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  THE TRAVELLING COMPANIONS _BY THE SAME AUTHOR._


     VOCES POPULI. Reprinted from _Punch_. With 20 Illustrations by
     J. BERNARD PARTRIDGE. First Series, Fcap. 4to., 5_s._ Second
     Series (_in preparation_).

     THE BLACK POODLE, AND OTHER STORIES. Crown 8vo., 2_s._ boards;
     2_s._ 6_d._ cloth.

  LONDON: LONGMANS, GREEN AND CO.

  [Illustration: "I GUESS YOU'RE THE MOST UNSELFISH SAINT ON TWO LEGS!"]




    THE

    TRAVELLING COMPANIONS

    A Story in Scenes

    [_Reprinted from "Punch"_]

    BY F. ANSTEY

    AUTHOR OF "VICE VERSÂ," "VOCES POPULI," ETC. ETC.

    _WITH TWENTY-SIX ILLUSTRATIONS_ BY J. BERNARD PARTRIDGE


    LONDON LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. AND NEW YORK: 15 EAST 16th STREET

    1892

    [_All rights reserved_]

    RICHARD CLAY & SONS, LIMITED, LONDON & BUNGAY.




    CONTENTS


    EXTREMES MEET                                                   1
    PODBURY PICKS UP ACQUAINTANCES                                  7
    CULCHARD COMES OUT OF HIS SHELL                                13
    PODBURY IS UNPLEASANTLY SURPRISED                              19
    CULCHARD HAS THE BEST OF IT                                    25
    CULCHARD MAKES A LITTLE MISCALCULATION                         31
    A DISSOLUTION OF PARTNERSHIP                                   37
    PODBURY FINDS CONSOLATION                                      43
    CULCHARD IS RATHER TOO CLEVER                                  49
    PODBURY INSISTS ON AN EXPLANATION                              54
    COURTSHIP ACCORDING TO MR. RUSKIN                              60
    CULCHARD DESCENDS FROM THE CLOUDS                              65
    ON REVIENT TOUJOURS                                            71
    MISS BANQUO                                                    77
    CULCHARD COMES OUT NOBLY                                       83
    CULCHARD FEELS SLIGHTLY UNCOMFORTABLE                          89
    CULCHARD CANNOT BE "HAPPY WITH EITHER"                         94
    A SUSPENSION OF HOSTILITIES                                   100
    CRUMPLED ROSELEAVES                                           106
    PUT NOT YOUR FAITH IN FIDIBUS                                 112
    WEARING RUE WITH A DIFFERENCE                                 118
    ONE MAN'S MEAT; ANOTHER MAN'S POISON                          124
    PEARLS AND PIGS                                               130
    THE PILGRIMS OF LOVE                                          135
    JOURNEYS END IN LOVERS' MEETING 141 PODBURY KISSES THE ROD    147


    ILLUSTRATIONS


    "YES, SIR"                                                         3
    "WANTED TO KNOW IF YOU WERE MY TUTOR"                             11
    "LEESTEN, I DELL YOU VONCE MORE"                                  17
    "I PRESUME, THOUGH, HE SLEPT BAD, NIGHTS"                         22
    MR. CYRUS K. TROTTER DISCUSSING NEW YORK HOTELS                   26
    "GOOD HEAVENS, IT--IT'S GONE!"                                    33
    "PUTS ME IN MIND O' THE BEST PART O' BOX 'ILL"                    39
    "ER--I HAVE BROUGHT YOU THE PHILOSOPHICAL WORK I MENTIONED"       46
    PODBURY GRAPPLING WITH THE EPITOME OF SPENCER                     50
    THE CURATE GETS UP AND QUITS THE ROOM WITH DIGNITY                57
    "IT DOES SEEM RATHER ROUGH ON FELLOWS, DON'T YOU KNOW"            63
    AN ELDERLY ENGLISHWOMAN IS SITTING ON HER TRUNK                   66
    STRUGGLING WITH A LONG PRINTED PANORAMA                           73
    "HOW LITTLE YOU KNOW ME!"                                         79
    "I KNOCK OFF QUITE A NUMBER OF THESE WHILE I'M ABROAD LIKE THIS"  84
    "BOUND TO TEACH YOU A LOT, SEEING ALL THE OLD ALTAR-PIECES I DO!" 90
    "I DON'T KNOW IF YOU'RE ACQUAINTED WITH A PAPER CALLED THE 'PENNY
    PATRICIAN'?"                                                      95
    SHE PASSES ON WITH HER CHIN IN THE AIR!                          101
    "BELLISSIMO SCULTORE!" 107 "HI! OTEZ-MOI CECI!"                  113
    "I GUESS YOU WANT TO COLOGNE _YOUR_ CHEEKS--THEY'RE DREADFUL
    LUMPY"                                                           120
    "I GUESS YOU'RE THE MOST UNSELFISH SAINT ON TWO LEGS!"           127
    A SOLEMN GENTLEMAN STRUGGLING WITH A TROUBLESOME COUGH           132
    "A MEAN CUSS? ME! REALLY--!"                                     137
    HYPATIA, BY JOVE! NARROW SHAVE THAT!                             143
    READS WITH A GRADUALLY LENGTHENING COUNTENANCE                   150




    THE TRAVELLING COMPANIONS




CHAPTER I.

_Extremes Meet._


     SCENE--_An Excursion Agent's Offices. Behind the counters
     polite and patient Clerks are besieged by a crowd of Intending
     Tourists, all asking questions at once._

FIRST INTENDING TOURIST. Here--have you made out that estimate for me
yet?

CLERK. In one moment, Sir. (_He refers to a list, turns over innumerable
books, jots down columns of francs, marks, and florins; reduces them to
English money, and adds them up._) First class fares on the Rhine,
Danube and Black Sea steamers, I think you said, second class rail, and
postwagen?

FIRST INT. T. I did say so, I believe; but you had better make it second
class all through, and I can always pay the difference if I want to.

    [_The_ CLERK _alters the sums accordingly, and adds up again._

CLERK. Fifty-five pounds fourteen and a penny, Sir. Shall I make you out
the tickets now?

FIRST INT. T. Um, no. On second thoughts, I'd like to see one of your
short Circular Tours for the English Lakes, or Wales, before I decide.

    [_The_ CLERK _hands him a quantity of leaflets, with which he retires._

     _Enter_ MR. CLARENDON CULCHARD, _age about twenty-eight; in
     Somerset House; tall; wears glasses, stoops slightly, dresses
     carefully, though his tall hat is of the last fashion but two.
     He looks about him expectantly, and then sits down to wait._

CULCHARD (_to himself_). No sign of him yet! I _do_ like a man to keep
an appointment. If this is the way he _begins_--I have my doubts whether
he is _quite_ the sort of fellow to--but I took the precaution to ask
Hugh Rose about him, and Rose said he was the best company in the world,
and I couldn't help getting on with him. I don't think Rose would
deceive me. And from all I've seen of Podbury, he seems a pleasant
fellow enough. What a Babel! All these people bent on pleasure, going to
seek it in as many directions--with what success no one can predict.
There's an idea for a sonnet there.

    [_He brings out a pocket-book, and begins to write--"As when a----"_

AN AMURRCAN CITIZEN (_to_ CLERK). See here, I've been around with your
tickets in Yurrup, and when I was at Vernis, I bought some goods at a
store there, and paid cash down for 'em, and they promised to send 'em
on for me right here, and that was last fall, and I've never heard any
more of 'em, and what I want _you_ should do now is to instruct your
representative at Vernis to go round and hev a talk with that man, and
ask him what in thunder he means by it, and kinder hint that he'll hev
the Amurrcan Consul in his hair pretty smart, if he don't look slippier!

    [_The_ CLERK _mildly suggests that it would be better to communicate
    directly with the American Consulate, or with the tradesman
    himself._

THE A. C. But hold on--how'm I goin' to write to that sharp, when I've
lost his address, and disremember his name? Can't you mail a few
particulars to your agent, so he'll identify him? No? (_Disappointed._)
Well, I thought you'd ha' fixed up a little thing like that, anyhow; in
my country they'd ha' done it right away. Yes, _Sir_!

    [_He goes away in grieved surprise._

     _Enter_ MR. JAMES PODBURY, _age twenty-six; in a City Office;
     short, fresh-coloured, jaunty; close-cut dark hair. Not having
     been to the City to-day, he is wearing light tweeds, and brown
     boots._

[Illustration: Yes, Sir]

PODBURY (_to himself_). Just nicked it--(_looks at clock_)--more or
less. And he doesn't seem to have turned up yet. Wonder how we shall hit
it off together. Hughie Rose said he was a capital good chap--when you
once got over his manner. Anyhow, it's a great tip to go abroad with a
fellow who knows the ropes. (_Suddenly sees_ CULCHARD _absorbed in his
note-book_.) So _here_ you are, eh?

CULCH. (_slightly scandalized by the tweeds and the brown boots_). Yes,
I've been here some little time. I wish you could have managed to come
before, because they close early here to-day, and I wanted to go
thoroughly over the tour I sketched out before getting the tickets.

    [_He produces an elaborate outline._

PODB. (_easily_). Oh, _that's_ all right! I don't care where _I_ go! All
I want is, to see as much as we can in the time--leave all the rest to
you. I'll sit here while you get the tickets.

AN OLD LADY (_to_ CLERK, _as_ CULCHARD _is waiting at the counter_). Oh,
I _beg_ your pardon, but _could_ you inform me if the 1·55 train from
Calais to Basle stops long enough for refreshments anywhere, and where
they examine the luggage, and if I can leave my hand-bag in the
carriage, and whether there is an English service at Yodeldorf, and is
it held in the hotel, and Evangelical, or High Church, and are the
sittings free, and what Hymn-book they use?

    [_The_ CLERK _sets her mind free on as many of these points as he can,
    and then attends to_ CULCHARD.

CULCH. (_returning to_ PODBURY _with two cases bulging with books of
coloured coupons_). Here are yours. I should like you to run your eye
over them, and see that they are correct, if you don't mind.

PODB. (_stuffing them in his pocket_). Can't be bothered now. Take your
word for it.

CULCH. No--but considering that we start the first thing to-morrow
morning, wouldn't it be as well to have some idea of where you're going?
And, by the way, excuse me, but is it altogether prudent to keep your
tickets in an outside pocket like that? I always keep mine, with my
money, in a special case in an inner pocket, with a buttoned flap--then
I know I _can't_ lose them.

PODB. Anything for a quiet life! (_He examines his coupons._) Dover to
Ostend? Never been there--like to see what Ostend's like. But why didn't
you go by Calais?--_shorter_, you know.

CULCH. Because I thought we'd see Bruges and Ghent on our way to
Brussels.

PODB. Bruges, eh? Capital! Anything particular going on there? No? It
don't matter. And Ghent--let's see, wasn't that where they brought the
good news from? Yes, we'll stop at Ghent--if we've time. Then--Brussels?
Good deal of work to be done there, I suppose, sightseeing, and that? I
like a place where you can moon about without being bothered myself;
now, at _Brussels_--never mind, I was only thinking.

CULCH. It's the best place to get to Cologne and up the Rhine from.
Then, you see, we go rather out of our way to Nuremberg----

PODB. Where they make toys? _I_ know--pretty festive there, eh?

CULCH. I don't know about festive--but it is--er--a quaint, and highly
interesting old place. Then I thought we'd dip down to Constance, and
strike across the Alps to the Italian Lakes.

PODB. Italian Lakes? First-rate! Yes, _they're_ worth seeing, I suppose.
Think they're better than the _Swiss_ ones, though?

CULCH. (_tolerantly_). I can get the coupons changed for Switzerland if
you prefer it. The Swiss Lakes may be the more picturesque.

PODB. Yes, we'll do Switzerland--and run back by Paris, eh? Not much to
do in Switzerland, though, after all!

CULCH. (_with a faintly superior smile_). There are one or two
mountains, I believe. But, personally, I should prefer Italy.

PODB. So should I. No fun in mountains--unless you go up 'em. What do
you think of choosing some quiet place, where nobody ever goes--say in
France or Germany--and, sticking to _that_. More of a rest, wouldn't it
be? such a bore having to know a lot of people!

CULCH. I don't see how we can change _all_ the tickets, really. If you
like, we could stop a week at St. Goarshausen.

PODB. What's St. Goarshausen like--cheery?

CULCH. I understood the idea was to keep away from our fellow
countrymen, and as far as I can remember St. Goarshausen, it is not
overrun with tourists--we should be quiet enough _there_.

PODB. That's the place for _me_, then. Or could we push on to Vienna?
Never seen Vienna.

CULCH. If you like to give up Italy altogether.

PODB. What do you say to _beginning_ with Italy and working back? Too
hot, eh? Well, then, we'll let things be as they are--I dare say it will
do well enough. So _that's_ settled!

CULCH. (_to himself on parting, after final arrangements concluded_). I
wish Rose had warned me that Podbury's habit of mind was so painfully
desultory. (_He sighs._) However----

PODB. (_to himself_). Wonder how long I shall take to get over
Culchard's manner. (_He sighs._) I wish old Hughie was coming--he'd give
me a leg over! [_He walks on thoughtfully._




CHAPTER II.

_Podbury picks up Acquaintances._


     SCENE--_Courtyard of the "Grand Hôtel du Lion Belgique et
     d'Albion," at Brussels. It is just after table d'hôte_; PODBURY
     _and_ CULCHARD _are sitting on a covered terrace, with coffee._

PODBURY (_producing a pipe_). Not such a bad dinner! Expect they'll rook
us a lot for it, though. Rather fun, seeing the waiters all troop in
with a fresh course, when the proprietor rang his bell. Like a ballet at
the Empire--eh?

CULCHARD (_selecting a cigarette_). I'm not in a position to say. I
don't affect those places of entertainment myself.

PODB. Oh! Where _do_ you turn in when you want to kick up your heels a
bit? Madame Tussaud's? I say, why on earth didn't you talk to that old
Johnny next to you at dinner? He was trying all he knew to be friendly.

CULCH. Was he? I dare say. But I rather understood we came out with the
idea of keeping out of all that.

PODB. Of course. _I'm_ not keen about getting to know people. He had no
end of a pretty daughter, though. Mean to say you didn't spot her?

CULCH. If by "spotting" you mean--was I aware of the existence of a very
exuberant young person, with a most distressing American accent?--I can
only say that she made her presence sufficiently evident. I confess she
did not interest me to the point of speculating upon her relationship to
anybody else.

PODB. Well--if you come to that, I don't know that I--still, she was
uncommonly----(_Happens to glance round, and lowers his voice._) Jove!
she's in the Reading-room, just behind us. (_Hums, with elaborate
carelessness._) La di deedle-lumpty--loodle-oodle-loo----

CULCH. (_who detests humming_). By the way, I wish you hadn't been in
such a hurry to come straight on. I particularly wished to stop at
Bruges, and see the Memlings.

PODB. I do like that! For a fellow who means to keep out of people's
way! They'd have wanted you to stay to lunch and dinner, most likely.

CULCH. (_raising his eyebrows_). Hardly, my dear fellow--they're
pictures, as it happens.

PODB. (_unabashed_). Oh, are they? Any way, you've fetched up your
average here. Weren't there enough in the Museum for you?

CULCH. (_pityingly_). You surely wouldn't call the collection here
exactly representative of the best period of Flemish Art?

PODB. If you ask me, I should call it a simply footling show--but you
were long enough over it. (CULCHARD _shudders slightly, and presently
pats his pockets._) What's up now? Nothing gone wrong with the works,
eh?

CULCH. (_with dignity_). No--I was merely feeling for my note-book. I
had a sudden idea for a sonnet, that's all.

PODB. Ah, you shouldn't have touched those mussels they gave us with the
sole. Have a nip of this cognac, and you'll soon be all right.

    [CULCHARD _scribbles in lofty abstraction_; PODBURY _hums_; MR.
    CYRUS K. TROTTER, _and his daughter_, MAUD S. TROTTER,
    _come out by the glass door of the Salon de Lecture, and seat
    themselves at an adjoining table._

MISS TROTTER. Well, I guess it's gayer out here, anyway. That Reading
Saloon is just about as lively as a burying lot with all the tombs
unlet. I want the address of that man who said that Brussels was a
second Parrus.

MR. TROTTER. Maybe we ain't been long enough off the cars to jedge yet.
Do you feel like putting on your hat and sack, and sorter smellin' round
this capital?

MISS T. Not any. I expect the old city will have to curb its impatience
to see me till to-morrow. I'm tired some.

