_A chestnut_. Yep. Now if this was 1914, with that racket loose, we'd be standing to.
_Chestnut_. Wind up, sonny. Why, in 1914 our saddles grew into our backs like the ivy and the oak. In 1914--
_A black horse_. Oh, dry up about 1914, old soldier; tell us about the Battle of Hastings and how you came to let WILLIAM'S own Mounted Blunderbusses run all over you.
_A bay horse_. Yes, and how you gave the field ten stone and a beating in the retreat to Corunna. What are your personal recollections of NAPOLEON, Rufus?
_Chestnut_. You blinkin' conscripts, you!
_Black._ Shiss! no bad language, Rufus--ladies present.
_Chestnut_. Ladies, huh. Behave nice and ladylike when they catch sight of the nosebags, don't they?
_A skewbald mare_. Well, we gotta stand up for our rights.
_Chestnut_. S'truth you do, tooth and hoof. What were you in civil life, Baby? A Suffragette?
_Bay_. No, she was a footlights favourite; wore her mane in plaits and a star-spangled bearing-rein and surcingle to improve her fig-u-are; did pretty parlour tricks to the strains of the banjo and psaltery. _N'est-ce pas, chérie?_
_Skewbald_. Well, what if I did? There's scores of circus-gals is puffect lydies. I don't require none of your familiarity any'ow, Mister.
_Bay_. Beg pardon. Excuse my bluff soldierly ways; but nevertheless take your nose out of my hay-net, please.
_A Canadian dun_. Gee! quit weavin' about like that, Tubby. Can't you let a guy get some sleep. I'll hand you a cold rebuff in the ribs in a minute. Wazzer matter with you, anyhow?
_Black_. Don't wonder, the way you over-eat yourself.
_Bay_. Ever know a Quartermaster's horse that didn't? He's the only one that gets the chance.
_Voice from over the way_. Well, we need it, don't we? We do all the bally head-work.
_Bay_. Hearken even unto the Honourable Montmorency. Hello, Monty there! Never mind about the bally head-work, but next time you're out troop-leading try to steer a course somewhat approaching the straight. You had the line opening and shutting like a concertina this morning.
_An iron-grey_. Begob, and that's the holy truth! I thought my ribs was goin' ivery minnut, an' me man was cursin' undher his breath the way you'd hear him a mile away. Ye've no more idea of a straight line, Monty avic, than a crab wid dhrink taken.
