Rudyard Kipling: 440+ Short Stories in One Edition (Illustrated). Редьярд Джозеф Киплинг
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powder-puff.) Yes, I think so. Why?
MISS D. (Bending oner the bodice and sewing furiously.) Oh, nothing—only—
MISS T. (Sternly.) Only what? Out with it, Emma.
MISS D. Well, May Olger—she's engaged to Mr. Charteris, you know—said—Promise you won't repeat this?
MISS T. Yes, I promise. What did she say?
MISS D. That—that being kissed (with a rush) by a man who didn't wax his moustache was—like eating an egg without salt.
MISS T. (At her full height, with crushing scorn.) May Olger is a horrid, nasty Thing, and you can tell her I said so. I'm glad she doesn't belong to my set—I must go and feed this man! Do I look presentable?
MISS D. Yes, perfectly. Be quick and hand him over to your Mother, and then we can talk. I shall listen at the door to hear what you say to him.
MISS T. 'Sure I don't care. I'm not afraid of Captain Gadsby.
In proof of this swings into drawing-room with a mannish stride followed by two short steps, which produces the effect of a restive horse entering. Misses CAPTAIN GADSBY, who is sitting in the shadow of the window-curtain, and gazes round helplessly.
CAPTAIN GADSBY. (Aside.) The filly, by Jove! 'Must ha' picked up that action from the sire. (Aloud, rising.) Good evening, Miss Threegan.
MISS T. (Conscious that she is flushing.) Good evening, Captain Gadsby. Mamma told me to say that she will be ready in a few minutes. Won't you have some tea? (Aside.) I hope Mamma will be quick. What am I to say to the creature? (Aloud and abruptly.) Milk and sugar?
CAPT. G. No sugar, tha-anks, and very little milk. Ha-Hmmm.
MISS T. (Aside.) If he's going to do that, I'm lost. I shall laugh. I know I shall!
CAPT. G. (Pulling at his moustache and watching it sideways down his nose.) Ha-Hmmm. (Aside.) 'Wonder what the little beast can talk about. 'Must make a shot at it.
MISS T. (Aside.) Oh, this is agonising. I must say something.
BOTH TOGETHER. Have you been—-
CAPT. G. I beg your pardon. You were going to say—-
MISS T. (Who has been watching the moustache with awed fascination.) Won't you have some eggs?
CAPT. G. (Looking bewilderedly at the tea-table.) Eggs! (A side.) O Hades! She must have a nursery-tea at this hour. S'pose they've wiped her mouth and sent her to me while the Mother is getting on her duds. (Aloud.) No, thanks.
MISS T. (Crimson with confusion.) Oh! I didn't mean that. I wasn't thinking of mou—eggs for an instant. I mean salt. Won't you have some sa—- sweets? (Aside.) He'll think me a raving lunatic. I wish Mamma would come.
CAPT. G. (Aside.) It was a nursery-tea and she's ashamed of it. By Jove! She doesn't look half bad when she colours up like that. (Aloud, helping himself from the dish.) Have you seen those new chocolates at Peliti's?
MISS T. No, I made these myself. What are they like?
CAPT. G. These! De-licious. (Aside.) And that's a fact.
MISS T. (Aside.) Oh, bother! he'll think I'm fishing for compliments. (Aloud.) No, Peliti's of course.
CAPT. G. (Enthusiastically.) Not to compare with these. How d'you make them? I can't get my khansamah to understand the simplest thing beyond mutton and fowl.
MISS T. Yes? I'm not a khansamah, you know. Perhaps you frighten him. You should never frighten a servant. He loses his head. It's very bad policy.
CAPT. G. He's so awf'ly stupid.
MISS T. (Folding her hands in her lap.) You should call him quietly and say: 'O khansamah jee!'
CAPT. G. (Getting interested.) Yes? (Aside.) Fancy that little featherweight saying, 'O khansamah jee' to my bloodthirsty Mir Khan!
MISS T. Then you should explain the dinner, dish by dish.
CAPT. G. But I can't speak the vernacular.
MISS T. (Patronizingly.) You should pass the Higher Standard and try.
CAPT. G. I have, but I don't seem to be any the wiser. Are you?
MISS T. I never passed the Higher Standard. But the khansamah is very patient with me. He doesn't get angry when I talk about sheep's topees, or order maunds of grain when I mean seers.
CAPT. G. (Aside, with intense indignation.) I'd like to see Mir Khan being rude to that girl! Hullo! Steady the Buffs! (Aloud.) And do you understand about horses, too?
MISS T. A little—not very much. I can't doctor them, but I know what they ought to eat, and I am in charge of our stable.
CAPT. G. Indeed! You might help me then. What ought a man to give his sais in the Hills? My ruffian says eight rupees, because everything is so dear.
MISS T. Six rupees a month, and one rupee Simla allowance—neither more nor less. And a grass-cut gets six rupees. That's better than buying grass in the bazar.
CAPT. G. (Admiringly.) How do you know?
MISS T. I have tried both ways.
CAPT. G. Do you ride much, then? I've never seen you on the Mall.
MISS T. (Aside.) I haven't passed him more than fifty times. (Aloud.) Nearly every day.
CAPT. G. By Jove! I didn't know that. Ha-Hmmm! (Pulls at his moustache and is silent for forty seconds.)
MISS T. (Desperately, and wondering what will happen next.) It looks beautiful. I shouldn't touch it if I were you. (Aside.) It's all Mamma's fault for not coming before. I will be rude!
CAPT. G. (Bronzing under the tan and bringing down his hand very quickly.) Eh! Wha-at! Oh, yes! Ha! Ha! (Laughs uneasily.) (Aside.) Well, of all the dashed cheek! I never had a woman say that to me yet. She must be a cool hand or else—Ah! that nursery-tea!
VOICE FROM THE UNKNOWN. Tchk! Tchk! Tchk!
CAPT. G. Good Gracious! What's that?
MISS T. The dog, I think. (Aside.) Emma has been listening, and I'll never forgive her!
CAPT. G. (Aside.) They don't keep dogs here. (Aloud.) Didn't sound like a dog, did it?
MISS T. Then it must have been the cat. Let's go into the veranda. What a lovely evening it is!
Steps into veranda and looks out across the hills into sunset. The Captain follows.
CAPT. G. (Aside.) Superb eyes! I wonder that I never noticed them before! (Aloud.) There's going to be a dance at Viceregal Lodge on Wednesday. Can you spare me one?
MISS T. (Shortly.) No! I don't want any of your charity-dances. You only ask me because Mamma told you to. I hop and I bump. You know I do!
CAPT. G. (Aside.) That's true, but little girls shouldn't understand these things. (Aloud.) No, on my word, I don't. You dance beautifully.
MISS T. Then why do you always stand out after half a dozen turns? I thought officers in the Army didn't tell fibs.
CAPT. G. It wasn't a fib, believe me. I really do want the pleasure of a dance with you.
MISS T. (Wickedly.) Why? Won't Mamma dance with you any more?
CAPT. G. (More earnestly than the necessity demands.) I wasn't thinking of your Mother. (Aside.) You little vixen!