CULCH. (_to himself_). Confound it, how can I----! (_Looks up, and
observes_ MISS T. _with a sudden attention._) That fellow Podbury has
better taste than I gave him credit for. She _is_ pretty--in her
peculiar style--_quite_ pretty! Pity she speaks with that deplorable
accent.

    [_Writes--"Vermilion lips that sheathe a parrot tongue," and runs
    over all the possible rhymes to "tongue."_

PODB. (_observing that his pencil is idle_). Gas cut off again? Come for
a toddle. You don't mean to stick here all the evening, eh?

CULCH. Well, we might take a turn later on, and see the effect of St.
Gudule in the moonlight.

PODB. Something _like_ a rollick that! But what do you say to dropping
in quietly at the Eden for an hour or so, eh? Variety show and all that
going on.

CULCH. Thanks--variety shows are not much in my line; but don't mind me
if you want to go.

    [PODBURY _wanders off, leaving_ CULCHARD _free to observe_ MISS
    TROTTER.

MISS T. Charley writes he's having a lovely time in Germany going round.
I guess he isn't feeling so cheap as he did. I wish he'd come along
right here.

MR. T. I presume he's put in all the time he had for Belgium--likely
we'll fetch up against him somewhere before he's through.

MISS T. Well, and I don't care how soon we do, either. Charley's a
bright man, and real cultivated. I'm always telling him that he's
purrfectly splendid company, considering he's only a cousin.

MR. T. That's so every time. I like Charley Van Boodeler firstrate
myself.

CULCH. (_to himself_). If Charley Van Boodeler was _engaged_ to her, I
suppose he'd be there. Pshaw! What _does_ it matter? Somehow, I rather
wish now that I'd--but perhaps we shall get into conversation presently.
Hang it, here's that fellow Podbury back again! Wish to goodness
he'd----(_To_ PODBURY.) Hallo, so you haven't started yet?

PODB. Been having a talk with the porter. He says there's a big fair
over by the Station du Midi, and it's worth seeing. Are you game to come
along and sample it, eh?

CULCH. (_with an easy indifference intended for_ MISS T.'S _benefit_).
No, I think not, thanks. I'm very comfortable where I am.

    [_He resumes his writing._

PODB. Well, it's poor fun having to go alone!

    [_He is just going, when_ MR. TROTTER _rises and comes towards him._

MR. T. You'll excuse me, Sir, but did I overhear you remark that there
was a festivity in progress in this city?

PODB. So I'm told; a fair, down in the new part. I could tell you how to
get to it, if you thought of going.

MR. T. Well, I don't see how I should ever strike that fair for
myself, and I guess if there's anything to be seen we're bound to _see_
it, so me and my darter--allow me to introduce my darter to you--Maud,
this gentleman is Mr.--I don't think I've caught your name,
Sir--Podbury?--Mr. Podbury, who's kindly volunteered to conduct us
round.

MISS T. _I_ should have thought you'd want to leave the gentleman some
say in the matter, father--not to mention me!

PODB. (_eagerly_). But won't you come? Do. I shall be awfully glad if
you will!

MISS T. If it makes you so glad as all that, I believe I'll come. Though
what you could say different, after Poppa had put it up so steep on you,
_I_ don't know. I'll just go and fix myself first. [_She goes._

MR. T. (_to_ PODBURY). My only darter, Sir, and a real good girl. We
come over from the States, crossed a month ago to-day, and seen a heap
already. Been runnin' all over Scotland and England, and kind of looked
round Ireland and Wales, and now what _we've_ got to do is to see as
much as we can of Germany and Switzerland and It'ly, and get some idea
of France before we start home this fall. I guess we're both of us
gettin' pretty considerable homesick already. My darter was sayin' to me
on'y this evening at _table d'hôte_, "Father," she sez, "the vurry first
thing we'll do when we get home is to go and hev a good square meal of
creamed oysters and clams with buckwheat cakes and maple syrup." Don't
seem as if we _could_ git along without maple syrup _much_ longer.
(MISS TROTTER _returns._) You never mean going out without your gums?

[Illustration: "WANTED TO KNOW IF YOU WERE MY TUTOR!"]

[_He roars._

MISS T. I guess it's not damp here--any. (_To_ PODBURY.) Now you're
going to be _Mary_, and father and I have got to be the little lambs and
follow you around.

    [_They go out, leaving_ CULCHARD _annoyed with himself and everybody
    else, and utterly unable to settle down to his sonnet again._


IN AN UPPER CORRIDOR TWO HOURS LATER.

CULCH. (_coming upon_ PODBURY). So you've got rid of your Americans at
last, eh?

PODB. _I_ was in no hurry, I can tell you. She's a ripping little
girl--tremendous fun. What do you think she asked me about _you_?

CULCH. (_stiff, but flattered_). I wasn't aware she had honoured me by
her notice. What _was_ it?

PODB. Said you had a sort of schoolmaster look, and wanted to know if
you were my tutor. My tutor! [_He roars._

CULCH. I hope you--ah--undeceived her?

PODB. Rather! Told her it was t'other way round, and I was looking after
_you_. Said you were suffering from melancholia, but were not absolutely
dangerous.

CULCH. If that's your idea of a joke, all I can say is----

    [_He chokes with rage._

PODB. (_innocently_). Why, my dear chap, I thought you wanted 'em kept
out of your way!

    [CULCHARD _slams his bedroom door with temper, leaving_ PODBURY
    _outside, still chuckling._




CHAPTER III.

_Culchard comes out of his Shell._


     SCENE--_On the Coach from Braine l'Alleud to Waterloo. The
     vehicle has a Belgian driver, but the conductor is a true-born
     Briton._ MR. CYRUS K. TROTTER _and his daughter are behind
     with_ PODBURY. CULCHARD, _who is not as yet sufficiently on
     speaking terms with his friend to ask for an introduction, is
     on the box-seat in front._

MR. TROTTER. How are you getting along, Maud? Your seat pretty
comfortable?

MISS TROTTER. Well, I guess it would be about as luxurious if it hadn't
got a chunk of wood nailed down the middle--it's not going to have any
one confusing it with a bed of roses _just_ yet. (_To_ PODB.) Your
friend mad about anything? He don't seem to open his head more'n he's
obliged to. I presume he don't approve of your taking up with me and
father--he keeps away from us considerable, I notice.

PODB. (_awkwardly_). Oh--er--I wouldn't say that, but he's a queer kind
of chap rather, takes prejudices into his head and all that. I wouldn't
trouble about him if I were you--not worth it, y' know.

MISS T. Thanks--but it isn't going to shorten my existence any.

    [CULCH. _overhears all this, with feelings that may be imagined._

BELGIAN DRIVER (_to his horses_). Pullep! Allez vîte! Bom-bom-bom!
Alright!

CONDUCTOR (_to_ CULCHARD). 'E's very proud of 'is English, _'e_ is.
'Ere, Jewls, ole feller, show the gen'lm'n 'ow yer can do a swear.
(_Belgian Driver utters a string of English imprecations with the utmost
fluency and good-nature._) 'Ark at 'im now! Bust my frogs! (_Admiringly,
and not_ _without a sense of the appropriateness of the phrase._) But
he's a caution, Sir, ain't he? _I_ taught him most o' what he knows!

A FRENCH PASSENGER (_to_ CONDUCTOR). Dis donc, mon ami, est-ce qu'on
peut voir d'ici le champ de bataille?

COND. (_with proper pride_). It ain't no use your torkin _to me_,
Mossoo; I don't speak no French myself. (_To_ CULCHARD.) See that field
there, Sir?

CULCH. (_interested_). On the right? Yes; what happened _there_?

COND. Fine lot o' rabbits inside o' there--big fat 'uns. (_To another
Passenger._) No, Sir, that ain't Belly Lions as you see from 'ere;
that's Mon Sin Jeean, and over there Oogymong, and Challyroy to the
left.


ON THE TOP OF THE MOUND.

     CULCHARD, _who has purchased a map in the Waterloo Museum as a
     means of approaching_ MISS TROTTER, _is pounced upon by an
     elderly Belgian Guide in a blue blouse, from whom he finds it
     difficult to escape._

THE GUIDE (_fixing_ CULCHARD _with a pair of rheumy eyes and a gnarled
forefinger_). You see vere is dat schmall voodt near de vite 'ouse? not
dere, along my shdeek--so. Dat is vare Peecton vas kill, Inglis Officer,
Peecton. Two days pefore he was voundet in de ahum. 'E say to his
sairvan', "You dell ennipoddies, I keel you!" He vandt to pe in ze
bataille: he _vas_ in ze bataille--seven lance troo 'im, seven; Peecton,
Inglis Officer. (CULCHARD _nods his head miserably._) Hah, you 'ave de
shart dere--open 'im out vide, dat de odder shentilmans see. (CULCHARD
_obeys, spell-bound._) Vare you see dat blue gross, Vaterloo Shirshe,
vere Loart Uxbreedge lose 'is laig. Zey cot 'im off and pury him in ze
cottyardt, and a villow grow oudt of 'im. 'E com 'ere to see the villow
growing oudt of his laig.

CULCH. (_abandoning his map, and edging towards_ MISS TROTTER). Hem--we
are gazing upon one of the landmarks of our national history--Miss
Trotter.

MISS T. That's a vurry interesting re-mark. I presume you must have
studied up some for a reflection of that kind. Mr. Podbury, your friend
has been telling me----, [_She repeats_ CULCHARD'S _remark_.

PODB. (_with interest_). Got any _more_ of those, old fellow?

[CULCHARD _moves away with disgusted hauteur_.

THE GUIDE (_re-capturing him_). Along dat gross vay, Vellainton meet
Blushair. Prussian général, Blushair. Vellainton 'e com hier. I see 'im.
Ven 'e see ze maundt, 'e vos vair angri. 'E say, "Eet is no ze
battle-fiel' no more--I com back nevare!" Zat aidge is vere de Scots
Greys vas. Ven they dell Napoleon 'oo zey are, 'e say, "Fine
mens--splendid mens, I feenish dem in von hour!" Soult 'e say, "Ah,
Sire, you do not know dose dairible grey 'orses!" Napoleon 'e _not_ know
dem. Soult 'e meet dem at de Peninsulaire--'_e_ know dem. In dat Shirsh,
dventy, dirty dablets to Inglis officers. Napoleon 'e coaled op 'is
laift vink, zey deploy in line, vair you see my shdeek--ha, ze
shentelman is gone avay vonce more!

MISS T. (_to_ CULCHARD, _who has found himself unable to keep away_).
You don't seem to find that old gentleman vurry good company?

CULCH. The fact is that I much prefer to receive my impressions of a
scene like this in solitude.

MISS T. _I_ should have thought you'd be too polite to tell me so; but I
was moving on, anyway.

[_She goes on._ _Before_ CULCHARD _can follow and explain, he finds
himself accosted by_ MR. TROTTER.

MR. T. I don't know as I'm as much struck by this Waterloo field as I
expected, Sir. As an Amurrcan, I find it doesn't come up to some of our
battlefields in the War. We don't blow about those battlefields, Sir,
but for style and general picturesqueness, I ain't seen nothing _this_
side to equal them. You ever been over? You want to come over and see
our country--that's what _you_ want to do. You mustn't mind me a-running
on, but when I meet some one as I can converse with in my own
language--well, I just about talk myself dry.

[_He talks himself dry, until rejoined by the_ GUIDE _with_ PODBURY
_and_ MISS TROTTER.

GUIDE (_to_ PODBURY). Leesten, I dell you. My vader--eighteen, no in ze
Airmi, laboreur man--he see Napoleon standt in a saircle; officers
roundt 'im. Boots, op to hier; green cott; vite vaiscott; vite laigs----

PODB. Your father's legs?

GUIDE (_indignantly_). No, Sare; my vader see Napoleon's laigs; leedle
'at, qvite plain; no faither--nossing.

PODB. But you just said you _had_ a faither!

GUIDE. I say, Napoleon 'ad no faither--vat you call it?--_plume_--in 'is
'at, at ze bataille.

PODB. Are you sure? I thought the history books said he "stuck a feather
in his hat, and called it Macaroni."

MISS T. I presume you're thinking of our National Amurrcan character,
Yankee Doodle?

GUIDE. My vader, 'e no see Napoleon viz a Yankedoodle in 'is 'at; 'e
vear nossing.

PODB. Nothing? What became of the green coat and white waistcoat, then,
eh?

GUIDE. Ah, you unnerstan' nossing at all! Leesten, I dell you vonce
more. My vader----

PODB. No, look here, my friend; you go and tell _that_ gentleman all
about it (_indicating_ CULCHARD); he's very interested in hearing what
Napoleon wore or didn't wear.

[_The_ GUIDE _takes possession of_ CULCHARD _once more, who submits,
under the impression that_ MISS TROTTER _is a fellow-sufferer_.

GUIDE (_concluding a vivid account of the fight at Houguymont_). Bot ven
zey com qvite nearer, zey vind ze rade line no ze Inglis
soldiers--nossing bot a breek vall, viz ze moskets--"Prown Pesses," you
coal dem--shdeekin out of ze 'oles! Ze 'oles schdill dere. Dat vas
Houguymont, in the orshairde. Now you com viz me and see ze lion. Ze
dail, two piece; ze bodi, von piece; ze ball, von piece. I sank you,
Sare. 'Ope you com again soon.

[CULCHARD _discovers that the_ TROTTERS _and_ PODBURY _have gone down
some time ago. At the foot of the steps he finds his friend waiting for
him, alone._

CULCH. (_with stiff politeness_). Sorry you considered it necessary to
stay behind on my account. I see your American friends have already
started for the station.

PODB. (_gloomily_). There were only two seats on that coach, and they
wouldn't wait for the next. I don't know why, unless it was that they
saw _you_ coming down the steps. She can't stand you at any price.

[Illustration: "LEESTEN, I DELL YOU VONCE MORE."]

CULCH. (_with some heat_). Just as likely she had had enough of your
buffoonery!

PODB. (_with provoking good humour_). Come, old chap, don't get your
shirt out with _me_. Not my fault if she's found out you think yourself
too big a swell for her, is it?

CULCH. (_hotly_). When did I say so--or think so? It's what you've told
her about me, and I must say I call it----

PODB. Don't talk bosh! Who said she was forward and bad form and all the
rest of it in the courtyard that first evening? She was close by, and
heard every word of it, I shouldn't wonder.

CULCH. (_colouring_). It's not of vital importance if she did.
(_Whistling._) Few-fee-fee-foo-foodle-di-fee-di-fa-foo.

PODB. Not a bit--to her. Better step out if we mean to catch that train.
(_Humming._) La-di-loodle-lumpty-leedle-um-ti-loo!

     [_They step out_, PODBURY _humming pleasantly and_ CULCHARD
     _whistling viciously, without further conversation, until they
     arrive at Braine l'Alleud Station--and discover that they have
     just missed their train_.




CHAPTER IV.

Podbury is unpleasantly Surprised.


     SCENE--_The Wiertz Museum at Brussels, a large and well-lighted
     gallery containing the works of the celebrated Belgian, which
     are reducing a limited number of spectators to the usual degree
     of stupefaction. Enter_ CULCHARD, _who seats himself on a
     central ottoman_.


CULCH. (_to himself_). If Podbury won't come down to breakfast at a
decent hour, he can't complain if I----I wonder if he heard Miss Trotter
say she was thinking of coming here this morning. Somehow, I _should_
like that girl to have a more correct comprehension of my character. I
don't so much mind her thinking me fastidious and exclusive. I dare say
I _am_--but I _do_ object to being made out a hopeless melancholiac!
(_He looks round the walls._) So these are Wiertz's masterpieces, eh?
h'm. Strenuous, vigorous,--a trifle crude, perhaps. Didn't he refuse all
offers for his pictures during his lifetime? Hardly think he could have
been overwhelmed with applications for the one opposite. (_He regards an
enormous canvas, representing a brawny and gigantic Achilles perforating
a brown Trojan with a small mast._) Not a dining-room picture. Still, I
like his independence--work up rather well in a sonnet. Let me see. (_He
takes out note-book and scribbles._) "He scorned to ply his sombre brush
for hire." Now if I read that to Podbury, he'd pretend to think I was
treating of a shoe-black on strike! Podbury is so utterly deficient in
reverence.

     [_Close by is a party of three Tourists--a Father and Mother,
     and a Daughter; who is reading to them aloud from the somewhat
     effusive Official Catalogue; the education of all three appears
     to have been elementary._

THE DAUGHTER _(spelling out the words laboriously)._ "I could not 'elp
fancying this was the artist's por-portrait?--portent?--no, _protest_
against des-des--(_recklessly_) despoticism, and tyranny, but I see it
is only--Por-Porliffymus fasting upon the companions of Ulyces."

