Rudyard Kipling: 440+ Short Stories in One Edition (Illustrated). Редьярд Джозеф Киплинг
Читать онлайн книгу.
G. More than me?
CAPT. G. Stupid! Of course not; but it's a matter that I'm tremendously interested in, because if I or Jack, or I and Jack, work out some sort of lighter saddlery and all that, it's possible that we may get it adopted.
MRS. G. How?
CAPT. G. Sanctioned at Home, where they will make a sealed pattern—a pattern that all the saddlers must copy—and so it will be used by all the regiments.
MRS. G. And that interests you?
CAPT. G. It's part of my profession, y'know, and my profession is a good deal to me. Everything in a soldier's equipment is important, and if we can improve that equipment, so much the better for the soldiers and for us.
MRS.G. Who's 'us'?
CAPT. G. Jack and I; only Jack's notions are too radical. What's that big sigh for, Minnie?
MRS. G. Oh, nothing—and you've kept all this a secret from me! Why?
CAPT. G. Not a secret, exactly, dear. I didn't say anything about it to you because I didn't think it would amuse you.
MRS. G. And am I only made to be amused?
CAPT. G. No, of course. I merely mean that it couldn't interest you.
MRS. G. It's your work and—and if you'd let me, I'd count all these things up. If they are too heavy, you know by how much they are too heavy, and you must have a list of things made out to your scale of lightness, and—
CAPT. G. I have got both scales somewhere in my head; but it's hard to tell how light you can make a headstall, for instance, until you've actually had a model made.
MRS. G. But if you read out the list, I could copy it down, and pin it up there just above your table. Wouldn't that do?
CAPT. G. It would be awf'ly nice, dear, but it would be giving you trouble for nothing. I can't work that way. I go by rule of thumb. I know the present scale of weights, and the other one—the one that I'm trying to work to—will shift and vary so much that I couldn't be certain, even if I wrote it down.
MRS. G. I'm so sorry. I thought I might help. Is there anything else that I could be of use in?
CAPT. G. (Looking round the room.) I can't think of anything. You're always helping me, you know.
MRS. G. Am I? How?
CAPT. G. You are you of course, and as long as you're near me—I can't explain exactly, but it's in the air.
MRS. G. And that's why you wanted to send me away?
CAPT. G. That's only when I'm trying to do work—grubby work like this.
MRS. G. Mafflin's better, then, isn't he?
CAPT. G. (Rashly.) Of course he is. Jack and I have been thinking along the same groove for two or three years about this equipment. It's our hobby, and it may really be useful some day.
MRS. G. (After a pause.) And that's all that you have away from me?
CAPT. G. It isn't very far away from you now. Take care the oil on that bit doesn't come off on your dress.
MRS. G. I wish—I wish so much that I could really help you. I believe I could—if I left the room. But that's not what I mean.
CAPT. G. (Aside.) Give me patience! I wish she would go. (Aloud.) I assure you you can't do anything for me, Minnie, and I must really settle down to this. Where's my pouch?
MRS. G. (Crossing to writing-table.) Here you are, Bear. What a mess you keep your table in!
CAPT. G. Don't touch it. There's a method in my madness, though you mightn't think of it.
MRS. G. (At table.) I want to look—Do you keep accounts, Pip?
CAPT. G. (Bending over saddlery.) Of a sort. Are you rummaging among the Troop papers? Be careful.
MRS. G. Why? I shan't disturb anything. Good gracious! I had no idea that you had anything to do with so many sick horses.
CAPT. G. 'Wish I hadn't, but they insist on falling sick. Minnie, if I were you I really should not investigate those papers. You may come across something that you won't like.
MRS. G. Why will you always treat me like a child? I know I'm not displacing the horrid things.
CAPT. G. (Resignedly.) Very well, then. Don't blame me if anything happens. Play with the table and let me go on with the saddlery. (Slipping hand into trousers-pocket.) Oh, the deuce!
MRS. G. (Her back to G.) What's that for?
CAPT. G. Nothing. (Aside.) There's not much in it, but I wish I'd torn it up.
MRS. G. (Turning over contents of table.) I know you'll hate me for this; but I do want to see what your work is like. (A pause.) Pip, what are 'farcy-buds'?
CAPT. G. Hah! Would you really like to know? They aren't pretty things.
MRS. G. This Journal of Veterinary Science says they are of 'absorbing interest.' Tell me.
CAPT. G. (Aside.) It may turn her attention.
Gives a long and designedly loathsome account of glanders and farcy
MRS. G. Oh, that's enough. Don't go on!
CAPT. G. But you wanted to know—Then these things suppurate and matterate and spread—
MRS. G. Pip, you're making me sick! You're a horrid, disgusting schoolboy.
CAPT. G. (On his knees among the bridles.) You asked to be told. It's not my fault if you worry me into talking about horrors.
MRS. G. Why didn't you say—No?
CAPT. G. Good Heavens, child! Have you come in here simply to bully me?
MRS. G. I bully you? How could I! You're so strong. (Hysterically.) Strong enough to pick me up and put me outside the door and leave me there to cry. Aren't you?
CAPT. G. It seems to me that you're an irrational little baby. Are you quite well?
MRS. G. Do I look ill? (Returning to table.) Who is your lady friend with the big gray envelope and the fat monogram outside?
CAPT. G. (Aside.) Then it wasn't locked up, confound it. (Aloud.) 'God made her, therefore let her pass for a woman.' You remember what farcy-buds are like?
MRS. G. (Showing envelope.) This has nothing to do with them. I'm going to open it. May I?
CAPT. G. Certainly, if you want to. I'd sooner you didn't, though. I don't ask to look at your letters to the Deercourt girl.
MRS. G. You'd better not, Sir! (Takes letter from envelope.) Now, may I look? If you say no, I shall cry.
CAPT. G. You've never cried in my knowledge of you, and I don't believe you could.
MRS. G. I feel very like it to-day, Pip. Don't be hard on me. (Reads letter.) It begins in the middle, without any 'Dear Captain Gadsby,' or anything. How funny!
CAPT. G. (Aside.) No, it's not Dear Captain Gadsby, or anything, now. How funny!
MRS. G. What a strange letter! (Reads.) 'And so the moth has come too near the candle at last, and has been singed into—shall I say Respectability? I congratulate him, and hope he will be as happy as he deserves to be.' What does that mean? Is she congratulating you about our marriage?
CAPT. G. Yes, I suppose so.
MRS. G. (Still reading letter.) She seems to be a particular friend of yours.
CAPT. G. Yes. She was an excellent matron of sorts—a Mrs. Herriott—wife of a Colonel Herriott. I