ngers hampered by too tight
gauntlets.) CAPTAIN Gadsby!

CAPTAIN GADSBY stoops and makes the foot-rest. POOR DEAR MAMMA blunders,
halts too long, and breaks through it.

CAPT. G. (Aside.) Can't hold up even stone forever. It's all your
rheumatism. (Aloud.) Can't imagine why I was so clumsy. (Aside.) Now
Little Featherweight would have gone up like a bird.

They ride oat of the garden. The Captain falls back.

CAPT. G. (Aside.) How that habit catches her under the arms! Ugh!

POOR DEAR MAMMA. (With the worn smile of sixteen seasons, the worse for
exchange.) You're dull this afternoon, CAPTAIN Gadsby.

CAPT. G. (Spurring up wearily.) Why did you keep me waiting so long?

Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.

(AN INTERVAL OF THREE WEEKS.)

GILDED YOUTH. (Sitting on railings opposite Town Hall.) Hullo, Gandy!
'Been trotting out the Gorgonzola! We all thought it was the Gorgan
you're mashing.

CAPT. G. (With withering emphasis.) You young cub! What the--does it
matter to you?

Proceeds to read GILDED YOUTH a lecture on discretion and deportment,
which crumbles latter like a Chinese Lantern. Departs fuming.

(FURTHER INTERVAL OF FIVE WEEKS.) SCENE.--Exterior of New Simla Library

on a foggy evening. Miss THREECAN and Miss DEERCOURT meet among the
'rickshaws. Miss T. is carrying a bundle of books under her left arm.

Miss D. (Level intonation.) Well?

Miss 'I'. (Ascending intonation.) Well?

Miss D. (Capturing her friend's left arm, taking away all the books,
placing books in 'rickshaw, returning to arm, securing hand by third
finger and investigating.) Well! You bad girl! And you never told me.

Miss T. (Demurely.) He--he--he only spoke yesterday afternoon.

Miss D. Bless you, dear! And I'm to be bridesmaid, aren't I? You know
you promised ever so long ago.

Miss T. Of course. I'll tell you all about it to-morrow. (Gets into
'rickshaw.) O Emma!

Miss D. (With intense interest.) Yes, dear?

Miss T. (Piano.) It's quite true---- about--the--egg.

Miss D. What egg?

Miss T. (Pianissimo prestissimo.) The egg without the salt. (Porte.)
Chalo ghar ko jaldi, jhampani! (Go home, jhampani.)

THE WORLD WITHOUT

Certain people of importance.

SCENE.--Smoking-room of the Degchi Club. Time, 10.30 P. M. of a stuffy
night in the Rains. Four men dispersed in picturesque attitudes and
easy-chairs. To these enter BLAYNE of the Irregular Moguls, in evening
dress.

BLAYNE. Phew! The Judge ought to be hanged in