Her Male Parent. Do it tell yer what that there big arm and leg be
a-doin' of in the middle of 'em?

DAUGHTER (_stolidly_). Don't you be in a nurry, father
(_continuing_)--"in the midst of some colonial?--_That_ ain't
it--_colossial_ animiles fanatically--fan-tasty-cally----why, this
catalogue is 'alf foreign itself!"

FEMALE P. Never mind, say 'Peterborough' at the 'ard words--_we_ shan't
be none the wiser!

DAUGHTER. "The sime-boalic ram the 'ero is to Peterborough and leave 'is
Peterborough grotter----"

MALE P. That'll do--read what it says about the next one.

DAUGHTER (_reading_). "The Forge of Vulkin. Words are useless 'ere.
Before sech a picture one can but look, and think, and enjoy it."

BOTH PARENTS (_impressed_). Lor!

[_They smack their lips reverently_; MISS TROTTER _enters the Gallery_.

CULCH. (_rising and going to meet her_). Good morning, Miss Trotter.
We--ah--meet again.

MISS T. That's an undeniable fact. I've left Poppa outside. Poppa
restricts himself to exteriors wherever he can--says he doesn't seem to
mix up his impressions so much that way. But you're alone, too. Where've
you hitched your friend up?

CULCH. My friend did not rise sufficiently early to accompany me. And,
by the way, Miss Trotter, I should like to take this opportunity of
disabusing your mind of the--er--totally false impression----

MISS T. Oh, _that's_ all right. I told him he needn't try to give me
away, for I could see you weren't _that_ kind of man!

CULCH. (_gratefully_). Your instinct was correct--perfectly correct.
When you say "that kind of man," I presume you refer to the description
my--er--friend considered it humorous to give of me as an unsociable
hypochondriac?

MISS T. Well, no; he didn't say just that. He represented you as one of
the fonniest persons alive; said you told stories which tickled folks to
death almost.

CULCH. (_annoyed_). Really, this is _most_ unpardonable of Mr. Podbury!
To have such odious calumnies circulated about one behind one's back is
simply too----I do _not_ aspire to--ah--to tickle folks to death!

MISS T. (_soothingly_). Well, I guess there's no harm done. I didn't
feel like being in any imminent danger of perishing that way in your
society. You're real high-toned and ever so improving, and that's better
than tickling, every time. And I want you to show me round this
collection and give me a few notions. Seems to me there was considerable
sand in Wiertz; sort of spread himself around a good deal, didn't he? I
presume, though, he slept bad, nights. (_She makes the tour of the
Gallery, accompanied by_ CULCHARD, _who admires her, against his better
judgment, more and more_.) ... I declare if that isn't your friend Mr.
Podbury just come in! I believe I'll have to give you up to him.

CULCH. (_eagerly_). I beg you will not think it necessary. He--he has a
guide already. _He_ does not require my services. And, to be plain, my
poor friend--though an excellent fellow according to his--ah--lights--is
a companion whose society occasionally amounts to a positive infliction.

MISS T. Well, I find him too chinny myself, times. Likely he won't
notice us if we don't seem to be aware of him.

[_They continue to inspect the canvases._

A BELGIAN GUIDE (_who has made an easy capture of_ PODBURY _at the Hotel
entrance_.) Hier now is a shdrainch beecture. "De toughts and veesions
of a saivered haid." Fairsst meenut afder degapitation; de zagonde; de
tirt. Hier de haid tink dey vant to poot him in a goffin. Dere are _two_
haids--von goes op, de udder down. Haf you got de two? Nod yet? No?

PODBURY (_shaking his head sagaciously_). Oh, ah, yes. Capital. Rum
subject, though.

GUIDE. Yais, vary magnifique, vary grandt, and--and rom also! Dees von
rebresents Napoleon in hail. De modders show him de laigs and ahums of
dair sons keeled in de vars, and invide him to drink a cop of bloodt.

PODB. Ha, cheery picture that!

[Illustration: "I PRESUME, THOUGH, HE SLEPT BAD, NIGHTS."]

GUIDE. Cheery, oh, yais! Now com and beep troo dis 'ole. (PODBURY _obeys
with docility_.) You see? A Mad Voman cooking her shildt in a gettle.
Hier again, dey haf puried a man viz de golera pefore he is daid, he
dries to purst de goffin, you see only de handt shdicking oudt.

PODB. The old Johnny seems full of pretty fancies. (_He looks through_
_another peephole._) Girl looking at skeleton. Ha! Any other domestic
subjects on view? (_He suddenly sees_ MISS TROTTER _and_ CULCHARD _with
their backs to him_.) Hal--lo, this _is_ luck! I must go to the rescue,
or that beggar Culchard will bore her to death in no time. (_To_ GUIDE.)
Here, hold on a minute. (_Crosses to_ CULCHARD, _followed by_ GUIDE.)
How d' ye do, Miss Trotter? Doing the Wild Wiertz Show, I see. Ah,
Culchard, why didn't you tell me you were going--might have gone
together. I say, I've got a guide here.

CULCH. (_drily_). So we perceive--a very sensible plan, no doubt, in
some cases, my dear fellow.

PODB. (_to_ MISS T.). Do come and listen to him, most intelligent
chap--great fun. Mr. Culchard is above that sort of thing, I dare say.

GUIDE. Your vriendts laike to choin, yais? Same for tree as for von. I
exblain all de beecture.

MISS T. You're vurry obliging, Mr. Podbury, but your friend is
explaining it all just splendidly.

PODB. (_piqued_). Perhaps I had better dismiss my chap, and take on Mr.
Culchard too?

MISS T. No, I'd just hate to have you do that. Keep on going round. You
mustn't mind us, indeed!

PODB. Oh, if you'd rather! (_Gloomily, to_ GUIDE.) They can do without
_us_. Just show me something more in the blood-and-thunder line--no, at
the other end of the room. [_They withdraw._

GUIDE. Hier is von dat is vary amusant. You know de schtory of de Tree
Vishes, eh?

PODB. _Macbeth_, eh? oh, I see--_Wishes_! No, what was that?

GUIDE. I dell it you. (_He tells it_; PODBURY _falls into gloomy
abstraction_.) ... And inschdantly she vind a grade pig soasage at de
end of her noâse. So de ole voman----

PODB. (_wearily_). Oh, I've heard all _that_. What's this one about?

GUIDE. Dis is galled "De lasht Gannon." You see de vigure of
Ceevilization flodderin up viz de vings, vile Brogress preaks asonder de
lasht gon, and in a gorner a Genius purns de vrontier bosts.

PODB. (_captiously_). What's he doing _that_ for?

GUIDE. I ton't know. I subbose begause dey are bosts, or (_dubiously_)
begause he is a Genius.

CULCH. (_touching_ PODBURY'S _arm as he goes out_). Oh--er--Podbury, I'm
off. Going to lunch somewhere with the--ah--Trotters. See you at _table
d'hôte_ this evening, I suppose? Good-bye.

PODB. (_savagely_). Oh, ta-ta! (_To himself._) And that's the fellow who
said he wanted to keep out of making friends! How the dickens am I going
to get through the time by myself? (_To_ GUIDE.) Here, that's enough for
one day.

GUIDE. If you vandt to puy som real Prussels lace for your sweedardt,
I----

PODB. (_grimly_). I've no occasion for any at present, thank you.

[_He pays and dismisses him, and stands forlornly in the Gallery, while
the Imperfectly Educated Daughter goes on spelling out the Catalogue for
her Parents' edification._




CHAPTER V.

Culchard has the Best of it.


SCENE--_Upper deck of the Rhine Steamer_, König Wilhelm, _somewhere
between Bonn and Bingen. The little tables on deck are occupied by
English, American, and German tourists, drinking various liquids, from
hock to Pilsener beer, and eating veal cutlets._ MR. CYRUS K. TROTTER
_is on the lower deck, discussing the comparative merits of the New York
hotels with a fellow countryman._ MISS MAUD S. TROTTER _is seated on the
afterdeck in close conversation with_ CULCHARD. PODBURY _is perched on a
camp-stool in the forward part. Near him a British Matron, with a
red-haired son, in a green and black blazer, and a blue flannel
nightcap, and a bevy of rabbit-faced daughters, are patronising a tame
German Student in spectacles, who speaks a little English._

THE BRITISH MATRON. Oh, you _ought_ to see London; it's our
capital--chief city, you know. Very grand--large--four million
inhabitants! [_With pride, as being in some way responsible for this._

A RABBIT-FACED DAUGHTER (_with a simper_). Quite a little _world_!

[_She looks down her nose, as if in fear of having said something a
little_ too _original_.

THE GERM. STUD. No, I haf not yet at London peen. Ven I vill pedder
Englisch learn, I go.

THE BLAZER. You read our English books, I suppose? Dickens, you know,
and Homer, eh? About the Trojan War--that's his _best_ work!

THE STUD. (_Ollendorffically_). I haf not read Diggins; but I haf read
ze bapers by _Bigvig_. Zey are vary indereshtin, and gurious.

[Illustration: MR. CYRUS K. TROTTER DISCUSSING NEW YORK HOTELS.]

A PATRIOTIC YOUNG SCOT (_to an admiring Elderly Lady in a black_
_mushroom hat_). Eh, but we just made a pairrty and went up Auld
Drachenfels, and when we got to th' tope, we danced a richt gude Scots
reel, and sang, "_We're a' togither an' naebody by_," concluding--just
to show, ye'll understan', that we were loyal subjics--wi' "_God Save_
_th' Queen_." The peasants didna seem just to know what to mak' of us, I
prawmise ye!

THE BLACK MUSHROOM. How I wish I'd been one of you!

THE YOUNG SCOT (_candidly_). I doot your legs would ha' stood such wark.

[PODBURY _becomes restless, and picks his way among the campstools to_
CULCHARD _and_ MISS TROTTER.

PODBURY (_to himself_). Time _I_ had a look in, I think. (_Aloud._)
Well, Miss Trotter, what do you think of the Rhine, as far as you've
got?

MISS T. Well, I guess it's navigable, as far as _I've_ got.

PODB. No, but I mean to say--does it come up to the mark in the scenery
line, you know?

MISS T. I cannt answer that till I know whereabouts it is they mark the
scenery-line. I expect Mr. Culchard knows. He knows pretty well
everything. Would you like to have him explain the scenery to you going
along? His explanations are vurry improving, I assure you.

PODB. I dare say; but the scenery just here is so flat that even my
friend's remarks won't improve it.

CULCH. (_producing his note-book ostentatiously_). I do not propose to
attempt it. No doubt you will be more successful in entertaining Miss
Trotter than I can pretend to be. I retire in your favour. [_He
scribbles._

PODB. Is that our expenses you're corking down there, Culchard, eh?

CULCH. (_with dignity_). If you want to know, I am "corking down," to
adopt your elegant expression, a sonnet that suggested itself to me.

PODB. Much better cork that _up_, old chap--hadn't he, Miss Trotter?

[_He glances at her for appreciation._

MISS T. That's so. I don't believe the poetic spirit has much chance of
slopping over so long as Mr. Podbury is around. You have considerable
merit as a stopper, Mr. Podbury.

PODB. I see; I'd better clear out till the poetry has all gurgled out of
him, eh? Is that the idea?

MISS T. If it is, it's your own, so I guess it's a pretty good one.

[PODBURY _shoulders off._

CULCH. (_with his pathetic stop on_). I wish I had more of your divine
patience! Poor fellow, he is not without his good points; but I do find
him a thorn in my flesh occasionally, I'm afraid.

MISS T. Well, I don't know as a thorn in the flesh is any the pleasanter
for having a good point.

CULCH. Profoundly true, indeed. I often think I could like him better if
there were less in him to like. I assure you he tries me so at times
that I could almost wish I was back at work in my department at Somerset
House!

MISS T. I dare say you have pretty good times there, too. Isn't that one
of your leading dry goods stores?

CULCH. (_pained_). It is not; it is a Government Office, and I am in the
Pigeonhole and Docket Department, with important duties to discharge. I
hope you didn't imagine I sold ribbons and calico over a counter?

MISS T. (_ambiguously_). Well, I wasn't just sure. It takes a pretty
bright man to do that where I come from.

AN OLD LADY (_who is sitting next to_ PODBURY, _and reading a homeletter
to another Old Lady_). "Dear Maria and dear Madeline are close by, they
have taken very comfortable lodgings in Marine Crescent. Dear Madeline's
frame is expected down next Saturday."

SECOND OLD LADY. Madeline's frame! Is anything wrong with the poor
girl's spine?

FIRST OLD LADY. I never heard of it. Oh, I see, it's _fiancé_, my dear.
Caroline _does_ write so illegibly. (_Continuing._) "Um--um,--suppose
you know she will be maimed----" (perhaps it _is_ her spine after
all--oh, _married_, to be sure), "very slowly" (is it slowly or shortly,
I wonder?), um, um, "very quiet wedding, nobody but dear Mr. Wilkinson
and his hatter."

SECOND O. L. The idea of choosing one's hatter for one's best man! I'm
surprised Maria should allow it!

FIRST O. L. Maria always _was_ peculiar--still, now I come to look, it's
more like "brother," which is certainly _much_ more suitable.
(_Continuing._) "She will have no--no bird's-marks ..." (Now, what
_does_ that--should you think that meant "crows-feet"? Oh, no, _how_
stupid of me--_bridesmaids_, of course!)--"and will go to the otter a
plain guy"--(Oh, Caroline really is _too_ ...)--"to the _altar_ in plain
_grey_! She has been given such quantities of pea-nuts"--(very odd
things to give a girl! Oh, _presents_! um, um)--"Not settled yet where
to go for their hangman"--(the officiating clergyman, I suppose--very
flippant way of putting it, I _must_ say! It's meant for _honeymoon_,
though, I see, to be _sure_!) &c. &c.

CULCH. (_to_ MISS T.). I should like to be at Nuremberg with you. It
would be an unspeakable delight to watch the expansion of a fresh young
soul in that rich mediæval atmosphere!

MISS T. I guess you'll have opportunities of watching Mr. Podbury's
fresh young soul under those conditions, any way.

CULCH. It would not be at all the same thing--even if he--but you _do_
think you're coming to Nuremberg, don't you?

MISS T. Well, it's this way. Poppa don't want to get fooling around any
more one-horse towns than he can help, and he's got to be fixed up with
the idea that Nuremberg is a prominent European sight before he drops
everything to get there.

CULCH. I will undertake to interest him in Nuremberg. Fortunately, we
are all getting off at Bingen, and going, curiously enough, to the same
hotel. (_To himself._) Confound that fellow Podbury, here he is _again_!

PODB. (_to himself, as he advances_). If she's carrying on with that
fellow, Culchard, to provoke me, I'll soon show her how little
I--(_Aloud._) I say, old man, hope I'm not interrupting you, but I just
want to speak to you for a minute, if Miss Trotter will excuse us. Is
there any particular point in going as far as Bingen to-night, eh?

CULCH. (_resignedly_). As much as there is in not going farther than
somewhere else, _I_ should have thought.

PODB. Well, but look here--why not stop at Bacharach, and see what sort
of a place it is?

CULCH. You forget that our time is limited if we're going to stick to
our original route.

PODB. Yes, of course; mustn't waste any on the Rhine. Suppose we push
on to Maintz to-night, and get the Rhine off our hands then? (_With a
glance at_ MISS TROTTER.) The sooner I've done with this steamer
business the better!

MISS T. Well, Mr. Podbury, that's not a vurry complimentary remark to
make before me!

PODB. We've seen so little of one another lately that it can hardly make
much difference--to _either_ of us--can it?

MISS T. Now I call that real kind, you're consoling me in advance!

THE STEWARD (_coming up_). De dickets dat I haf nod yed seen!
(_examining_ CULCHARD'S _coupons_). For Bingen--so?

CULCH. _I_ am. This gentleman gets off--is it Bacharach or Maintz,
Podbury?

PODB. (_sulkily_). Neither, as it happens. I'm for Bingen, too, as you
won't go anywhere else. Though you _did_ say when we started, that the
advantage of travelling like this was that we could go on or stop just
as the fancy took us!

CULCH. (_calmly_). I did, my dear Podbury. But it never occurred to me
that the fancy would take you to get tired of a place before you got
there!

PODB. (_as he walks forwards_). Hang that fellow! I know I shall punch
his head some day. And She didn't seem to care whether I stayed or not.
(_Hopefully._) But you never _can_ tell with women!

[_He returns to his camp-stool and the letter-reading Old Ladies._




CHAPTER VI.

Culchard makes a little Miscalculation.


