Chapter 6

FATIMA

And you may go in every room of the house and see everything
that is there, but into the Blue Room you must not go.-The Story of
Blue Beard.

SCENE.-The GADSBYS' bungalow in the Plains. Time, 11 A. M.
on a Sunday morning. Captain GADSBY, in his shirt-sleeves, is
bending over a complete set of Hussar's equipment, from saddle to
picketing-rope, which is neatly spread over the floor of his study.
He is smoking an unclean briar, and his forehead is puckered with
thought.

CAPT. G. (To himself, fingering a headstall.) Jack's an ass.
There's enough brass on this to load a mule-and, if the Americans
know anything about anything, it can be cut down to a bit only.
'Don't want the watering-bridle, either. Humbug!-Half a dozen sets
of chains and pulleys for one horse! Rot! (Scratching his head.)
Now, let's consider it all over from the he-ginning. By Jove, I've
forgotten the scale of weights! Ne'er mind. 'Keep the bit only, and
eliminate every boss from the crupper to breastplate. No
breastplate at all. Simple leather strap across the breast-like the
Russians. Hi! Jack never thought of that!

MRS. G. (Entering hastily, her hand bound in a cloth.) Oh, Pip,
I've scalded my hand over that horrid, horrid Tiparee jam!

CAPT. G. (Absently.) Eb! Wha-at?

MRS. G. (With round-eyed reproach.) I've scalded it aw-fully!
Aren't you sorry? And I did so want that jam to jam properly.

CAPT. G. Poor little woman! Let me kiss the place and make it
well. (Unrolling bandage.) You small sinner! Where's that scald?
I can't see it.

MRS. G. On the top of the little finger. There!-It's a most
'normous big burn!

CAPT. G. (Kissing little finger.) Baby! Let Hyder look after the
jam. You know I don't care for sweets.

Mas. G. In-deed?-Pip!

CAPT. G. Not of that kind, anyhow. And now run along, Minnie,
and leave me to my own base devices. I'm busy.

MRS. G. (Calmly settling herself in long chair.) So I see. What a
mess you're making! Why have you brought all that smelly leather
stuff into the house?

CAPT. G. To play with. Do you mind, dear?

MRS. G. Let me play too. I'd like it.

CAPT. G. I'm afraid you wouldn't. Pussy- Don't you think that jam
will burn, or whatever it is that jam does when it's not looked after
by a clever little housekeeper?

MRS. G. I thought you said Hyder could attend to it. I left him in
the veranda, stirring-when I hurt myself so.

CAPT. G. (His eye returning to the equipment.) Po-oor little
woman!-Three pounds four and seven is three eleven, and that can
be cut down to two eight, with just a lee-tie care, with-out
weakening anything. Farriery is all rot in incompetent hands.
What's the use of