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CAPT. M. Keep quiet for another ten minutes if you can, you lunatic; and walk!

The two tramp at five miles an hour for fifteen minutes.

CAPT. G. What’s the time? How about that cursed wedding-cake and the slippers? They don’t throw ’em about in church, do they?

CAPT. M. In-variably. The Padre leads off with his boots.

CAPT. G. Confound your silly soul! Don’t make fun of me. I can’t stand it, and I won’t!

CAPT. M. (Untroubled.) So-ooo, old horse! You’ll have to sleep for a couple of hours this afternoon.

CAPT. G. (Spinning round) I’m not going to be treated like a dashed child. Understand that!

CAPT. M. (Aside) Nerves gone to fiddle-strings. What a day we’re having! (Tenderly putting his hand on G’s. shoulder) My David, how long have you known this Jonathan? Would I come up here to make a fool of you-after all these years?

CAPT. G. (Penitently.) I know, I know, Jack–but I’m as upset as I can be. Don’t mind what I say. Just hear me run through the drill and see if I’ve got it all right:—

‘To have and to hold for better or worse, as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end, so help me God. Amen.’

CAPT. M. (Suffocating with suppressed laughter) Yes. That’s about the gist of it. I’ll prompt if you get into a hat.

CAPT. G. (Earnestly) Yes, you’ll stick by me, Jack, won’t you? I’m awf’ly 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 honour, 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 Gaddy! (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 my 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.) Ya-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 shan’t sleep. I know I shan’t!

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

CAPT. M. Poor old Gaddy! 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 Gaddy! Going like the rest of ’em-going like the rest of ’em—Friend that sticketh closer than a brother— eight years. Dashed bit of a slip of a girl-eight weeks! And-where’s your friend? (Smokes disconsolately till church clock strikes three.)