a fair chance--a dashed fair chance. The flicker, y'know. The sweat,
y'know I saw how it would be. The punkab, y'know. Deuced clever woman
that Ayah of yours. Stopped the punkab just at the right time. A dashed
good chance! No--you don't go in. We'll pull her through yet I promise
on my reputation--under Providence. Send a man with this note to Bingle.
Two heads better than one. 'Specially the Ayah! We'll pull her round.
(Retreats hastily to house.)

CAPT. G. (His head on neck of M.'s charger.) Jack! I bub--bu--believe,
I'm going to make a bu-bub-bloody exhibit of byself.

CAPT. M. (Sniffing openly and feeling in his left cuff.) I b-b-believe,
I'b doing it already. Old bad, what cad I say? I'b as pleased as--Cod
dab you, Gaddy! You're one big idiot and I'b adother. (Pulling himself
together.) Sit tight! Here comes the Devil-dodger.

JUNIOR CHAPLAIN. (Who is not in the Doctor's confidence.) We--we are
only men in these things, Gadsby. I know that I can say nothing now to
help.

CAPT. M. (jealously.) Then don't say it Leave him alone. It's not bad
enough to croak over. Here, Gaddy, take the chit to Bingle and ride
hell-for-leather. It'll do you good. I can't go.

JUNIOR CHAPLAIN. Do him good! (Smiling.) Give me the chit and I'll
drive. Let him lie down. Your horse is blocking my cart--please!

CAPT. M. (Slowly without reining back.) I beg your pardon--I'll
apologize. On paper if you like.

JUNIOR CHAPLAIN. (Flicking M.'s charger.) That'll do, thanks. Turn in,
Gadsby, and I'll bring Bingle back--ahem--"hell-for-leather."

CAPT. M. (Solus.) It would have served me right if he'd cut me across
the face. He can drive too. I shouldn't care to go that pace in a bamboo
cart. What a faith he must have in his Maker--of harness! Come hup, you
brute! (Gallops off to parade, blowing his nose, as the sun rises.)

(INTERVAL OF' FIVE WEEKS.)

MRS. G. (Very white and pinched, in morning wrapper at break fast
table.) How big and strange the room looks, and how glad I am to see it
again! What dust, though! I must talk to the servants. Sugar, Pip? I've
almost forgotten. (Seriously.) Wasn't I very ill?

CAPT. G. Iller than I liked. (Tenderly.) Oh, you bad little Pussy, what
a start you gave me.

MRS. G. I'll never do it again.

CAPT. G. You'd better not. And now get those poor pale cheeks pink
again, or I shall be angry. Don't try to lift the urn. You'll upset it.
Wait. (Comes round to head of table and lifts urn.)

MRS. G.