Captain G. (kissing little finger).—Baby! Let Hyder look after the jam. You know I don't care for sweets.
Mrs. G.—In-deed? . . . Pip!
Captain G.—Not of that kind, anyhow. And now run along, Minnie, and leave me to my own base devices. I'm busy.
Mrs. G. (calmly, settling herself in long chair).—So I see. What a mess you're making! Why have you brought all that smelly leather stuff into the house?
Captain G.—To play with. Do you mind, dear?
Mrs. G.—Let me play too. I'd like it.
Captain G.—I'm afraid you wouldn't, Pussy . . . Don't you think that jam will burn, or whatever it is that jam does when it's not looked after by a clever little housekeeper?
Mrs. G.—I thought you said Hyder could attend to it. I left him in the veranda, stirring—when I hurt myself so.
Captain G. (his eye returning to the equipment).—Po-oor little woman! . . . Three pounds four and seven is three eleven, and that can be cut down to two eight, with just a lee-tle care, without weakening anything. Farriery is all rot in incompetent hands. What's the use of a shoecase when a man's scouting? He can't stick it on with a lick—like a stamp—the shoe! Skittles!
Mrs. G.—What's skittles? Pah! What is this leather cleaned with?
Captain G.—Cream and champagne and . . . Look here, dear, do you really want to talk to me about anything important?
Mrs. G.—No. I've done my accounts, and I thought I'd like to see what you're doing.
Captain G.—Well, love, now you've seen and . . . Would you mind? . . . That is to say . . . Minnie, I really am busy.
Mrs. G.—You want me to go?
Captain G.—Yes, dear, for a little while. This tobacco will hang in your dress, and saddlery doesn't interest you.
