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Page 6
_First Sportsman_ (_addressing his companion_). Now then, TOMMY, my
son, just smarten yourself up a bit, and look pretty. The ladies are
coming to lunch.
_Tommy_ (_horror--struck._) _What?_ The women coming to lunch? No,
hang it all, you're joking. Say you are--do!
_First Sp._ Joking? Not I! I tell you six solid women are going to
lunch with us. I heard 'em all talking about it after breakfast, and
thinking it would be, _oh_, such fun! By the way, I suppose you know
you've got a hole in your knickerbockers.
_Tommy_ (_looking down, and perceiving a huge and undisguisable
rent_). Good Heavens! so I have. I must have done it getting over the
last fence. Isn't it awful? I can't show like this. Have you got any
pins?
[_The Keeper eventually promises that there shall be pins at
the farm-house._
_Another Sportsman_ (_bringing up the rear with a companion_). Hope
we shan't be long over lunch. There's a lot of ground to cover this
afternoon, and old SYKES tells me they've got a splendid head of birds
this year, I always think--(_He breaks off suddenly; an expression of
intense alarm comes over his face._) Why, what's that? No, it can't
be. Yes, by Jingo, it is. It's the whole blessed lot of women come out
to lunch, my wife and all. Well, poor thing, she couldn't help it.
Had to come with the rest, I suppose. But it's mean of CHALMERS--I
swear it is. He ought not to have allowed it. And then, never to
let on about it to us. Well, my day's spoilt, if they come on with
us afterwards. I couldn't shoot an ostrich sitting with a woman
chattering: to me. Miss CHICKWEED's got her eye on you. LLOYD. She's
marked you. No good trying to do a ramp. You're nailed, my boy,
nailed!
_Lloyd._ Hang Miss CHICKWEED! She half killed me last night with all
kinds of silly questions. Asked me to be sure and bring her home a
rocketing rabbit, because she'd heard they were very valuable. Why
can't the women stay at home?
[_They walk on moodily._
_A few minutes later. Lunch has just begun._
_Miss Chickweed_ (_middle-aged, but skittish_). Oh, you naughty men,
how long you have kept us waiting! Now, Captain LLOYD, did you shoot
really well? Or, were you thinking of--Well, perhaps I oughtn't to
say. See how discreet I am. But do tell me, all of you, _exactly_ how
many birds you shot--I do so like to hear about it. You begin, Captain
LLOYD. How many did you shoot? (_Without waiting for an answer._) I'm
sure you must have shot a dozen. Yes, I guess a dozen. And, oh, do
give me a feather for my hat! It will be so nice to have a _real_
feather to put in it. And we've got such a treat for you. MARY, you
tell them. No, I'll tell them myself. If you're all _very_ good at
lunch, we're going to walk with you a little afterwards. There!
[_But, at this awful prospect, consternation seizes the men.
CHALMERS (the host) makes frantic signs to his wife, who
(having, somehow, been "squared") affects not to see. A few
desperate attempts are made to express a polite joy; but the
lunch languishes, and, darkness closet over the melancholy
scene._
* * * * *
A NAVAL INQUIRY.--_The Howe_ and the why?
* * * * *
THE VANISHING RUPEE.--A CRY FROM INDIA.
_A Colonel laments the disappearance of the Rupee, and shows how,
whenever he had a step up in his Regiment (each time growing in
importance and having more calls on his purse), the Rupee at once took
a step down, decreasing in importance and reputation._
[Illustration: I.--SUBALTERN.]
As a "Sub," free from family ties,
With constant "fivers" from the Pater,
The Rupee I thought a goodly size,
Though once its value was much greater.
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