. (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. You
aren't quite married yet, y'know.

CAPT. G. Ugh! That reminds me. I don't believe I shall be able to get
into any boots Let's go home and try 'em on (Hurries forward.)

CAPT. M. 'Wouldn't be in your shoes for anything that Asia has to offer.

CAPT. G. (Spinning round.) That just shows your hideous blackness of
soul--your dense stupidity--your brutal narrow-mindedness. There's only
one fault about you. You're the best of good fellows, and I don't know
what I should have done without you, but--you aren't married. (Wags his
head gravely.) Take a wife, Jack.

CAPT. M. (With a face like a wall.) Va-as. Whose for choice?

CAPT. G. If you're going to be a blackguard, I'm going on--What's the
time?

CAPT. M. (Hums.)--

"An' since 'twas very clear we drank only ginger-beer,
Faith, there must ha' been some stingo in the ginger."

Come back, you maniac. I'm going to take you home, and you're going to
lie down.

CAPT. G. What on earth do I want to lie down for?

CAPT. M. Give me a light from your cheroot and see.

CAPT. G. (Watching cheroot-butt quiver like a tuning-fork.) Sweet state
I'm in!

CAPT. M. You are. I'll get you a peg and you'll go to sleep.

They return and M. compounds a four-finger peg.

CAPT. G. O bus! bus! It'll make me as drunk as an owl.

CAPT. M. 'Curious thing, 'twon't have the slightest effect on you. Drink
it off, chuck yourself down there, and go to bye-bye.

CAPT. G. It's absurd. I sha'n't sleep, I know I sha'n't!

(Falls into heavy doze at end of seven minutes. CAPT. M. watches him
tenderly.)

CAPT. M. Poor old Gandy! I've seen a few turned off before, but never
one who went to the gallows in this condition. 'Can't tell how it
affects 'em, though. It's the thoroughbreds that sweat when they're
backed into double-harness.--And that's the man who went through the
guns at Amdheran like a devil possessed of devils. (Leans over G.) But
this is worse than the guns, old pal--worse than the guns, isn't it? (G.
turns in his sleep, and M. touches him clumsily on the forehead.) Poor,
dear old Gad