CAPT. G. (_Resignedly._) Very well, then. Don't blame me if anything
happens. Play with the table and let me go on with the saddlery.
(_Slipping hand into trousers-pocket._) Oh, the deuce!
MRS. G. (_Her back to_ G.) What's that for?
CAPT. G. Nothing. (_Aside._) There's not much in it, but I wish I'd
torn it up.
MRS. G. (_Turning over contents of table._) I know you'll hate me for
this; but I do want to see what your work is like. (_A pause._) Pip,
what are 'farcy-buds'?
CAPT. G. Hah! Would you really like to know? They aren't pretty things.
MRS. G. This _Journal of Veterinary Science_ says they are of 'absorbing
interest.' Tell me.
CAPT. G. (_Aside._) It may turn her attention.
_Gives a long and designedly loathsome account of
glanders and farcy_
MRS. G. Oh, that's enough. Don't go on!
CAPT. G. But you wanted to know--Then these things suppurate and
matterate and spread--
MRS. G. Pip, you're making me sick! You're a horrid, disgusting
schoolboy.
CAPT. G. (_On his knees among the bridles._) You asked to be told.
It's not my fault if you worry me into talking about horrors.
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