G. (Knocking the ashes out of his pipe.) 'Tisn't what we say, it's what
we don't say, that helps. And it's all the profoundest philosophy. But no one
would understand--even if it were put into a book.
Mrs. G. The idea! No--only we ourselves, or people like ourselves--if there are
any people like us.
Capt. G. (Magisterially.) All people, not like ourselves, are blind idiots.
Mrs. G. (Wiping her eyes.) Do you think, then, that there are any people as
happy as we are?
Capt. G. 'Must be--unless we've appropriated all the happiness in the world.
Mrs. G. (Looking toward Simla.) Poor dears! Just fancy if we have!
Capt. G. Then we'll hang on to the whole show, for it's a great deal too jolly
to lose--eh, wife 'o mine?
Mrs. G. O Pip! Pip! How much of you is a solemn, married man and how much a
horrid slangy schoolboy?
Capt. G. When you tell me how much of you was eighteen last birthday and how
much is as old as the Sphinx and twice as mysterious, perhaps I'll attend to
you. Lend me that banjo. The spirit moveth me to yowl at the sunset.
Mrs. G. Mind! It's not tuned. Ah! How that jars!
Capt. G. (Turning pegs.) It's amazingly different to keep a banjo to proper
pitch.
Mrs. G. It's the same with all musical instruments, What shall it be?
Capt.
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