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_-tle care, without weakening anything. Farriery is all rot in incompetent hands. What's the use of a shoe-case when a man's scouting? He can't stick it on with a lick--like a stamp--the shoe! Skittles! MRS. G. What's skittles? Pah! What _is_ this leather cleaned with? CAPT. G. Cream and champagne and--Look here, dear, do you really want to talk to me about anything important? MRS. G. No. I've done my accounts, and I thought I'd like to see what you're doing. CAPT. G. Well, love, now you've seen and--Would you mind?--That is to say--Minnie, I really _am_ busy. MRS. G. You want me to go? CAPT. G. Yes, dear, for a little while. This tobacco will hang in your dress, and saddlery doesn't interest you. MRS. G. Everything you do interests me, Pip. CAPT. G. Yes, I know, I know, dear. I'll tell you all about it some day when I've put a head on this thing. In the meantime-- MRS. G. I'm to be turned out of the room like a troublesome child? CAPT. G. No-o. I don't mean that exactly. But, you see, I shall be tramping up and down, shifting these things to and fro, and I shall be in your way. Don't you think so? MRS. G. Can't I lift them about? Let me try. (_Reaches forward to trooper's saddle._) CAPT. G. Good gracious, child, don't touch it. You'll hurt yourself. (_Picking up saddle._) Little girls aren't expected to handle _numdahs._ Now, where would you like it put? (_Holds saddle above his head._) MRS. G. (_A break in her voice._) Nowhere. Pip, how good you are--and how strong! Oh, what's that ugly red streak inside your arm? CAPT. G. (_Lowering saddle quickly._) Nothing. It's a mark of sorts. (_Aside._) And Jack's coming to tiffin with _his_ notions all cut and dried! MRS. G. I know it's a mark, but I've never seen it before. It runs all up the arm. What is it? CAPT. G. A cut--if you want to know. MRS. G. Want to know! Of course I do! I can't have my husband cut to pieces in this way. How did it come? Was it an accident? Tell me, Pip. CAPT. G. (_Grimly._) No. 'Twasn't an accident. I got it--from a man--in Afghanistan. MRS. G. In action? Oh, Pip, and you _never_ told me! CAPT. G. I'd forgotten all about it. MRS. G. Hold up your arm! What a horrid, ugly scar! Are you sure it doesn't hurt now? How did the man give it you? CAPT. G. (_Desperately looking at his watch._) With a knife. I came down--old Van Loo did, that's to say--and fell on my leg, so I couldn't run. And then this man came up and began chopping at me as I sprawled. MRS. G. Oh, don't, don't! That's enough!--Well, what happened? CAPT. G. I couldn't get to my holster, and Mafflin came round the corner and stopped the performance. MRS. G. How? He's such a lazy man, I don't believe he did.