarter past six!’

‘O Lord! Three quarters of an hour for five an’ a ‘arf miles! We’ll ‘ave to run like Jimmy O.’

The Three Musketeers clambered on to the bridge, and departed hastily in the direction of the cantonment road. When I overtook them I offered them two stirrups and a tail, which they accepted enthusiastically. Ortheris held the tail, and in this manner we trotted steadily through the shadows by an unfrequented road.

At the turn into the cantonments we heard carriage wheels. It was the Colonel’s barouche, and in it sat the Colonel’s wife and daughter. I caught a suppressed chuckle, and my beast sprang forward with a lighter step.

The Three Musketeers had vanished into the night.

L’ENVOI

  And they were stronger hands than mine
  That digged the Ruby from the earth —
  More cunning brains that made it worth
  The large desire of a King;
  And bolder hearts that through the brine
  Went down the Perfect Pearl to bring.

  Lo, I have made in common clay
  Rude figures of a rough-hewn race;
  For Pearls strew not the market-place
  In this my town of banishment,
  Where with the shifting dust I play
  And eat the bread of Discontent.

  Yet is there life in that I make, —
  Oh Thou who knowest, turn and see,
  As Thou hast power over me,
  So I have power over these,
  Because I wrought them for Thy sake,
  And breathed in them mine agonies.

  Small mirth was in the making. Now
  I lift the cloth that clokes the clay,
  And, wearied, at Thy feet I lay
  My wares ere I go forth to sell.
  The long
bazar
will praise — but Thou —
  Heart of my heart, have I done well?

POOR DEAR MAMMA

  The wild hawk to the wind-swept sky,
  The deer to the wholesome wold,
  And the heart of a man to the heart of a maid,
  As it was in the days of old.
        
Gypsy Song.

SCENE. —
Interior of
MISS MINNIE THREEGAN’S
bedroom at Simla.
MISS THREEGAN,
in window-seat, turning over a drawerful of things.
MISS EMMA DEERCOURT,
bosom-friend, who has come to spend the day, sitting on the bed, manipulating the bodice of a ballroom frock and a bunch of artificial lilies of the valley
.
Time,
5.30 P. M.
on a hot May afternoon.

MISS DEERCOURT. And
he
said: ‘I shall
never
forget this dance,’ and, of course, I said: ‘Oh! how
can
you be so silly!’ Do you think he meant anything, dear?

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. Where would you put this? (
Waves lilies of the valley.
)

MISS T. As high up on the shoulder as possible.

MISS D. Am I quite tall enough? I know it makes May Olger look lop-sided.

MISS T. Yes, but May hasn’t your shoulders. Hers are like a hock-bottle.

BEARER. (
Rapping at door.
) Captain Sahib
aya.

MISS D. (
Jumping up wildly, and hunting for body, which she has discarded owing to the heat of the day.
) Captain Sahib! What Captain Sahib? Oh, good gracious, and I’m only half dressed! Well, I shan’t bother.

MISS T. (
Calmly.
) You needn’t. It isn’t for us. That’s Captain Gadsby. He is going for a ride with Mamma. He generally comes five days out of the seven.

AGONISED VOICE. (
From an inner apartment.
) Minnie, run out and give Captain Gadsby some tea, and tell him I shall be ready in ten minutes; and, O Minnie, come to me an instant, there’s a dear girl!

MISS T. Oh, bother! (
Aloud.
) Very well, Mamma.

Exit, and reappears, after five minutes, flushed, and rubbing her fingers.

MISS D. You look pink. What has happened?

MISS T. (
In a stage whisper.
) A twenty-four-inch waist, and she won’t let it out. Where
are
my bangles? (
Rummages on the toilet-table, and dabs at her hair with a brush in the interval.
)

MISS D. Who is this Captain Gadsby? I don’t think I’ve met him.

MISS T. You
must
have. He belongs to the Harrar set. I’ve danced with him, but I’ve never talked to him. He’s a big yellow man, just like a newly-hatched chicken, with an e-normous moustache. He walks like this (
imitates Cavalry swagger
), and he goes ‘Ha-Hmmm!’ deep down in his throat when he can’t think of anything to say. Mamma likes him. I don’t.

MISS D. (
Abstractedly
.) Does he wax his moustache?

MISS T. (
Busy with powder-puff
.} Yes, I think so. Why?

MISS D. (
Bending oner the bodice and sewing furiously
.) Oh, nothing — only —

MISS T. (
Sternly
.) Only what? Out with it, Emma.

MISS D. Well, May Olger — she’s engaged to Mr. Charteris, you know — said — Promise you won’t repeat this?

MISS T. Yes, I promise. What did she say?

MISS D. That — that being kissed (
with a rush
) by a man who
didn’t
wax his moustache was — like eating an egg without salt.

MISS T. (
At her full height, with crushing scorn
.) May Olger is a horrid, nasty
Thing
, and you can tell her I said so. I’m glad she doesn’t belong to my set — I must go and feed this
man!
Do I look presentable?

MISS D. Yes, perfectly. Be quick and hand him over to your Mother, and then we can talk.
I
shall listen at the door to hear what you say to him.

MISS T. ‘Sure I don’t care.
I’m
not afraid of Captain Gadsby.

In proof of this swings into drawing-room with a mannish stride followed by two short steps, which produces the effect of a restive horse entering. Misses CAPTAIN GADSBY, who is sitting in the shadow of the window-curtain, and gazes round helplessly.

CAPTAIN GADSBY. (
Aside
.) The filly, by Jove! ‘Must ha’ picked up that action from the sire. (
Aloud, rising
.) Good evening, Miss Threegan.

MISS T. (
Conscious that she is flushing
.) Good evening, Captain
Gadsby. Mamma told me to say that she will be ready in a few minutes.
Won’t you have some tea? (
Aside
.) I hope Mamma will be quick. What
am
I to say to the creature? (
Aloud and abruptly
.) Milk and sugar?

CAPT. G. No sugar, tha-anks, and very little milk. Ha-Hmmm.

MISS T. (
Aside
.) If he’s going to do that, I’m lost. I shall laugh.
I
know
I shall!

CAPT. G. (
Pulling at his moustache and watching it sideways down his nose
.) Ha-Hmmm. (
Aside
.) ‘Wonder what the little beast can talk about. ‘Must make a shot at it.

MISS T. (
Aside
.) Oh, this is agonising. I
must
say something.

BOTH TOGETHER. Have you been — -

CAPT. G. I beg your pardon. You were going to say — -

MISS T. (
Who has been watching the moustache with awed fascination
.)
Won’t you have some eggs?

CAPT. G. (
Looking bewilderedly at the tea-table
.) Eggs! (
A side
.) 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 colours 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 lap
.) 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-Hmmm! (
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! Wha-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 FROM 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.