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.
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