SCENE.--_Garden of the Hotel Victoria at Bingen, commanding a view of
the Rhine and the vine-terraced hills, which are bathed in warm
afternoon sunlight. Under the mopheaded acacias_, CULCHARD _and_ PODBURY
_are sitting smoking. At a little distance from them, are a Young
Married Couple, whose honeymoon is apparently in its last quarter._

THE BRIDEGROOM (_lazily, to Bride, as she draws another chair towards
her for a foot-rest_). How many _more_ chairs do you want?

BRIDE (_without looking at him_). I should think you could spare me
one--you can hardly sit on three at once!

[_After this interchange of amenities, they consider themselves absolved
from any further conversational efforts._

PODB. (_to_ CULCH., _resuming a discussion_). I know as well as you do
that we are booked for Nuremberg; but what _I_ say is--that's no earthly
reason why we should _go_ there!

CULCH. No reason why _you_ should go, unless you wish it, certainly. _I_
intend to go.

PODB. Well, it's beastly selfish, that's all! I know _why_ you're so
keen about it, too. Because the Trotters are going.

CULCH. (_colouring_). That's an entire mistake on your part. Miss
Trotter has nothing to do with it. I don't even know whether she's going
or not--for certain.

PODB. No, but you've a pretty good idea that she _is_, though. And I
_know_ how it will be. You'll be going about with her all the time, and
I shall be shunted on to the old man! I don't _see_ it, you know!
(CULCH. _remains silent. A pause._ PODBURY _suddenly begins to search
his pockets._) I say--here's a pretty fix! Look here, old fellow,
doosid annoying thing, but I can't find my purse--must have lost it
somewhere!

CULCH. (_stoically_). I can't say I'm surprised to hear it. It's
awkward, certainly. I suppose I shall have to lend you enough to go home
with--it's all I can do; but I'll do that with--er--pleasure.

PODB. (_staring_). Go home? Why, I can wire to the governor for more,
easily enough. We shall have to stay here till it comes, that's all.

CULCH. And give up Nuremberg? Thank you!

PODB. I rather like this place, you know--sort of rest. And we could
always nip over to Ems, or Homburg, if it got too slow, eh?

CULCH. If I nip over anywhere, I shall nip to Nuremberg. We may just as
well understand one another, Podbury. If I'm to provide money for both
of us, it's only reasonable that you should be content to go where _I_
choose. I cannot, and will not, stand these perpetual interferences with
our original plan; it's sheer restlessness. Come with me to Nuremberg,
and I shall be very happy to be your banker. Otherwise, you must stay
here alone. [_He compresses his lips and crosses his legs._

PODB. Oh, _that's_ it, is it? But look here, why not tit up whether we
go on or stay?

CULCH. Why should I "tit up," as you call it, when I've already made up
my mind to go? When I once decide on anything, it's final.

THE BRIDE (_to Bridegroom, without enthusiasm_). Would you like me to
roll you a cigarette?

BRIDEGROOM (_with the frankness of an open nature_). Not if I know it. I
can do it better myself.

BRIDE (_coldly_). I see.

[_Another silence, at the end of which she rises and walks slowly away,
pausing at the gate to see whether he intends to follow. As he does not
appear to have remarked her absence, she walks on._

PODB. (_to_ CULCH., _in an undertone_). I say, those two don't seem to
hit it off exactly, eh? Seem sorry they came! You'll be glad to hear,
old fellow, that we needn't separate after all. Just found my purse in
my trouser-pocket!

CULCH. Better luck than you deserve. Didn't I tell you you should have a
special pocket for your money and coupons? Like this--see. (_He opens
his coat_) With a buttoned flap, it stands to reason they _must_ be
safe!

[Illustration: "GOOD HEAVENS, IT--IT'S GONE!"]

PODB. So long as you keep it buttoned, old chap,--which you don't seem
to do!

CULCH. (_annoyed_). Pshaw! The button is a trifle too--(_feels pocket,
and turns pale_). Good Heavens, it--it's _gone_!

PODB. The button?

CULCH. (_patting himself all over with shaking hands_).
Everything!--money, coupons, circular notes! They--they must have fallen
out going up that infernal Niederwald. (_Angrily._) You _would_ insist
on going!

PODB. Phew! The whole bag of tricks gone! You're lucky if you get them
again. Any number of tramps and beggars all the way up. Shouldn't have
taken off your coat--very careless of you! (_He grins._)

CULCH. It was so hot. I must go and inform the Police here--I may
recover it yet. Anyway, we--we must push on to Nuremberg, and I'll
telegraph home for money to be sent here. You can let me have enough to
get on with?

PODB. With all the pleasure in life, dear boy--on your own conditions,
you know. I mean, if I pay the piper, I call the tune. Now, I don't
cotton to Nuremberg somehow; I'd rather go straight on to Constance; we
could get some rowing there.

CULCH. (_pettishly_). Rowing be----(_recollecting his helplessness_).
No; but just consider, my dear Podbury. I assure you you'll find
Nuremberg a most delightful old place. You must see how bent I am on
going there!

PODB. Oh, yes, I see _that_. But then I'm _not_, don't you know--so
there we are!

CULCH. (_desperately_). Well, I'll--I'll meet you half-way. I've no
objection to--er--titting up with you--Nuremberg or Constance. Come?

PODB. You weren't so anxious to tit up just now--but never mind.
(_Producing a mark._) Now then, Emperor--Constance. Eagle--Nuremberg. Is
it sudden death, or best out of three? [_He tosses._

CULCH. Sud----(_The coin falls with the Emperor uppermost._) Best out
of three. [_He takes coin from_ PODBURY _and tosses._

PODB. Eagle! we're even so far. (_He receives coin._) This settles it.
[_He tosses._

CULCH. (_triumphantly_). Eagle again! Now mind, Podbury, no going back
after _this_. It must _be_ Nuremberg now.

PODB. All right! And now allow me to have the pleasure of restoring your
pocket-book and note-case. They did fall out on the Niederwald, and it
was a good job for you I was behind and saw them drop. You must really
be careful, dear boy. Ain't you going to say "ta" for them?

CULCH. (_relieved_). I'm--er--tremendously obliged. I really can't say
how.--(_Recollecting himself._) But you need not have taken advantage of
it to try to do me out of going to Nuremberg--it was a shabby trick!

PODB. Oh, it was only to get a rise out of you. I never meant to keep
you to it, of course. And I say, weren't you sold, though? Didn't I lead
up to it beautifully? (_He chuckles._) Score to me, eh!

CULCH. (_with amiable sententiousness_). Ah, well, I don't grudge you
your little joke if it amuses you. Those laugh best who laugh last. And
it's settled now that we're going to Nuremberg.

[MISS TROTTER _and her father have come out from the Speisesaal doors,
and overhear the last speech._

MR. TROTTER (_to_ CULCHARD). Your friend been gettin' off a joke on you,
Sir?

CULCH. Only in his own estimation, Mr. Trotter. I have nailed him down
to going to Nuremberg, which, for many reasons, I was extremely anxious
to visit. (_Carelessly._) Are we likely to be there when you are?

MISS T. I guess not. We've just got our mail, and my cousin, Charley Van
Boodeler, writes he's having a real lovely time in the Engadine--says
it's the most elegant locality he's struck yet, and just as full of
Amurrcans as it can hold; so we're going to start out there right away.
I don't believe we shall have time for Nuremberg this trip. Father, if
we're going to see about checking the baggage through, we'd better go
down to the _depôt_ right now. [_They pass on._

CULCH. (_with a very blank face and a feeble whistle_).
Few-fitty-fitty-fitty-fa-di-fee-fee-foo; few----After all, Podbury, I
don't know that I care so much about Nuremberg. They--they say it's a
good deal changed from what it was.

PODB. So are _you_, old chap, if it comes to that.
Tiddledy-iddlety-ido-lumpty-doodle-oo! Is it to be Constance after all,
then?

CULCH. (_reddening_). Er--I rather thought of the Engadine--more
_bracing_, eh?--few-feedle-eedle-oodle----

PODB. You artful old whistling oyster, _I_ see what you're up to! But
it's no go; she don't want either of us Engadining about after her. It's
Charley Van Stickinthemud's turn now! We've got to go to Nuremberg. You
can't get out of it, after gassing so much about the place. When you've
once decided, you know, it's _final_!

CULCH. (_with dignity_). I am not aware that I _wanted_ to get out of
it. I merely proposed in your----(PODBURY _suddenly explodes_.) What are
you cackling at _now_?

PODB. (_wiping his eyes_). It's the last laugh, old man,--and it's the
best!

[CULCHARD _walks away rapidly, leaving_ PODBURY _in solitary enjoyment
of the joke._ PODBURY'S _mirth immediately subsides into gravity, and he
kicks several unoffending chairs with quite uncalled-for brutality._




CHAPTER VII.

A Dissolution of Partnership.


SCENE--_A Second-Class Compartment on the line between Wurzburg and
Nuremberg._ PODBURY _has been dull and depressed all day, not having
recovered from the parting with_ MISS TROTTER. CULCHARD, _on the
contrary, is almost ostentatiously cheerful._ PODBURY _is intensely
anxious to find out how far his spirits are genuine, but--partly from
shyness, and partly because some of their fellow travellers have been
English--he has hesitated to introduce the subject. At last, however,
they are alone, and he is determined to have it out on the very first
opportunity._

CULCHARD. Abominably slow train, this _Schnell-zug_. I hope we shall get
to Nuremberg before it's too dark to see the general effect.

PODBURY. We're not likely to be in time for _table d'hôte_--not that
_I'm_ peckish. (_He sighs._) Wonder whereabouts the--the Trotters have
got to by now, eh?

[_He feels he is getting red, and hums the Garden Scene from_ "_Faust_."

CULCH. (_indifferently_). Oh, let me see--just arriving at St. Moritz, I
expect. Wonderful effect of colour, that is.

[_He indicates the West, where a bar of crimson is flaming between a
belt of firs._

Podb. (_absently_). Oh, wonderful!--where? (_Hums a snatch of a
waltz._) Dum-dum-diddle-um-tum-dum-dum-dum-ty-doodle; dum-dum--I say,
_you_ don't seem particularly cut up?

CULCH. Cut up? Why should I be cut up, my dear fellow?--about what?

[_Before_ PODBURY _can explain, two_ Talkative British Tourists _tumble
up into the compartment, and he has to control his curiosity once
more._

FIRST T. T. Well, I 'ope we're all right _now_, Sam, I'm sure--these
German jokers have chivied us about enough for one journey! (_To_
CULCHARD.) Not in your way, this 'at box, Sir? Don't give yer much space
in these foreign trains. (_They settle down and the train starts._)
Pretty bit o' country along 'ere!--puts me in mind o' the best part o'
Box 'Ill--and I can't say more for it than _that_!

[Illustration: "PUTS ME IN MIND O' THE BEST PART O' BOX 'ILL."]

SECOND T. T. (_a little man with a sandy fringe and boiled-looking
eyes_). What I notice about the country abroad is they don't seem to
'ave no _landmarks_.

FIRST T. T. (_with a dash of friendly contempt_). What d'yer mean--no
landmarks--_signposts_?

SECOND T. T. (_with dignity_). I mean to say, they don't 'ave nothing to
indicate which is Jack's property, and which is Joe's.

FIRST T. T. Go on--they've as much as what _we_ 'ave.

SECOND T. T. _'Ave_ they? We 'ave fences and 'edges. I don't see none
_'ere_. P'raps you'll point me _out_ one?

FIRST T. T. There's precious few 'edges or fences in the Isle o' Thanet,
as you'd know if you've ever been to Margit.

SECOND T. T. (_loftily_). I'm not talkin' about Margit now, I'm talkin'
of 'ere, and I'll trouble you to show me a landmark.

FIRST T. T. Depend on it they've their own ways of knowing which is
'oo's.

SECOND T. T. That's not what I'm _sayin'_. I'm sayin' there ain't
nothin' to _indicate_ it. [_They argue the point at length._

PODB. (_to_ CULCHARD). Then you really aren't cut up--about Miss T. you
know?

CULCH. (_with the reserve of a man who only wants to be pressed_). There
is no reason that I'm aware of, why I should be--but (_lowering his
voice_) don't you think we had better wait till we are alone to discuss
that subject?

PODB. Oh, all right. I'm not partic--at least. Well, I'm glad you
_aren't_, you know, that's all.

[_He becomes silent again--but his face brightens visibly._

FIRST T. T. (_to Second Do._). See that field there? That's tobacco,
_that_ is.

SECOND T. T. What they make their penny smokes of. (_The train enters a
station._) What funny engines they do 'ave 'ere! I expect the guard 'll
be wanting to see our _billyetts_ again next. It's as bad as it used to
be with the passports. I've 'eard--mind yer, I don't know 'ow much
likeli'ood there is in the assertion--that they're going to bring 'em in
again. Most intricate they were about them. (_To_ CULCHARD). Why, if
you'll believe me, a friend o' mine as 'ad one--well, they got 'is
description down to a ioter? He'd a cast in 'is eye,--they put it down,
and a pimple you'd 'ardly notice--but down _that_ went!

FIRST T. T. It's no use 'aving such things if they don't do it
thoroughly.

SECOND T. T. (_irrelevantly_). I wish I 'adn't 'ad that glass o' peach
wine where we changed last. (_A_ Guard _appears at the window, and makes
some guttural comments on the couple's tickets._) Wechseln? Why, that
means _wash_, don't it? I'm as clean as _him_, anyway. "Anshteigen,"--ah,
I ought to know what _that_ means by this time! Sam, my boy, we're
bundled out again. I _told_ yer 'ow it would be!

[_They tumble out, and the carriage is presently filled by an assortment
of Germans, including a lively and sociable little Cripple with a new
drinking-mug which he has just had filled with lager, and a Lady with
pale hair and sentimental blue eyes._

PODB. We can talk all right _now_, eh? _They_ won't understand. Look
here, old fellow, I don't mind owning _I'm_ rather down in the mouth
about----you know what. I shouldn't care so much if there was any chance
of our coming across them again.

CULCH. (_cordially_). I am very glad to hear you say so. I was rather
afraid you had taken a dislike--er--in that quarter.

PODB. I?--is it _likely_! I--I admire her awfully, you know, only she
rather seemed to snub me lately.

CULCH. (_with patronising reassurance_). Quite a mistake on your part, I
assure you, my dear fellow. I am sure she will learn to appreciate
you--er--fully when you meet again, which, I may tell you, will be at no
very distant date. I happen to know that she will be at the Italian
Lakes next month, and so shall we, if you let me manage this tour my own
way.

PODB. (_with surprise and gratitude_). I say, old boy, I'd no notion you
were such a nailing good chap? Nein, danky. (_To the little Cripple, who
is cheerily inviting him, in pantomime, to drink from his mug._ ) Cheeky
little beggar. But do you really think anything will--er--come of it, if
we do meet her again--_do_ you now?

CULCH. I--ah--have the best reasons for feeling tolerably certain of it.
[_He looks out of window and smiles._

PODB. But that cousin of hers--Charley, you know--how about _him_?

CULCH. I put that to her, and there is nothing in it. In fact, she
practically admitted--(_He glances round and lowers his voice._) I will
tell you another time. That lady over there is looking at us, and I'm
almost certain----

PODB. What if she is, she don't understand a word we're saying. I want
to hear all about Her, you know.

CULCH. My dear Podbury, we shall have ample time to talk about her while
we are at Nuremberg together--it will be the greatest pleasure to me to
do so as long as you please.

PODB. Thanks, old chap! I'd no idea you were doing all this, you know.
But just tell me this, what did she _say_ about me?

CULCH. (_mystified_). About you? I really don't recollect that she
mentioned _you_ particularly.

PODB. (_puzzled_). But I thought you said you'd been speaking up for me!
What _did_ you talk about then?

CULCH. Well, about myself--naturally.

[_He settles his collar with a vague satisfaction._

PODB. (_blankly_). Oh! Then you haven't been arranging to meet her again
on _my_ account?

CULCH. Good Heavens, no--what a very grotesque idea of yours, my dear
fellow! [_He laughs gently._

PODB. Is it? You always gave out that she wasn't your style at all, and
you only regarded her as a "study," and rot like that. How could _I_
tell you would go and cut me out?

CULCH. I don't deny that she occasionally--er--jarred. She is a little
deficient in surface refinement--but that will come, that will come. And
as to "cutting you out," why, you must allow you never had the
remotest----

PODB. I don't allow anything of the sort. She liked me well enough
till--till you came in and set her against me, and you may think it
friendly if you like, but I call it shabby--confoundedly shabby.

