Officers (as the regiment marches past by squadrons). Right whe-eel! Eyes right! For-ward! Dress up to your leaders there!
Capt. C. (with languid approbation). The dressin's not half bad.
Mrs. Pratt. No, they're dressed very like Hussars—or is it Artillery I mean? I always had an idea the Yeomanry wore comic uniforms—with shirt-collars, you know, and old-fashioned milk-pail hats with feathers and things. But (disappointedly) there's nothing ridiculous about these. What a frisky animal that trumpeter is riding; look at him caracoling about!
Capt. C. Trumpeters and serjeant-majors always the best mounted.
Mrs. Pratt. Are they? I wonder why that is. (As the regiment ranks by in single file.) But they've all got beautiful horses.
Capt. C. (critically). H'm, they're a fair-lookin' lot. Fall off a bit behind, some of 'em.
Mrs. Pratt. Do they? Then they can't be very good riders, can they?
Capt. C. These fellows? They ought to be; most of 'em, you see, hunt their horses regularly.
Mrs. Pratt. (with a mental vision of dismounted troopers chasing their chargers about the ground). What fun! I should like to see them do that. (As the regiment trots past in sections.) But they don't seem to come off over the trotting.
