Part 49 (2/2)

We are curious to see to what lengths you will go.

DARBEY.

The pitiable condition of my poor friend speaks for itself.

SALOME.

I beg your pardon--it does nothing of the kind.

TARVER.

[_Rising with difficulty and approaching SALOME._] Salome--I have loved you distractedly for upwards of eight weeks.

SALOME.

[_Going to him._] Oh, Major Tarver, let me pa.s.s; [_holding his coat firmly_] let me pa.s.s, I say.

TARVER.

Unless you push me, never!

SHEBA.

Spare me this scene, Mr. Darbey.

[_DARBEY follows SHEBA across the room._

TARVER.

To a man in my condition love is either a rapid and fatal malady, or it is an admirable digestive. Accept me, and my merry laugh once more rings through the Mess Room. Reject me, and my collection of vocal music, loose and in volumes, will be brought to the hammer, and the bird, as it were, will trill no more.

SALOME.

And is it really I who would hush the little throaty songster?

TARVER.

Certainly. [_Taking a sheet of paper from his pocket._] I have the Doctor's certificate to that effect.

[_Both reading the certificate they walk into Library._

SHEBA.

Oh, Mr. Darbey, I have never thought of marriage seriously.

DARBEY.

People never do till they _are_ married.

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