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With any Amazement
by
CAPT. M. (In a piercing rattle meant to be a whisper.) Kneel, you stiff-necked ruffian! Kneel!
PADRE. . . . whose daughters are ye so long as ye do well and are not afraid with any amazement.
CAPT. M. Dismiss! Break off! Left wheel! All troop to vestry. They sign.
CAPT. M. Kiss Her, Gaddy.
CAPT. G. (Rubbing the ink into his glove.) Eh! Wha–at?
CAPT. M. (Taking one pace to Bride.) If you don’t, I shall.
CAPT. G. (Interposing an arm.) Not this journey!
General kissing, in which CAPT. G. is pursued by unknown female.
CAPT. G. (Faintly to M.) This is Hades! Can I wipe my face now?
CAPT. M. My responsibility has ended. Better ask Missis Gadsby.
CAPT. G. winces as though shot and procession is Mendelssohned out of Church to house, where usual tortures take place over the wedding-cake.
CAPT. M. (At table.) Up with you, Gaddy. They expect a speech.
CAPT. G. (After three minutes’ agony.) Ha-hmmm. (Thunders of applause.)
CAPT. M. Doocid good, for a first attempt. Now go and change your kit while Mamma is weeping over–‘the Missus.’ (CAPT. G. disappears. CAPT. M. starts up tearing his hair.) It’s not half legal. Where are the shoes? Get an ayah.
AYAH. Missie Captain Sahib done gone band karo all the jutis.
CAPT. M. (Brandishing scabbarded sword.) Woman, produce those shoes! Some one lend me a bread-knife. We mustn’t crack Gaddy’s head more than it is. (Slices heel off white satin slipper and puts slipper up his sleeve.) Where is the Bride? (To the company at large.) Be tender with that rice. It’s a heathen custom. Give me the big bag.
Bride slips out quietly into ‘rickshaw and departs towards the sunset.
CAPT. M. (In the open.) Stole away, by Jove! So much, the worse for Gaddy! Here he is. Now Gaddy, this’ll be livelier than Amdheran! Where’s your horse?
CAPT. G. (Furiously, seeing that the women are out of earshot.) Where the —- is my Wife?
CAPT. M. Half-way to Mahasu by this time. You’ll have to ride like Young Lochinvar.
Horse comes round on his hind legs; refuses to let G. handle him.
CAPT. G. Oh you will, will you? Get round, you brute-you hog-you beast! Get round!
Wrenches horse’s head over, nearly breaking lower jaw; swings himself into saddle, and sends home both spurs in the midst of a spattering gale of Best Patna.
CAPT. M. For your life and your love–ride, Gaddy!–And God bless you!
Throws half a pound of rice at G., who disappears, bowed forward on the saddle, in a cloud of sunlit dust.
CAPT. M. I’ve lost old Gaddy. (Lights cigarette and strolls off, singing absently):–
‘You may carve it on his tombstone, you may cut it on his card, That a young man married is a young man marred!’
MISS DEERCOURT. (From her horse.) Really, Captain Mafflin! You are more plain spoken than polite!
CAPT. M. (Aside.) They say marriage is like cholera. ‘Wonder who’ll be the next victim.
White satin slipper slides from his sleeve and falls at his feet. Left wondering.