CULCH. Don't talk so loud, I'm sure I saw that woman smile!

PODB. She may smile her head off for all I care. (_The train stops;_
_the Cripple and all but the_ Pale-haired Lady _get out._) Here we are
at Nuremberg. What hotel did you say you are going to?

CULCH. The Bayrischer-Hof. Why?

[_He gets his coat and stick, &c., out of the rack._

PODB. Because I shall go to some other, that's all.

CULCH. (_in dismay_). My dear Podbury, this is really too childish!
There's no sense in travelling together, if we're going to stay at
different hotels!

PODB. I'm not sure I shall go any further. Anyway, while I _am_ here, I
prefer to keep to myself.

CULCH. (_with a displeased laugh_). Just as you please. It's a matter of
perfect indifference to _me_. I'm afraid you'll be terribly bored by
yourself, though.

PODB. That's _my_ look out. It can't be worse than going about with you
and listening while you crow and drivel about _her_, that's one comfort!
[_The_ Pale-haired Lady _coughs in a suspicious manner._

CULCH. You don't even know if there _is_ another hotel.

PODB. I don't care. I can find a pot-house somewhere, I daresay.

THE PALE-HAIRED LADY (_in excellent English, to_ PODBURY _as he passes
out_). Pardon me, you will find close to the Bahnhof a very goot
hotel--the Wurtemburger.

[PODBURY _thanks her and alights in some confusion; the_ Lady _sinks
back, smiling._

CULCH. (_annoyed_). She must have understood every word we said! Are you
in earnest over this? (PODBURY _nods grimly._) Well, you'll soon get
tired of your own society, I warn you.

PODB. Thanks, we shall see.

[_He saunters off with his bag;_ CULCHARD _shrugs his shoulders, and
goes in search of the Bayrischer-Hof Porter, to whom he entrusts his
luggage tickets, and takes his seat in the omnibus alone._




CHAPTER VIII.

+Podbury finds Consolation.+


SCENE--_A Bridge over the Pegnitz, at Nuremberg. Time, afternoon. The
shadows of the old gabled and balconied houses are thrown sharply on the
reddish-yellow water. Above the steep speckled roofs, the spires of St.
Lorenz glitter against the blue sky._ CULCHARD _is leaning listlessly
upon the parapet of the bridge._

CULCHARD (_to himself_). How mediæval it all is, and how infinitely
restful! (_He yawns._) What a blessed relief to be without that fellow
Podbury! He's very careful to keep out of my way--I've scarcely seen him
since I've been here. He must find it dreadfully dull. (_He sighs._) I
ought to find material for a colour-sonnet here, with these subdued grey
tones, those dull coppery-greens, and the glowing reds of the conical
caps of those towers. I _ought_--but I don't. I fancy that
half-engagement to Maud Trotter must have scared away the Muse. I wonder
if Podbury has really gone yet? (_Here a thump on the back disposes of
any doubt as to this._) Er--so you're still at Nuremberg? [_Awkwardly._

PODB. (_cheerfully_). Rather! Regular ripping old place this--suits me
down to the ground. And how are _you_ getting on, my bonnie boy, eh?

CULCH. (_who does not quite like being addressed as a bonnie boy_).
Perfectly, thanks. My mind is being--er--stimulated here in the
direction most congenial to it.

PODB. So's mine. By the way, have you got a book--I don't mean a novel,
but a regular improving book--the stodgier the better--to lend a fellow?

CULCH. Well, I brought an _Epitome of Herbert Spencer's Synthetic_
_Philosophy_ away with me to dip into occasionally. It seems a very able
summary, and you are welcome to it, if it's of any use to you.

PODB. Spencer, eh?--he's a stiff kind of old bird, ain't he? He'll do me
to-rights, thanks.

CULCH. It strikes me, Podbury, that you must find the time rather long,
to want a book of that kind. If you wish to resume our--ah--original
relations, I am quite ready to overlook what I am sure was only a phase
of not unnatural disappointment.

PODB. (_cheerfully_). Oh, _that's_ all right, old fellow. I've got over
all that business. (_He colours slightly._) How soon did you think of
moving on?

CULCH. (_briskly_). As soon as you please. We might start for Constance
to-morrow, if you like.

PODB. (_hesitating_). Well, you see, it's just this: there's a fellow
staying at my hotel--Prendergast, his name is--rattling good sort--and
I've rather chummed up with him, and--and he's travelling with a
relation of his, and--well, the fact is, they rather made a point of my
going on to Constance with _them_, don't you see? But I daresay we could
work it so as to go on all together. I'll see what they say about it.

CULCH. (_stiffly_). I'm exceedingly obliged--but so large a party is
scarcely--however, I'll let you know whether I can join you or not this
evening. Are you--er--going anywhere in particular just now?

PODB. Well, yes. I've got to meet Prendergast at the _Café Noris_. We're
going to beat up some stables, and see if we can't hire a couple of gees
for an hour or two before dinner. Do you feel inclined for a tittup?

CULCH. Thanks, but I am no equestrian. (_To himself, after_ PODBURY'S
_departure._) He seems to manage well enough without me. And yet I do
think my society would be more good for him than----. Why did he want to
borrow that book, though? Can my influence after all----(_He walks on
thoughtfully, till he finds himself before an optician's window in which
a mechanical monkey is looking through a miniature telescope; the monkey
suddenly turns its head and gibbers at him. This familiarity depresses
him, and he moves away, feeling lonelier than ever._)


ON THE TERRACE OF THE BURG. HALF AN HOUR LATER.

CULCH. (_on a seat commanding a panorama of roofs, gables, turrets, and
spires_). Now this is a thing that can only be properly enjoyed when one
is by oneself. The mere presence of Podbury--well, thank goodness, he's
found more congenial company. (_He sighs._) That looks like an English
girl sketching on the next seat. Rather a fine profile, so
regular--general air of repose about her. Singular, now I think of it,
how little repose there is about Maud. (_The_ Young Lady _rises and
walks to the parapet._) Dear me, she has left her india-rubber behind
her. I really think I ought----(_He rescues the india-rubber, which he
restores to the owner._) Am I mistaken in supposing that this piece of
india-rubber is your property?

THE Y. L. (_in musically precise tones_). Your supposition is perfectly
correct. I was under the impression that it would be safe where it was
for a few moments; but I am obliged to you, nevertheless. I find
india-rubber quite indispensable in sketching.

CULCH. I can quite understand that. I--I mean that it reduces
the--er--paralysing sense of irrevocability.

THE Y. L. You express my own meaning exactly.

[CULCHARD, _not being quite sure of his own, is proportionately
pleased._

CULCH. You have chosen an inspiring scene, rich with historical
interest.

THE Y. L. (_enthusiastically_). Yes, indeed. What names rise to one's
mind instinctively! Melanchthon, John Huss, Kraft, and Peter Vischer,
and Dürer, and Wohlgemut, and Maximilian the First, and Louis of
Bavaria!

CULCH. (_who has read up the local history, and does not intend to be
beaten at this game_). Precisely. And the imperious Margrave of
Brandenburg, and Wallenstein, and Gustavus Adolphus, and Goetz von
Berlichingen. One can almost see their--er--picturesque personalities
still haunting the narrow streets as we look down.

THE Y. L. I find it impossible to distinguish even the streets from
here, I confess, but you probably see with the imagination of an artist.
_Are_ you one by any chance?

[Illustration: "ER--I HAVE BROUGHT YOU THE PHILOSOPHICAL WORK I
MENTIONED."]

CULCH. Only in words; that is, I record my impressions in a poetic form.
A perfect sonnet may render a scene, a mood, a passing thought, more
indelibly than the most finished sketch; may it not?

THE Y. L. That is quite true; indeed, I occasionally relieve my feelings
by the composition of Greek or Latin verses, which I find, on the whole,
better adapted to express the subtler emotions. Don't you agree with me
there?

CULCH. (_who has done no Greek or Latin verse since he left school_).
Doubtless. But I am hindering your sketch?

THE Y. L. No, I was merely saturating my mind with the general effect. I
shall not really begin my sketch till to-morrow. I am going now. I hope
the genius of the place will inspire you.

CULCH. Thank you. I trust it will--er--have that effect. (_To himself
after the_ Young Lady _has left the terrace._) Now, that's a very
superior girl--she has intellect, style, culture--everything the ideal
woman _should_ have. I wonder, now, whether, if I had met her
before--but such speculations are most unprofitable! How clear her eyes
looked through her _pince-nez_! Blue-grey, like Athene's own. If I'd
been with Podbury, I should never have had this talk. The sight of him
would have repelled her at once. I shall tell him when I take him that
book that he had better go his own way with his new friends. I like the
view from this terrace--I shall come up here again--often.


SCENE--_The Conversations-Saal at the Wurtemburger-Hof. Evening._
PODBURY _at the piano_; BOB PRENDERGAST _and his sister_ HYPATIA _seated
near him._

PODB. (_chanting dolefully_)--

    Now then, this party as what came from Fla-an-ders,
      What had the com-plex-i-on rich and rare,
    He went and took and caught the yaller ja-un-ders--
      And his complexion isn't what it were!

MR. AND MISS PRENDERGAST (_joining sympathetically in chorus_). And his
complexion _isn't_ what it _were_!

[_There is a faint knock at the door, and_ CULCHARD _enters with a
volume under his arm. None of the three observe him, and he stands and
listens stiffly as_ PODBURY _continues,_--

    Well, next this party as what came from Fla-an-ders,
      Whose complex-shun was formi-ally rare,
    Eloped to Injia with Eliza Sa-aun-ders,
      As lived close by in Canonbury Square.

CULCH. (_advances to piano and touches_ PODBURY'S _arm with the air of
his better angel_). Er--I have brought you the philosophical work I
mentioned. I will leave it for an occasion when you are--er--in a fitter
frame of mind for its perusal.

PODB. Oh, beg pardon, didn't see you, old fellow. Awfully obliged; jam
it down anywhere, and (_whispering_) I say, I want to introduce you
to----

CULCH. (_in a tone of emphatic disapproval_). You must really excuse me,
as I fear I should be scarcely a congenial spirit in such a party. So
good-night--or, rather--er--good-_bye_. [_He withdraws._

MISS HYPATIA P. (_just as_ C. _is about to close the door_). Please
don't stop, Mr. Podbury, that song is quite too deliciously inane!

[CULCHARD _turns as he hears the voice, and--too late--recognises his
Athene of that afternoon. He retires in confusion, and, as he passes
under the window, hears_ PODBURY _sing the final verse._

    The moral is--Now _don't_ you come from Fla-an-ders,
      If you should have complexions rich and rare;
    And don't you go and catch the yaller ja-aun-ders,
      Nor yet know girls in Canonbury Square!

MISS HYPATIA P. (_in a clear soprano_). "Nor yet know girls in Canonbury
Square!" [CULCHARD _passes on, crushed._




CHAPTER IX.

+Culchard is rather too Clever.+


SCENE--_The Burg Terrace at Nuremberg._ PODBURY _on a bench, grappling
with the "Epitome of Spencer."_

PODB. (_reading aloud, with comments_). "For really to conceive the
infinite divisibility of matter is mentally to follow out the divisions
to infinity, and to do this would require infinite time." You're right
_there_, old cock, and, as I haven't got it to spare, I won't trouble
you!--um--um ... "opposite absurdities"--"subjective modifications" ...
"ultimate scientific ideas, then, are all representative of ideas that
cannot be comprehended." I could have told _him_ that. What bally rot
this Philosophy is--but I suppose I must peg away at it. Didn't she say
she was sorry I didn't go in more for cultivating my mind? (_He looks
up._) Jove, here she comes! and yes, there's that beggar Culchard with
her! I thought he'd--how the dickens did he manage to----? I see what
_he's_ after--thinks he'll cut me out--twice over--but he shan't this
time, if I can help it.

CULCH. (_to_ MISS HYPATIA PRENDERGAST). No, the Modern Spirit is too
earnestly intent upon solving the problems of existence to tolerate
humour in its literature. Humour has served a certain purpose in its
day, but that day is done, and I for one cannot pretend to regret its
decay.

MISS H. P. Nor I. In fact, the only humour I ever _really_ appreciated
is that of the ancient classics. There has been no true fun since
Aristophanes died. At least, _I_ think not.

PODB. (_catching the last sentence_). Oh, I say, come, Miss Prendergast.
Have you ever read _The Jumping Frog_?

MISS P. I was under the impression that _all_ frogs jumped. But I never
read--I--ah--_study_.

PODB. (_declining to be crushed_). Well, I call Mark Twain funny anyhow.
But _I'm_ going in for study now. I am--honour bright! I'm swotting up
Spencer--look! [_He exhibits the volume proudly._

[Illustration: PODBURY GRAPPLING WITH THE EPITOME OF SPENCER.]

MISS P. And are you not enchanted by the logical lucidity of that great
thinker?

PODB. Um--I should be more enchanted if I ever had the faintest notion
what the great thinker was driving at. Look here--here's a simple little
sentence for you! (_Reads._) "Let us therefore bear in mind the
following:--That of the whole incident force affecting an aggregate, the
effective force is that which remains after deducting the non-effective,
that the temporarily effective and the permanently effective vary
inversely, and that the molar and molecular changes wrought by the
permanently effective force also vary inversely." (_With pathos._) And
that's only in an _Epitome_, mind you!

MISS P. Really, Mr. Podbury, I see nothing particularly incomprehensible
in that.

CULCH. (_with his superior smile_). My dear Podbury, you can hardly
expect to master the Spencerian phraseology and habit of thought without
at least _some_ preliminary mental discipline!

PODB. (_nettled_). Oh--but _you_ find him plain-sailing enough, I
suppose?

CULCH. I have certainly not encountered any insuperable difficulties in
his works as _yet_.

PODB. Well, I'll just trouble you to explain _this_--wait a bit. (_Opens
volume again._) Ah, here we are--"And these illusive and primordial
cognitions, or pseud-ideas, are homogeneous entities which may be
differentiated objectively or subjectively, according as they are
presented as Noumenon or Phenomenon. Or, in other words, they are only
cognoscible as a colligation of incongruous coalescences." Now then--are
you going to tell me you can make head or tail of all that?

CULCH. (_perceiving that_ MISS P. _is awaiting his reply in manifest
suspense_). It's simple enough, my dear fellow, only I can't expect
_you_ to grasp it. It is merely a profound truth stated with masterly
precision.

PODB. Oh, is _that_ all, my dear fellow? (_He flings up his heels in an
ecstasy._) I _knew_ I'd have you! Why, I made that up myself as I went
along, and if _you_ understand it, it's a jolly sight more than _I_ do!

    [_He roars with laughter._

MISS P. (_behind her handkerchief_). Mr. Culchard has evidently gone
through the--the "preliminary mental discipline."

CULCH. (_scarlet and sulky_). Of course, if Mr. Podbury descends to
childishness of that sort, I can't pretend to----

PODB. (_wiping his eyes_). But you _did_ pretend, old chap. You said it
was "profound truth" and "masterly precision"! I've got more profound
truth where _that_ came from. I say, I shall set up as an intellectual
Johnny after this, and get you to write an Epitome of me. I think I
pulled your leg _that_ time, eh?

CULCH. (_biting his lip_). When you have extracted sufficient
entertainment from that very small joke, you will perhaps allow Miss
Prendergast to sit down and begin her sketch. You may not be aware that
you've taken her place.

    [_He withdraws majestically to the parapet, while_ PODBURY _makes
    way for_ MISS P. _with apologies._

PODB. (_as he leans over seat while she sketches_). I wish your brother
Bob had been here--he would have enjoyed that!

MISS P. It was really too bad of you, though. Poor Mr. Culchard!

PODB. He shouldn't try to make me out a bigger duffer than I am, then.
But I say, you don't _really_ think it was too bad? Ah, you're
_laughing_--you don't!

MISS P. Never mind what I really think. But you have got us both into
sad disgrace. Mr. Culchard is dreadfully annoyed with us--look at his
_shoulders_!

CULCH. (_leaning over parapet with his back to them_). That _ass_
Podbury! To think of his taking me in with an idiotic trick like that!
And before Her too! And when I had made it all right about the other
evening, and was producing an excellent impression on the way up here. I
wish I could hear what they are whispering about--more silly jokes at my
expense, no doubt. Bah! as if it affected _me_!

PODB. (_to_ MISS P.). I say, how awfully well you draw!

