The GADSBYS'
bungalow
in the Plains.
Kipling - Poems
(Con brio, to the horror of the monkeys who are settling
for the night. )--
"Vanity, all is Vanity," said Wisdom, scorning me--I clasped my true
Love's tender hand and answered frank and free-ee "If this be Vanity
who'd be wise? If this be Vanity who'd be wise? If this be Vanity who'd
be wi-ise (Crescendo. ) Vanity let it be! "
Mrs. G. (Defiantly to the grey of the evening sky. ) "Vanity let it be! "
ECHO. (Prom the Fagoo spur. ) Let it be!
FATIMA
And you may go in every room of the house and see everything that is
there, but into the Blue Room you must not go. --The Story of Blue
Beard.
SCENE.
The GADSBYS' bungalow in the Plains. Time, 11 A. M. on a Sunday
morning. Captain GADSBY, in his shirt-sleeves, is bending over a
complete set of Hussar's equipment, from saddle to picketing-rope, which
is neatly spread over the floor of his study. He is smoking an unclean
briar, and his forehead is puckered with thought.
Capt. G. (To himself, fingering a headstall. ) Jack's an ass. There's
enough brass on this to load a mule--and, if the Americans know anything
about anything, it can be cut down to a bit only. 'Don't want the
watering-bridle, either. Humbug! --Half a dozen sets of chains and
pulleys for one horse! Rot! (Scratching his head.
for the night. )--
"Vanity, all is Vanity," said Wisdom, scorning me--I clasped my true
Love's tender hand and answered frank and free-ee "If this be Vanity
who'd be wise? If this be Vanity who'd be wise? If this be Vanity who'd
be wi-ise (Crescendo. ) Vanity let it be! "
Mrs. G. (Defiantly to the grey of the evening sky. ) "Vanity let it be! "
ECHO. (Prom the Fagoo spur. ) Let it be!
FATIMA
And you may go in every room of the house and see everything that is
there, but into the Blue Room you must not go. --The Story of Blue
Beard.
SCENE.
The GADSBYS' bungalow in the Plains. Time, 11 A. M. on a Sunday
morning. Captain GADSBY, in his shirt-sleeves, is bending over a
complete set of Hussar's equipment, from saddle to picketing-rope, which
is neatly spread over the floor of his study. He is smoking an unclean
briar, and his forehead is puckered with thought.
Capt. G. (To himself, fingering a headstall. ) Jack's an ass. There's
enough brass on this to load a mule--and, if the Americans know anything
about anything, it can be cut down to a bit only. 'Don't want the
watering-bridle, either. Humbug! --Half a dozen sets of chains and
pulleys for one horse! Rot! (Scratching his head.
