Doesn't he come down
in his seventeen-two
perambulator
every morning the Pink Hussars parade?
Kipling - Poems
Yes, he's a healthy little scoundrel. Don't you think his
hair's growing?
Capt. M. Let's have a look. Hi! Hst Come here, General Luck, and we'll
report on you.
Mrs. G. (Within.) What absurd name will you give him next? Why do you
call him that?
Capt. M. Isn't he our Inspector-General of Cavalry?
Doesn't he come down
in his seventeen-two
perambulator
every morning the Pink Hussars parade?
Don't wriggle, Brigadier. Give us your private opinion on the way the
third squadron went past. 'Trifle ragged, weren't they?
Capt. G. A bigger set of tailors than the new draft I don't wish to see.
They've given me more than my fair share--knocking the squadron out of
shape. It's sickening!
Capt. M. When you're in command, you'll do better, young 'un. Can'tyou
walk yet? Grip my finger and try. (To G.) 'Twon't hurt his hocks, will
it?
