CAPT. G. No-o. I don't mean that exactly. But, you see, I shall be
tramping up and down, shifting these things to and fro, and I shall
be in your way. Don't you think so?

MRS. G. Can't I lift them about? Let me try. (Reaches forward to
trooper's saddle.)

CAPT. G. Good gracious, child, don't touch it. You'll hurt yourself.
(Picking up saddle.) Little girls aren't expected to handle
numdahs. Now, where would you like it put? (Holds saddle above
his head.)

MRS. G. (A break in her voice.) Nowhere. Pip, how good you
are-and how strong! Oh, what's that ugly red streak inside your
arm?

CAPT. G. (Lowering saddle quickly.) Nothing. It's a mark of sorts.
(Aside.) And Jack's coming to tiffin with his notions all cut and
dried!

MRS. G. I know it's a mark, but I've never seen it before. It runs
all up the arm. What is it?

CAPT. G. A cut-if you want to know.

MRS. G. Want to know! Of course I do! I can't have my husband
cut to pieces in this way. How did it come? Was it an accident?
Tell me, Pip.