MISS P. There you betray your ignorance in Art matters. Sketching with
me is a pastime, not a serious pursuit. (_They go on conversing in a
lower tone._) No, _please_, Mr. Podbury. I'm quite sure he would
never----

PODB. (_rises; comes up to_ CULCHARD, _and touches his shoulder_). I
say, old chappie----

CULCH. (_jerking away with temper_). Now, look here, Podbury. I'm not in
the mood for any more of your foolery----

PODB. (_humbly_). All right, old boy. I wouldn't bother you, only Miss
Prendergast wants a figure for her foreground, and I said I'd ask you if
you'd keep just as you are for a few minutes. Do you mind?

CULCH. (_to himself_). Afraid she's gone too far--thinks she'll smooth
me down! Upon my word, it would serve her right to--but no, I won't be
petty. (_Aloud._) Pray tell Miss Prendergast that I have no immediate
intention of altering my position.

PODB. Thanks awfully, old chap. I knew you'd oblige.

CULCH. (_incisively_). I am obliging Miss Prendergast, and her only.
(_Raising his voice, without turning his head._) Would you prefer me to
_face_ you, Miss Prendergast?

MISS P. (_in tremulous tones_). N--no, thank you. It--it's so much more
n--natural, don't you know, for you to be l--looking at the view.

CULCH. As you please. (_To himself._) Can't meet my eye. Good! I shall
go on treating her distantly for a little. I wonder if I look
indifferent enough from behind? Shall I cross one foot? Better not--she
may have begun sketching me. If she imagines I'm susceptible to feminine
flattery of this palpable kind, she'll----how her voice shook, though,
when she spoke. Poor girl, she's afraid she offended me by laughing--and
I _did_ think she had more sense than to--but I mustn't be too hard on
her. I'm afraid she's already beginning to think too much of--and with
my peculiar position with Miss Trotter--(Maud, that is)--not that
there's anything definite at present, still----(_Aloud._) Ahem, Miss
Prendergast--am I standing as you wish? (_To himself._) She doesn't
answer--too absorbed, and I can't hear that idiot--found he hasn't
scored so much after all, and gone off in a huff, I expect. So much the
better! What a time she is over this, and how quiet she keeps! I wish I
knew whether it was coquetry or--shall I turn round and see? No, I must
be perfectly indifferent. And she _did_ laugh at me. I distinctly saw
her. Still, if she's sorry, this would be an excellent opportunity
for--(_Aloud._) Miss Prendergast! (_No reply----louder._) May I take it
that you regret having been betrayed into momentary approbation of a
miserable piece of flippancy? If so, let me assure you--(_Turns
round--to discover that he is addressing two little flaxen haired girls
in speckled pinafores, who are regarding him open-mouthed._ MISS
PRENDERGAST _and_ PODBURY _have disappeared._) Podbury _again_! He must
have planned this--with _her_! It is too much. I have done--yes--done
with the pair of them! [_Strides off in bitter indignation._




CHAPTER X.

+Podbury insists on an Explanation.+


SCENE--_A flight of steps by the lake in the grounds of the Insel Hôtel,
Constance. Time, late afternoon. A small boat, containing three persons,
is just visible far out on the glassy grey-green water._ BOB PRENDERGAST
_and_ PODBURY _are perched side by side on a parapet, smoking
disconsolately._

PODBURY. Do they look at all as if they meant to come in? I tell you
what, Bob, I vote we row out to them and tell them they'll be late for
_table d'hôte_. Eh? [_He knocks out his pipe._

PRENDERGAST (_phlegmatically_). Only be late for it ourselves if we do.
They'll come in when they want to.

PODB. It's not safe for your sister,--I'm hanged if it is--going out in
a boat with a duffer like Culchard! He'll upset her as sure as eggs.

PREND. (_with fraternal serenity_). With pin-oars? Couldn't if he tried!
And they've a man with them, too. The less I see of that chap Culchard
the better. I did hope we'd choked him off at Nuremberg. I hate the
sight of his supercilious old mug!

PODB. You can't hate it more than I do--but what can I do?
(_Pathetically_.) I've tried rotting him, but somehow he always manages
to get the best of it in the end. I never saw such a beggar to hang on!

PREND. What on earth made you ask him to come on here, after he declared
he wouldn't?

PODB. I! _I_ ask him? He settled it all with your sister. How could _I_
help it?

PREND. I'd do _something_. Why can't you tell him right out he ain't
wanted? _I_ would--like a shot!

PODB. It's not so easy to tell him as you think. We haven't been on
speaking terms these three days. And, after all (_feebly_) we're
supposed to be travelling together, don't you know! _You_ might drop him
a hint now.

PREND. Don't see how I can very well--not on my own hook. Might lead to
ructions with Hypatia, too.

PODB. (_anxiously_). Bob, you--you don't think your sister really----eh?

PREND. Hypatia's a rum girl--always was. She certainly don't seem to
object to your friend Culchard. What the dickens she can see in him, I
don't know!--but it's no use my putting _my_ oar in. She'd only jump on
_me_, y'know!

PODB. (_rising_). Then I _must_. If that's what he's really after, I
think I can stop his little game. I'll try, at any rate. It's a long
worm that has no turning, and I've had about enough of it. The first
chance I get, I'll go for him.

PREND. Good luck to you, old chap. There, they're coming in now. We'd
better go in and change, eh? We've none too much time.

    [_They go in._

_In the Lese-zimmer, a small gaslit room, with glazed doors opening upon
the Musik-saal. Around a table piled with German and English
periodicals, a mild Curate, the Wife of the English Chaplain, and two
Old Maids are seated, reading and conversing._ CULCHARD _is on a central
ottoman, conscientiously deciphering the jokes in "Fliegende Blätter_."
PODBURY _is at the bookcase, turning over odd Tauchnitz volumes._

THE CHAPLAIN'S WIFE (_to the_ CURATE, _a new arrival_). Oh, you will
_very_ soon get into all our little ways. The hours here are _most_
convenient--breakfast (_table d'hôte_) with choice of eggs or fish and
coffee--really _admirable_ coffee--from eight to nine; midday dinner at
one. Supper at nine. Then, if you want to write a letter, the post for
England goes out--(_&c., &c._) And on Sundays, eleven o'clock service
(Evangelical, of _course!_) at the----(_&c., &c.,_) My husband----(_&c.,
&c._)

FIRST OLD MAID (_looking up from a four days' old "Telegraph"_). I see
they are still continuing that very interesting correspondence on "Our
Children's Mouths--and are they widening?" One letter attributes it to
the habit of thumb-sucking in infancy--which certainly ought to be
checked. Now I never _would_ allow any----

THE C.'S. W. Nor I. But corals are quite as bad. Only this afternoon I
was telling a Lady in this hotel that her little boy would be much
happier with a rubber ring. You get them at a shop in the
Hoch-strasse--I can take you to it at any time, or if you like to
mention my name----(_&c., &c._)

SECOND O. M. One correspondent thought the practice of eating soup with
table-spoons tended to enlarge the mouth. I really believe there may be
something in it. [_A pause._

THE CURATE. The weather we have been having seems to have materially
affected the harvest prospects at home; they say there will be little or
no fodder for the cattle this year. I saw somewhere--I forget where it
was exactly--a suggestion to feed cows on chickweed.

PODB. (_at the bookcase_). Capital thing for them too, Sir. Know a man
who never gives his cattle anything else.

THE CURATE. Oh, really? And does he find the experiment answer?

PODB. They take to it like birds. And--curious thing--after he'd tried
it a month, all the cows turned yellow and went about chirping and
twittering and hopping. Fact, I assure you!

THE CURATE. Dear me--I should scarcely have----

[_He gradually comes to the conclusion that he is being trifled with,
and after a few moments of uncomfortable silence, gets up and quits the
room with dignity._

PODB. (_to himself_). _One_ of 'em gone! Now if I can only clear these
old tabbies out, I can tackle Culchard. (_Aloud, to_ CHAPLAIN'S WIFE.)
You don't happen to know if there's a good doctor here, I suppose? A
lady was saying in the Musik-saal--the lady with the three daughters who
came this afternoon--that she was afraid they were in for bad feverish
colds or something, and asking who there was to call in.

[Illustration: GETS UP AND QUITS THE ROOM WITH DIGNITY.]

THE C.'S W. Oh, I've _no_ belief in foreign doctors. I always find a few
drops of aconite or pulsatilla,----I have my homoeopathic case with me
now. Perhaps, if I went and had a talk with her I could----

[_She goes out energetically._

PODB. Another gone! (_To the_ OLD MAIDS.) So you aren't going down to
the Cloisters to-night? I'm told there's to be some fun
there--Hide-and-seek, or something--first-rate place for it, especially
now the moon's up!

FIRST O. M. Nobody told _us_ a word about it. Hide-and-seek--and in
those quaint old Cloisters too--It sounds delightful! What do you say,
Tabitha. Shall we just----? Only to look _on_, you know. We needn't
_play_, unless----

[_The_ TWO OLD MAIDS _withdraw in a pleased flutter._ PODBURY _crosses
to_ CULCHARD.

PODB. (_with determination_). Look here, Culchard, I'd just like to know
what you mean by the way you're going on.

CULCH. I thought we were both agreed that discussions of this kind----

PODB. It's all bosh our travelling together if we're not to have any
discussions. You've been on the sulk long enough. And I'll thank you to
inform me what you're after here, going about alone with Miss
Prendergast like this, in the Museum with her all the morning, and on
the lake again this afternoon--it won't _do,_ you know!

CULCH. If she happens to prefer my society to yours and her brother's, I
presume you have no claim to interfere.

PODB. I don't know about that. How about Miss Trotter?

CULCH. If I remember rightly, you yourself were not insensible to Miss
Trotter's--er--attractions?

PODB. Perhaps not; but I am not engaged to her--you _are_. You told me
so in the train.

CULCH. You entirely misunderstood me. There was no definite
understanding between us--nothing of the sort or kind. In fact, it was
merely a passing caprice. Since I have had the privilege of knowing Miss
Prendergast, I see clearly----

PODB. Then you mean to propose to her, eh?

CULCH. That is certainly my intention; have you any objection to offer?

PODB. Only that I mean to propose too. I dare say my chances are as good
as yours--even now.

CULCH. I doubt it, my dear fellow; however, don't let _me_ discourage
you.

PODB. I don't intend to. (_The figure of_ MISS PRENDERGAST _is seen to
pass the glazed doors, and move slowly across the Musik-saal; both
rush_ _to the door, and look after her._) She's gone out into the
balcony. 'Jove, I'll go too, and get it over!

CULCH. I should not advise you to do so. It is possible she may have
gone there with the--er--expectation of being joined by--by somebody
else. [_He smiles complacently._

PODB. You mean she gave you a _rendezvous_ there? I don't believe it!

CULCH. I did not say so. But I am not prepared to deny that I have been
waiting here with some such expectation.

PODB. (_holding the door_). If you go, I go too--that's all.

CULCH. Don't be absurd. You will only be _de trop,_ I assure you.

PODB. _De trop_ or not, I mean going--she shall choose between us.

CULCH. (_turning pale_). I suppose you intend to enlighten her as to
my--er--little flirtation (before I knew _her_) with Miss Trotter? Do
it, Podbury, do it--if you think you'll gain any good by it!

PODB. Telling tales is not exactly in my line. But you don't go on that
balcony without me--that's all.

CULCH. Well, listen to reason, my dear fellow. What you propose is
ridiculous. I--I don't mind conceding this: we'll each go, and--er--tit
up, as you call it, which goes first.

PODB. Done with you! (_Produces a mark._) Sudden death. You're
Eagle--I'm the other Johnny. (_Tosses._) Eagle! Confound you! But I mean
to have my innings all the same.

CULCH. You're perfectly welcome--when I've had mine. I'll--er--wish you
good evening.

[_He stalks out triumphantly._ PODBURY _places himself in a position
from which he can command a view of the Musik-saal, over the top of
"über Land und Meer," and awaits results._




CHAPTER XI.

Courtship according to Mr. Ruskin.


SCENE--_A Balcony outside the Musik-Saal of the Insel Hotel, Constance._
MISS PRENDERGAST _is seated;_ CULCHARD _is leaning against the railing
close by. It is about nine; the moon has risen, big and yellow, behind
the mountains at the further end of the Lake; small black boats are
shooting in and out of her track upon the water; the beat of the
steamers' paddles is heard as they come into harbour._ CULCHARD _has
just proposed._

MISS PRENDERGAST (_after a silence_). I have already felt very strongly
with Ruskin, that no girl should have the cruelty to refuse a
proposal----

CULCH. (_with alacrity_). Ruskin is always so right. And--er--where
there is such complete sympathy in tastes and ideas, as I venture to
think exists in our own case, the cruelty would----

MISS P. Pray allow me to finish! "Refuse a proposal _at once_" is
Ruskin's expression. He also says (if my memory does not betray me),
that "no lover should have the insolence to think of being accepted at
once." You will find the passage somewhere in _Fors_.

CULCH. (_whose jaw has visibly fallen_). I cannot say I recall it at
this moment. Does he hold that a lover should expect to be accepted
by--er--instalments, because, if so----

MISS P. I think I can quote his exact words. "If she simply doesn't like
him, she may send him away for seven years----"

CULCH. (_stiffly_). No doubt that course is open to her. But why seven,
and where is he expected to go?

MISS P. (_continuing calmly_). "He vowing to live on cresses and wear
sackcloth meanwhile, or the like penance."

CULCH. I feel bound to state at once that, in my own case, my position
at Somerset House would render anything of that sort utterly
impracticable.

MISS P. Wait, please,--you are so impetuous. "If she likes him a
little,"--(CULCHARD'S _brow relaxes_)--"or thinks she might come to like
him in time, she may let him stay near her,"--(CULCHARD _makes a
movement of relief and gratitude_)--"putting him always on sharp trial,
and requiring, figuratively, as many lion-skins or giants' heads as she
thinks herself worth."

CULCH. (_grimly_). "Figuratively" is a distinct concession on Ruskin's
part. Still, I should be glad to know----

MISS P. If you will have a little more patience, I will make myself
clear. I have always determined that when the--ah--occasion presented
itself, I would deal with it on Ruskinian principles. I propose in your
case--presuming of course that you are willing to be under vow for
me--to adopt a middle course.

CULCH. You are extremely good. And what precise form of--er--penance did
you think of?

MISS P. The trial I impose is, that you leave Constance to-morrow--with
Mr. Podbury.

CULCH. (_firmly_). If you expect me to travel for seven years with him,
permit me to mention that I simply cannot do it. My leave expires in
three weeks.

MISS P. I mentioned no term, I believe. Long before three weeks are over
we shall meet again, and I shall be able to see how you have borne the
test. I wish you to correct, if possible, a certain intolerance in your
attitude towards Mr. Podbury. Do you accept this probation, or not?

CULCH. I--ah--suppose I have no choice. But you really must allow me to
say that it is _not_ precisely the reception I anticipated. Still, in
your service, I am willing to endure even Podbury--for a strictly
limited period; that I _do_ stipulate for.

MISS P. That, as I have already said, is quite understood. Now go and
arrange with Mr. Podbury.

CULCH. (_to himself, as he retires_). It is _most_ unsatisfactory; but
at least Podbury is disposed of!

_The same Scene, a quarter of an hour later._ PODBURY _and_ MISS
PRENDERGAST.

PODB. (_with a very long face_). No, I _say_, though! Ruskin doesn't say
all that?

MISS P. I am not in the habit of misquoting. If you wish to verify the
quotation, however, I dare say I could find you the reference in _Fors
Clavigera_.

PODB. (_ruefully_). Thanks--I won't trouble you. Only it does seem
rather rough on fellows, don't you know. If every one went on his
plan--well, there wouldn't be many marriages! Still, I never thought
you'd say "Yes" right off. It's like my cheek, I know, to ask you at
all; you're so awfully clever and that. And if there's a chance for me,
I'm game for anything in the way of a trial. Don't make it stiffer than
you can help, that's all!

MISS P. All I ask of you is to leave me for a short time, and go and
travel with Mr. Culchard again.

PODB. Oh, I say, Miss Prendergast, you know. Make it something else.
_Do!_

MISS P. That is the task I require, and I can accept no other. It is
nothing, after all, but what you came out here to do.

PODB. I didn't know him _then_, you see. And what made me agree to come
away with him at all is beyond me. It was all Hughie Rose's doing--he
said we should get on together like blazes. So we have--_very_ like
blazes!

MISS P. Never mind that. Are you willing to accept the trial or not?

PODB. If you only knew what he's like when he's nasty, you'd let me
off--you would, really. But there, to please you, I'll do it. I'll stand
him as long as ever I can--'pon my honour I will. Only you'll make it up
to me afterwards, won't you now?

MISS P. I will make no promises--a true knight should expect no reward
for his service, Mr. Podbury.

