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.
CAPT. G. Don't you? I don't think the man had much doubt about it.
Jack cut his head off.
MRS. G. Cut--his--head--off! 'With one blow,' as they say in the books?
CAPT.
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