CAPT. G. 'Vanity,' and let the hills hear. (_Sings through the first and half of the second verse. Turning to_ MRS. G.) Now, chorus! Sing, Pussy! BOTH TOGETHER. (_Con brio, to the horror of the monkeys who are settling for the night._)-- 'Vanity, all is Vanity,' said Wisdom, scorning me-- I clasped my true Love's tender hand and answered frank and free--ee:-- 'If this be Vanity who'd be wise? If this be Vanity who'd be wise? If this be Vanity who'd be wi--ise? (_Crescendo._) Vanity let it be!' MRS. G. (_Defiantly to the gray of the evening sky._) 'Vanity let it be!' ECHO. (_From the Fagoo spur._) Let it be! FATIMA And you may go into 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 beginning. 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._) Eh! 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. MRS. 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?