PODB. (_blankly_). Shouldn't he? I'm a little new to the business, you
see, and it _does_ strike me----but never mind. When am I to trot him
off?

[Illustration: "IT DOES SEEM RATHER ROUGH ON FELLOWS, DON'T YOU KNOW."]

MISS P. As soon as you can induce him to go--to-morrow, if possible.

PODB. I don't believe he'll _go_, you know, for one thing!

MISS P. (_demurely_). I think you will find him open to persuasion. But
go and try, Mr. Podbury.

PODB. (_to himself, as he withdraws_). Well, I've let myself in for a
nice thing! Rummest way of treating a proposal _I_ ever heard of. I
should just like to tell that fellow Ruskin what I think of his precious
ideas. But there's _one_ thing, though--she can't care about Culchard,
or she wouldn't want him carted off like this.... Hooray, I never
thought of that before! Why, there he is, dodging about to find out how
_I've_ got on. I'll tackle him straight off.

  [CULCHARD _and_ PODBURY _meet at the head of the staircase, and speak at
  the same moment._

  CULCH. Er--Podbury, it has occurred   }
                 to me that we might----}
                                        } leave this place to-morrow!
  PODB. I say, Culchard, we really ought}
                                  to----}

PODB. Hullo! we're both of one mind for once, eh? (_To himself._) Poor
old beggar! Got the sack! That explains a lot. Well, I won't tell him
anything about this business just now.

CULCH. So it appears. (_To himself._) Had his _quietus_, evidently. Ah,
well, I won't exult over him.

[_They go off together to consult a time-table._

MISS P. (_on the balcony musing_). Poor fellows! I couldn't very well
say anything more definite at present. By the time I see them again, I
may understand my own heart better. Really, it is rather an exciting
sensation, having two suitors under vow and doing penance at the same
time--and all for my sake! I hope, though, they won't mention it to one
another--or to Bob. Bob does not understand these things, and he
might----But after all, there are only _two_ of them. And Ruskin
distinctly says that every girl who is worth _anything_ ought always to
have half a dozen or so. Two is really _quite_ moderate.




CHAPTER XII.

Culchard descends from the Clouds.


SCENE--_in Front of the Hôtel Bodenhaus at Splügen. The Diligence For
Bellinzona is having its team attached. An elderly Englishwoman is
sitting on her trunk, trying to run through the last hundred pages of a
novel from the Hotel Library before her departure._ PODBURY _is in the
Hotel, negotiating for sandwiches._ CULCHARD _is practising his Italian
upon a very dingy gentleman in smoked spectacles, with a shawl round his
throat._

THE DINGY ITALIAN (_suddenly discovering_ CULCHARD'S _nationality_).
Ecco, siete Inglese! Lat us spika Ingelis. I onnerstan' 'im to ze
bottomside. (_Laboriously, to_ CULCHARD, _who tries to conceal his
chagrin._) 'Ow menni time you employ to go since Coire at here? (C.
_nods with vague encouragement._) Vich manners of vezzer you vere
possess troo your travels--mosh ommerella? (C.'s _eyes grow vacant._)
Ha, I _tink_ it vood! Zis day ze vicket root sall 'ave plenti 'orse to
pull, &c., &c. (_Here_ PODBURY _comes up, and puts some rugs in the
coupé of the diligence._) You sit at ze beginning-end, hey? better, you
tink, zan ze mizzle? I too, zen, sall ride at ze front--we vill spika
Ingelis, altro!

PODB. (_overhearing this, with horror_). One minute, Culchard. (_He
draws him aside._) I say, for goodness' sake, don't let's have that old
organ-grinding Johnny in the _coupé_ with _us!_

CULCH. Organ-grinder! you are so _very_ insular! For anything you can
tell, he may be a decayed nobleman.

PODB. (_coarsely_). Well, let him decay somewhere else, that's all!
Just tell the Conductor to shove him in the _intérieur_, do, while I
nip into the _coupé_ and keep our places.

[CULCHARD, _on reflection, adopts this suggestion, and the_ ITALIAN
GENTLEMAN, _after fluttering feebly about the coupé door, is
unceremoniously bundled by the_ CONDUCTOR _into the hinder part of the
diligence._

          *          *          *          *          *

IN THE BERNARDINO PASS, DURING THE ASCENT.

CULCH. Glorious view one gets at each fresh turn of the road, Podbury!
Look at Hinter-rhein, far down below there, like a toy village, and that
vast desolate valley, with the grey river rushing through it, and the
green glacier at the end, and these awful snow-covered peaks all
round--_look_, man!

[Illustration: AN ELDERLY ENGLISHWOMAN IS SITTING ON HER TRUNK.]

PODB. I'm looking, old chap. It's all there, right enough!

CULCH. (_vexed_). It doesn't seem to be making any particular impression
on you, I must say!

PODB. It's making me deuced peckish, I know that--how about lunch, eh!

CULCH. (_pained_). We are going through scenery like this, and all you
think of is--lunch! (PODBURY _opens a basket.)_ You may give me one of
those sandwiches. What made you get _veal_? and the bread's all crust,
too! Thanks, I'll take some claret.... (_They lunch; the vehicle
meanwhile toils up to the head of the Pass._) Dear me, we're at the top
already! These rocks shut out the valley altogether--much colder at this
height, eh? Don't you find this keen air most exhilarating?

PODB. (_shivering_). Oh very, do you mind putting your window up?
Thanks. You seem uncommon chirpy to-day. Beginning to get _over_ it, eh?

CULCH. We shan't get over it for some hours yet.

PODB. I didn't mean the Pass, I meant--(_hesitating_)--well, your little
affair with Miss Prendergast, you know.

CULCH. My little affair? Get over? (_He suddenly understands._) Oh, ah,
to be sure. Yes, thank you, my dear fellow, it is not making me
_particularly_ unhappy. [_He goes into a fit of silent laughter._

PODB. Glad to hear it. (_To himself._) 'Jove, if he only knew what _I_
know! [_He chuckles._

CULCH. _You_ don't appear to be exactly heartbroken?

PODB. I? why _should_ I be--about _what_?

CULCH. (_with an affectation of reserve_). Exactly, I was forgetting.
(_To himself._) It's really rather humorous. (_He laughs again._) Ha,
we're beginning to go down now. Hey for Italy--la bella Italia! (_The
diligence takes the first curve._) Good Heavens, what a turn! We're
going at rather a sharp pace for downhill, eh? I suppose these Swiss
drivers know what they're about, though.

PODB. Oh, yes, generally--when they're not drunk. I can only see this
fellow's boots--but they look to me a trifle squiffy.

CULCH. (_inspecting them, anxiously)_. He does seem to drive very
recklessly. _Look_ at those leaders--heading right for the precipice....
Ah, just saved it! How we do lurch in swinging round!

PODB. Topheavy--I expect, too much luggage on board--have another
sandwich?

CULCH. Not for me, thanks. I say, I wonder if it's safe, having no
parapet, only these stone posts, eh?

PODB. Safe enough--unless the wheel catches one--it was as near as a
toucher just then--aren't you going to smoke? No? _I_ am. By the way,
what were you so amused about just now, eh?

CULCH. _Was_ I amused? (_The vehicle gives another tremendous lurch._)
Really, this is _too_ horrible!

PODB. (_with secret enjoyment._) We're right enough, if the horses don't
happen to stumble. That off-leader isn't over sure-footed--did you see
_that_? (CULCH. _shudders._) But what's the joke about Miss Prendergast?

CULCH. (_irritably_). Oh, for Heaven's sake, don't bother about that
_now_! I've something else to think about. My goodness, we were nearly
over that time! What are you looking at?

PODB. (_who has been leaning forward_). Only one of the traces--they've
done it up with a penny ball of string, but I dare say it will stand the
strain. You aren't _half_ enjoying the view, old fellow.

CULCH. Yes, I am. Magnificent!--glorious!--isn't it?

PODB. Find you see it better with your eyes shut? But I say, I wish
you'd explain what you were sniggering at.

CULCH. Take my advice, and don't press me, my dear fellow; you may
regret it if you do!

PODB. I'll risk it. It must be a devilish funny joke to tickle you like
that. Come, out with it!

CULCH. Well, if you must know, I was laughing.... Oh, he'll _never_ get
those horses round in.... I was--er--rather amused by your evident
assumption that I must have been _rejected_ by Miss Prendergast.

PODB. Oh, was _that_ it? And you're nothing of the kind, eh?

[_He chuckles again._

CULCH. (_with dignity_). No doubt you will find it very singular; but,
as a matter of fact, she--well, she most certainly did not _discourage_
my pretensions.

PODB. The deuce she didn't! Did she tell you Ruskin's ideas about
courtship being a probation, and ask you if you were ready to be under
vow for her, by any chance?

CULCH. This is too bad, Podbury! you must have been there, or you
couldn't possibly know!

PODB. Much obliged, I'm sure. I don't listen behind doors, as a general
thing. I suppose, now, she set you a trial of some kind, to prove your
mettle, eh? [_With another chuckle._

CULCH. (_furiously_). Take care--or I may tell you more than you bargain
for!

PODB. Go on--never mind _me_. Bless you, _I'm_ under vow for her too, my
dear boy. Fact!

CULCH. That's impossible, and I can prove it. The service she demanded
was, that I should leave Constance at once--with you. Do you
understand--with _you_, Podbury!

PODB. (_with a prolonged whistle_). My aunt!

CULCH. (_severely_). You may invoke every female relative you possess in
the world, but it won't alter the fact, and that alone ought to convince
you----

PODB. Hold on a bit. Wait till you've heard _my_ penance. She told me to
cart _you_ off. _Now_, then!

CULCH. (_faintly_). If I thought she'd been trifling with us both like
that, I'd never----

PODB. She's no end of a clever girl, you know. And, after all, she may
only have wanted time to make up her mind.

CULCH. (_violently_). I tell you _what_ she is--she's a cold-blooded
pedantic prig, and a systematic flirt! I loathe and detest a prig, but a
flirt I despise--yes, _despise_, Podbury!

PODB. (_with only apparent irrelevance_). The same to you, and many of
'em, old chap! Hullo, we're going to stop at this inn. Let's get out and
stretch our legs and have some coffee.

[_They do; on returning, they find the_ ITALIAN GENTLEMAN _smiling
blandly at them from inside the coupé._

THE IT. G. Goodaby, dear frens, a riverderla! I success at your chairs.
I vish you a pleasure's delay!

PODB. But I say, look here, Sir, we're going on, and you've got our
place!

THE IT. G. Sank you verri moch. I 'ope so.

[_He blows_ PODBURY _a kiss._

PODB. (_with intense disgust_). How on earth are we going to get that
beggar out? Set the Conductor at him, Culchard, do--you can talk the
lingo best!

CULCH. (_who has had enough of_ PODBURY _for the present_). Talk to him
yourself, my dear fellow, _I_'m not going to make a row. [_He gets in._

PODB. (_to_ CONDUCTOR). Hi! sprechen sie Französisch, oder was? _il-y-a
quelque chose dans mon siège, dites-lui de_--what the deuce is the
French for "clear out"?

COND. _Montez, Monsieur, nous bartons, montez vîte alors!_

[_He thrusts_ PODBURY, _protesting vainly, into the intérieur, with two
peasants, a priest, and the elderly Englishwoman. The diligence starts
again._




CHAPTER XIII.

On revient Toujours!


SCENE--_A hundred yards or so from the top of Monte Generoso, above Lake
Lugano._ CULCHARD, _who, with a crowd of other excursionists, has made
the ascent by rail, is toiling up the steep and very slippery slope to
the summit._

CULCH. (_to himself, as he stops to pant_). _More_ climbing! I thought
this line was supposed to go to the top! But that's Italian all
over--hem--as Podbury would say! Wonder, by the way, if he expected to
be asked to come with me. I've no reason for sacrificing myself like
that any longer! (_He sighs._) Ah, Hypatia, if you could know what a
dreary disenchanted blank you have made of my life! And I who believed
you capable of appreciating such devotion as mine!

A VOICE BEHIND. My! If I don't know that back I'll just give up! How've
_you_ been getting along all this time, Mr. Culchard?

CULCH. (_turning_). Miss Trotter! A most delightful and--er--unexpected
meeting, indeed!

MISS TROTTER. Well, we came up on the cars in front of yours. We've
taken rooms at the hotel up here. Poppa reckoned the air would be kind
of fresher on the top of this mountain, and I don't believe but what
he's right either. I guess I shall want another hairpin through _my_
hat. And are you still going around with Mr. Podbury? As inseparable as
ever, I presume?

CULCH. Er--_about_ as inseparable. That is, we are still travelling
together--only, on this particular afternoon----

MISS T. He went and got mislaid? I see. He used to stray considerable
over in Germany, didn't he? Well, I'm real pleased to see _you_ anyway.
And how's the poetry been panning out? I hope you've had a pretty good
yield of sonnets?

CULCH. (_to himself_). She's really grown distinctly prettier. She might
show a little more _feeling_, though, considering we were almost, if not
quite----(_Aloud._) So you remember my poor poems? I'm afraid I have not
been very--er--prolific of late.

MISS T. You don't say! I should think you'd have had one to show for
every day, with the date to it, like a new-laid egg.

CULCH. Birds don't lay--er--I mean they don't _sing_, in the dark. My
light has been--er--lacking of late.

MISS T. If that's intended for me, you ought to begin chirping right
away. But you're not going to tell me you've been "lounjun round en
sufferin'" like--wasn't it _Uncle Remus's_ Brer Terrapin? (_Catching_
C.'S _look of bewilderment._) What, don't you know _Uncle Remus?_

CULCH. (_politely_). Mr. Trotter is the only relation of yours I have
had the pleasure of meeting, as yet.

MISS T. Why, I reckoned _Uncle Remus_ was pretty most everybody's
relation by now. He's a book. But likely you've no use for our national
humorous literature?

CULCH. I--er--must confess I seldom waste time over the humorous
literature of _any_ nation.

MISS T. I guess that accounts for your gaiety! There, don't you mind
_me_, Mr. Culchard. But suppose we hurry along and inspect this panorama
they talk so much of; it isn't going to be any side-show. It's just a
real representative mass-meeting of Swiss mountains, with every
prominent peak in the country on the platform, and a deputation down
below from the leading Italian lakes. It's ever so elegant,--and there's
Poppa around on the top too.

_On the top. Tourists discovered making more or less appropriate
remarks._

[Illustration: STRUGGLING WITH A LONG PRINTED PANORAMA.]

FIRST TOURIST (_struggling with a long printed panorama, which flaps
like a sail_). Grand view, Sir, get 'em all from here, you see! Monte
Rosa, Matterhorn, Breithorn----

[_Works through them all conscientiously, until, much to everybody's
relief, his panorama escapes into space._

SECOND T. (_a lady, with the air of a person making a discovery_). How
wonderfully small everything looks down below!

THIRD T. (_a British Matron, with a talent for incongruity_). Yes,
dear, very--_quite_ worth coming all this way for; but as I was telling
you, we've always been accustomed to such an evangelical service, so
that our new Rector is really _rather_--but we're quite _friendly_ of
course; go there for tennis, and he dines with us, and all that. Still,
I _do_ think, when it comes to having lighted candles in broad
_daylight_----(_&c., &c._)

FOURTH T. (_an equally incongruous American_). Wa'al, yes, they show up
well, cert'nly, those peaks do. But I was about to remark, Sir, I went
to that particular establishment on Fleet Street. I called for a chop.
And when it came, I don't deny I felt disappointed, for the plate all
around was just as _dry_--! But the moment I struck a fork into that
chop, Sir,--well, the way the gravy just came _gushing_ out was--there,
it ain't no use me trying to put it in words! But from that instant,
Sir, I kinder realized the peculiar charm of your British chop.

FIFTH T. (_a discontented Teuton_). I exbected more as zis. It is nod
glear enough--nod at all. Zey dolt me from ze dop you see Milan. I look
all aroundt. Novere I see Milan! And I lief my obera-glass behint me in
ze drain, and I slib on ze grass and sbrain my mittle finger, and
altogedder I do not vish I had com.

MISS T. (_presenting_ CULCHARD _to_ MR. CYRUS K. T.). I guess you've met
_this_ gentleman before!

