Capt. M. Exactly. You're part of the show. Where's the burnisher? Your
spurs are in a shameful state.
Capt. G. (Gruffly.) Jack, I be damned if you shall do that for me.
Capt. M. (More gruffly.
) Dry up and get
dressed! If I choose to clean
your spurs, you're under my orders.
Capt. G. dresses. M. follows suit.
Capt. M. (Critically, walking round.) M'--yes, you'll do. Only don't
look so like a criminal. Ring, gloves, fees--that's all right for me.
Let your moustache alone. Now, if the ponies are ready, we'll go.
