STENTORIAN JUDGE (_in Arena_). Corporal Binks! (_The Assistants give a finishing blow to the peg, and fall back._ Corporal BINKS _gallops in, misses the peg, and rides off, relieving his feelings by whirling his lance defiantly in the air_.) Corporal Binks--nothing! A GUSHING LADY. Poor dear thing! I _do_ wish he'd struck it! He did look so disappointed, and so did that sweet horse! THE JUDGE. Sergeant Spanker! (Sergeant S. _gallops in, spears the peg neatly, and carries it off triumphantly on the point of the lance, after which he rides back and returns the peg to the Assistants as a piece of valuable property of which he has accidentally deprived them._) Sergeant Spanker--eight! (_Applause; the Assistants drive in another peg._) Corporal Cutlash! (Corporal C. _enters, strikes the peg, and dislodges without securing it. Immense applause from the Crowd._) Corporal Cutlash--two! THE GUSHING LADY. Only two, and when he really did hit the peg! I do call that a shame. I should have given him more marks than the other man--he has such a _much_ nicer face! A CHILD WITH A THIRST FOR INFORMATION. Uncle, why do they call it _tent_-pegging? THE UNCLE. Why? Well, because those pegs are what they fasten down tents with. THE CHILD. But why isn't there a tent now? UNCLE. Because there's no use for one. CHILD. Why? UNCLE. Because all they want to do is to pick up the peg with the point of their lance. CHILD. Yes, but why _should_ they want to do it? UNCLE. Oh, to amuse their horses. (_The_ CHILD _ponders upon this answer with a view to a fresh catechism upon the equine passion for entertainment, and the desirability, or otherwise, of gratifying it_.) A CHATTY MAN IN THE PROMENADE (_to his_ NEIGHBOUR). Takes a deal of practice to strike them pegs fair and full. HIS NEIGHBOUR (_who holds advanced Socialistic opinions_). Ah, I dessay--and a pity they can't make no better use o' their time! Spoiling good wood, _I_ call it. I don't see no point in it myself. THE CHATTY MAN. Well, it shows they can _ride_, at any rate. THE SOCIALIST. Ride? O' course they can _ride_--we pay enough for 'aving 'em taught, don't we? But you mark my words, the People won't put up with this state of things much longer--keepin' a set of 'ired murderers in luxury and hidleness. I tell yer, wherever I come across one of these great lanky louts strutting about in his red coat, as if he was one of the lords of the hearth, well--it makes my nose bleed, ah--it _does_! THE CHATTY MAN. If that's the way you talk to him, I ain't surprised if it do.