Chapter 8

THE SWELLING OF JORDAN

If thou hast run with the footmen and they have wearied thee, then
how canst thou contend with horses? And if in the land of peace
wherein thou trustedst they wearied thee, then how wilt thou do in
the swelling of Jordan?

SCENE.-The GADSBYS' bungalow in the Plains, on a January
morning. Mas. G. arguing with bearer in back veranda.

CAPT. M. rides up.

CAPT. M. 'Mornin', Mrs. Gadsby. How's the Infant Phenomenon
and the Proud Proprietor?

Mas. G. You'll find them in the front veranda; go through the
house. I'm Martha just now.

CAPT. M, 'Cumbered about with cares of Khitmatgars? I fly.

Passes into front veranda, where GADSBV is watching GADSBY
JUNIOR, aged ten months, crawling about the matting.

CAPT. M. What's the trouble, Gaddy-spoiling an honest man's
Europe morning this way? (Seeing G. JUNIOR.) By Jove, that
yearling's comm' on amaxingly! Any amount of bone below the
knee there.

CAPT. G. Yes, he's a healthy little scoundrel. Don't you think his
hair's growing?

CAPT. M. Let's have a look. Hi! Hst Come here, General Luck,
and we'll report on you.

MRS. G. (Within.) What absurd name will you give him next?
Why do you call him that?

CAPT. M. Isn't he our Inspector-General of Cavalry? Doesn't he
come down in his seventeen-two perambulator every morning the
Pink Hussars parade? Don't wriggle, Brigadier. Give us your
private opinion on the way the third squadron went past. 'Trifle
ragged, weren t they?

CAPT. G. A bigger set of tailors than the new draft I don't wish to
see. They've given me more than my fair share-knocking the
squadron out of shape. It's sickening!

CAPT. M. When you're in command, you'll do better, young 'un.
Can't you walk yet? Grip my finger and try. (To G.) 'Twon't hurt
his hocks, will it?

CAPT. G. Oh, no. Don't let him flop, though, or he'll lick all the
blacking off your boots.

MRS. G. (Within.) Who's destroy mg my son's character?

CAPT. M. And my Godson's. I'm ashamed of you, Gaddy. Punch
your father in the eye, Jack! Don't you stand it! Hit him again I

CAPT. G. (Sotto voce.) Put The Butcha down and come to the
end of the veranda. I'd rather the Wife didn't hear-just now.

CAPT. M. You look awf'ly serious. Anything wrong?

CAPT. G. 'Depends on your view entirely. I say, Jack, you won't
think more hardly of me than you can help, will you? Come further
this way.-The fact of the matter is, that I've made up my mind-at
least I'm thinking seriously of-cutting the Service.

CAPT. M. Hwhatt?

CAPT. G. Don't shout. I'm going to send in my papers.

CAPT. M. You! Are you mad?

CAPT. G. No-only married.