MR. T. Well now, that's _so_. I didn't just reckon I'd meet him again
all this way above the sea-level though, but I'm just as pleased to see
him. Rode up on the cars, I presume, Sir? Tolerable hilly road all the
way, _ain't_ it now? There cann't anybody say we hain't made the most of
_our_ time since you left us. Took a run over to Berlin; had two hours
and a haff in that city, and I dunno as I keered about making a more
pro-tracted visit. Went right through to Vi-enna, saw round Vi-enna. I
did want, being so near, to just waltz into Turkey and see that. But I
guess Turkey 'll have to keep till next time. Then back again into
Switzerland, for I do seem to have kinder taken a fancy to Switzerland.
I'd like to have put in more time there, and we stayed best part of a
week too! But Italy's an interesting place. Yes, I'm getting
considerable interested in Italy, so far as I've got. There's Geneva
now----

MISS T. You do beat anything for mixing up places, Father. And you
don't want to be letting yourself loose on Mr. Culchard this way. You'd
better go and bring Mr. Van Boodeler along; he's round somewhere.

MR. T. I do like slinging off when I meet a friend; but I'll shut down,
Maud, I'll shut down.

MISS T. Oh, there you are, Charley! Come right here, and be introduced
to Mr. Culchard. He's a vurry intelligent man. My cousin, Mr. Charles
Van Boodeler,--Mr. Culchard. Mr. Van Boodeler's intelligent too. He's
going to write our great National Amurrcan novel, soon as ever he has
time for it. That's so, isn't it?

MR. V. B. (_a slim, pale young man, with a cosmopolitan air and a
languid drawl_). It's our most pressing national need, Sir, and I have
long cherished the intention of supplying it. I am collecting material,
and, when the psychological moment arrives, I shall write that novel.
And I believe it will be a big thing, a very big thing; I mean to make
it a complete compendium of every phase of our great and complicated
civilization from State to State and from shore to shore. [CULCHARD
_bows vaguely_.

MISS T. Yes, and the great Amurrcan public are going to rise up in their
millions and boom it. Only I don't believe they'd better start booming
just yet, till there's something more than covers to that novel. And how
you're going to collect material for an Amurrcan novel, flying round
Europe, just beats _me_!

MR. V. B. (_with superiority_). Because you don't realize that it's
precisely in Europe that I find my best American types. Our citizens
show up better against a European background,--it excites and stimulates
their nationality, so to speak. And again, with a big subject like mine,
you want to step back to get the proper focus. Now I'm _stepping_ back.

MISS T. I guess it's more like skipping, Charley. But so long as you're
having a good time! And here's Mr. Culchard will fix you up some sonnets
for headings to the chapters. You needn't begin _right_ away, Mr.
Culchard; I guess there's no hurry. But we get talking and _talking_,
and never look at anything. I don't call it encouraging the scenery, and
that's a fact!

MR. T. (_later, to_ CULCHARD). And you're pretty comfortable at your
hotel? Well, I dunno, after all, what there is to keep _us_ here. I
guess we'll go down again and stop at Lugano, eh, Maud?

[CULCHARD _eagerly awaits her reply_.

MISS T. I declare! After bringing all my trunks way up here! But I'd
just as soon move down as not; they're not unpacked any. (_Joy of_ C.)
Seems a pity, too, after engaging rooms here. And they looked real nice.
Mr. Culchard, don't you and Mr. Podbury want to come up here and take
them? They've a perfectly splendid view, and then we could have yours,
you know! (C. _cannot conceal his chagrin at this suggestion_.) Well,
see here, Poppa, we'll go along and try if we can't square the
hotel-clerk and get our baggage on the cars again, and then we'll see
just how we feel about it. I'm purrfectly indifferent either way.

CULCH. (_to himself, as he follows_). Can she be really as indifferent
as she seems? I'm afraid she has very little heart! But if only she can
be induced to go back to Lugano.... She will be at the same hotel--a
great point! I wish that fellow Van Boodeler wasn't coming too,
though.... Not that they've settled to come at all yet!... Still, I
fancy she likes the idea.... She'll come--if I don't appear too anxious
about it!

[_He walks on, trying to whistle carelessly._




CHAPTER XIV.

+Miss Banquo.+


SCENE--_Gardens belonging to the Hôtel du Parc, Lugano. Time, afternoon;
the orchestra is turning up in a kiosk._ CULCHARD _is seated on a bench
in the shade, keeping an anxious eye upon the opposite door_.

CULCH. (_to himself_). She said she had a headache, and made her father
and Van Boodeler go out on the lake without her. But she certainly gave
me to understand that she might come out when the band played, if she
felt better. The question is, whether she _means_ to feel better or not.
She is the most tantalizing girl! _I_ don't know what to make of her.
Not a single reference, as yet, to that last talk we had at Bingen. I
must see if I can't recall it to her memory--if she comes. I'll wait
here, on the chance of it--we are not likely to be dis----. Confound it
all--Podbury! (_with suppressed irritation as_ PODBURY _comes up_).
Well, do you _want_ anything in particular?

PODB. (_cheerfully, as he sits down_). Only the pleasure of your
society, old chap. How nicely you do put things!

CULCH. The--er--fact is, I can't promise to be a particularly lively
companion just now.

PODB. Not by way of a change? Ah, well, it's a pity--but I must put up
with you as you are, I suppose. You see--(_with a grin_)--I've got that
vow to work out.

CULCH. Possibly--but _I_ haven't. As I've already told you--I retire.

PODB. Wobbled back to Miss Trotter again, eh? Matter of taste, of
course, but, for my part, I think your _first_ impression of her was
nearer the truth--she's not what I call a highly cultivated sort of
girl, y' know.

CULCH. You are naturally exacting on that point, but have the goodness
to leave my first impressions alone, and--er--frankly, Podbury, I see no
necessity (_now_, at all events) to take that ridiculous--hum--penance
_too_ literally. We are _travelling_ together, and I imagine that is
enough for Miss Prendergast.

PODB. It's enough for _me_--especially when you make yourself so doosid
amiable as this. You needn't alarm yourself--you won't have any more of
my company than I can help; only I _must_ say, for two fellows who came
out to do a tour _together_, it's---- [_Walks away, grumbling._

_Later. The band has finished playing_; MISS TROTTER _is on the bench
with_ CULCHARD.

MISS T. And you mean to tell me you've never met anybody since you even
cared to converse with?

CULCH. (_diplomatically_). Does that strike you as so very incredible?

MISS T. Well, it strikes me as just a _little_ too thin. I judged you'd
go away, and forget I ever existed.

CULCH. (_with tender reproach_). How little you know me! I may not be
an--er--demonstrative man, my--er--feelings are not easily roused, but,
once roused, well--(_wounded_)--I think I may claim to possess an
ordinary degree of constancy!

MISS T. Well, I'm sure I _ought_ to feel it a vurry high compliment to
have you going round grieving all this time on _my_ account.

CULCH. Grieving! Ah, if I could only _tell_ you what I went through!
(_Decides, on reflection, that the less he says about this the better._)
But all that is past. And now may I not expect a more definite answer to
the question I asked at Bingen? Your reply then was--well, a little
ambiguous.

MISS T. I guess it's got to be just about as ambiguous now--there don't
seem anything I _can_ say. There's times when I feel as if it might be
sort of elevating and improving to have you shining around; and there's
other times when I suspect that, if it went on for any considerable
period, likely I'd weaken. I'm not just sure. And I cann't ever make
myself believe but what you're disapproving of me, inside of you, most
all the time!

CULCH. Pray dismiss such--er--morbid misgivings, dear Miss Trotter. Show
that you do so by accepting me as your guide and companion through life!

[Illustration: "HOW LITTLE YOU KNOW ME."]

MISS T. My! but that sounds like a proposal?

CULCH. I intended it to bear that--er--construction. It _is_ a
proposal--made after the fullest reflection.

MISS T. I'm ever so obliged. But we don't fix things quite that way in
my country. We want to feel pretty sure, first, we shann't get left. And
it don't seem to me as if I'd had opportunities enough of studying your
leading characteristics. I'll have to study them some more before I know
whereabouts I am; and I want you to understand that I'm not going to
commit myself to anything at present. That mayn't be sentiment, but I
guess it's common-sense, anyway. And all _you_'ve got to do is, just to
keep around, and kind of impress me with a conviction that you're the
vurry brightest and best man in the entire universe, and I don't believe
you'll find much difficulty about _that_. And now I guess we'll go into
_table d'hôte_--I'm just as _ravenous_!

CULCH. (_to himself, as he follows her_). Really, this is not much
better than Ruskin, after all. But I don't despair. That last remark was
distinctly encouraging!


SCENE--_A large Salle à Manger, decorated in the Pompeian style. Table
d'hôte has begun._ CULCHARD _is seated between_ MISS TROTTER _and a
large and conversational stranger. Opposite are three empty chairs._

CULCHARD'S NEIGHBOUR. Then you're going on to Venice? Well, you take
_my_ advice. When you get there, you ask for tunny. Don't
forget--_tunny_!

CULCH. (_who wants to talk to_ MISS T.). Tunny? Thank you. I--er--will
certainly remember his name, if I require a guide.

HIS N. A guide? No, no--tunny's a _fish_, Sir, a coarse red fish, with
flesh like a raw beefsteak.

CULCH. Is that so? Then I will make a point of asking for it--if I want
raw beefsteak. [_Attempts to turn to_ MISS T.

HIS N. That's what _I_ did when I was at Venice. I sent for the Manager.
He came. I said to him, "Look here, I'm an Englishman. My name's
Bellerby. (CULCHARD _bows in patient boredom_.) I've heard of your
Venetian tunny. I wish to taste it. _Bring_ me some!"

CULCH. (_crushingly_). A most excellent method of obtaining it, no
doubt. (_To_ WAITER.) _Numéro vingt-sept, demi bouteille de Chianti, et
siphon!_

HIS N. You don't wait till I've _done_, Sir! I _didn't_ obtain it--not
at first. The man made excuses. I was prepared for _that_. I told him
plainly, "I know what _you_'re thinking--it's a cheap fish, and you
fancy I'm ordering it out of economy!"

CULCH. (_raising his eyebrows for_ MISS T.'S _benefit_). Of course, he
naturally _would_ think so. And _that_ is how you got your tunny? I see.

[MR. BELLERBY _stares at him suspiciously, and decides to suppress the
remainder of his tunny._

MISS T. This hotel seems to be thinning some. We've three ghosts right
in front of us this evening.

CULCH. (_turning with effusion_). So we have! My friend is one, and
he'll be here presently, but I much prefer myself to see every seat
occupied. There is something so depressing about a vacant chair, don't
you think?

MISS T. It's calculated to put one in mind of _Macbeth's_ little
dinner-party, certainly. But you can cheer up, Mr. Culchard, here comes
a couple of belated _Banquos_. My gracious, I _do_ like that girl's
face--she has such a perfectly lovely expression, and looks real
superior too!

CULCH. (_who has just dropped his glasses into his soup_). I--ah--which
lady are you referring to? (_He cleans and adjusts his glasses--to
discover that he is face to face with_ MISS HYPATIA PRENDERGAST.) Oh ...
I--I see--precisely, quite so! (_He turns to_ BELLERBY _to cover his
confusion and avoid meeting_ MISS PRENDERGAST'S _eye_.) I _beg_ your
pardon, you were describing how you caught a tunny? Pray continue.

MR. BELLERBY (_stiffly_). Excuse me, I don't seem fortunate enough to
have secured your undivided attention.

CULCH. (_with intense interest_). Quite the contrary, I assure you! You
were saying you always ordered it out of economy?

MR. B. Pardon _me_--I was saying nothing of the sort. I was saying that
I told the Manager I knew that was why he _thought_ I ordered it--a
rather different thing! "You're quite wrong," I said. "You may pay
twopence-halfpenny a pound for it, and charge me half-a-crown, if you
like, but I mean to _taste_ that tunny!" I was determined not to be done
out of my tunny, Sir!

CULCH. (_breathlessly_). And what did the tunny--I mean the Manager--say
to _that_?

MR. B. Oh, made more difficulties--it wasn't to be got, and so on. At
last I said to him (very quietly, but he saw I was in earnest), "Now I
tell you what it _is_--I'm going to _have_ that tunny, and, if you
refuse to give it me,--well, I shall just send my courier _out_ for it,
that's all!" So, with _that_, they brought me some--and anything more
delicious I never tasted in all my life!

CULCH. (_to himself_). If I can only keep him on at this tunny!
(_Aloud._) And--er--what _does_ it taste like exactly, now?

MR. B. (_pregnantly._) You _order_ it, Sir--_insist_ on having it. Then
you'll _know_ what it tastes like! [_He devotes himself to his soup._

CULCH. (_with his eyes lowered--to himself._) I _must_ look up in
another _minute_--and then! [_He shivers._




CHAPTER XV.

+Culchard comes out Nobly.+


SCENE--_The Table d'Hôte at Lugano_; CULCHARD _has not yet caught_ MISS
PRENDERGAST'S _eye_.

CULCHARD (_to_ MR. BELLERBY). Have you--ah--been up Monte Generoso yet?

MR. B. No. (_After reflecting._) No, I haven't. But I was greatly struck
by its remarkably bold outline from below. Indeed, I dashed off a rough
sketch of it on the back of one of my visiting cards. I ought to have it
somewhere about me now. (_Searching himself._) Ah, I thought so!
(_Handing a vague little scrawl to_ CULCHARD, _who examines it with the
deepest interest_.) I knock off quite a number of these while I'm abroad
like this. Send 'em in letters to relatives at home--gives them a notion
of the place. They are--ar--kind enough to value them. (CULCHARD _makes
a complimentary mumble_.) Yes, I'm a very rapid sketcher. Put me with
regular artists, and give us half an hour, and I--ar--venture to say I
should be on terms with them. Make it _three_ hours, and--well, I dare
say I shouldn't be in it.

PODBURY (_who has dropped into the chair next to_ MISS PRENDERGAST _and
her brother_). Bob, old chap, I'll come in the middle, if you don't
mind. I say, this _is_ ripping--no idea of coming across you so soon as
this. (_Lowering his voice, to_ MISS P.) Still pegging away at my
"penance," you see!

MISS PREND. The pleasure is more than mutual; but do I understand that
Mr.----? So _tiresome_, I left my glasses up in my room!

[_She peers up and down the line of faces on her own side of the
table._

MISS T. (_to_ CULCH.). I want you should notice that girl. I think she
looks just as nice as she can be, don't you?

[Illustration: "I KNOCK OFF QUITE A NUMBER OF THESE WHILE I'M ABROAD
LIKE THIS."]

CULCH. (_carefully looking in every other direction_).
I--er--mumble--mumble--don't exactly----

[_Here a Waiter offers him a dish containing layers of soles disguised
under brown sauce_; CULCHARD _mangles it with an ineffectual spoon. The
Waiter, with pitying contempt_, "_Tut-tut-tut! Pesce, Signore--feesh!_"
CULCH. _eventually lands a sole in a very damaged condition_.

PODB. (_to_ MISS P.). No--not this side--just opposite. (_Here_ CULCH.,
_in fingering a siphon which is remarkably stiff on the trigger,
contrives to send a spray across the table and sprinkle_ MISS
PRENDERGAST, _her brother, and_ PODBURY, _with impartial liberality_).
_Now_ don't you see him? As playful as ever, isn't he! Don't try to make
out it was an accident, old fellow. Miss Prendergast knows you! [_Misery
of_ CULCHARD.

MISS P. (_graciously_). Pray don't apologize, Mr. Culchard; not the
least harm done! You must forgive me for not recognizing you before, but
you know of old how provokingly short-sighted I am, and I've forgotten
my glasses.

CULCH. (_indistinctly_). I--er--not at all ... most distressed, I assure
you ... really no notion----

MISS T. (_in an undertone_). Say, you _know_ her, then? And you never
let on!

CULCH. Didn't I? Oh, surely! yes, I've--er--_met_ that lady. (_With
grateful deference to_ MR. BELLERBY, _who has just addressed him._) You
are an Art-Collector? Indeed? And--er--have you--er--?

MR. B. I've the three finest Bodgers in the kingdom, Sir, and there's a
Gubbins--a _Joe_ Gubbins, mind you, not _John_--that's hanging now in
the morning-room of my place in the country that I wouldn't take a
thousand pounds for! I go about using my eyes, and pick 'em up cheap.
Cheapest picture _I_ ever bought was a Prout--thirty-two by twenty; got
it for two pound ten! Unfinished, of course, but it only wanted the
colour being brought up to the edge. _I_ did that. Took me half a day,
and _now_--well, any dealer would give me hundreds for it! But I shall
leave it to the nation, out of respect for Prout's memory.

BOB PR. (_to_ PODBURY). Yes, came over by the St. Gothard. Who is that
girl who was talking to Culchard just now? Do you know her? I say, I
wish you'd introduce me some time.

MISS T. (_to_ CULCHARD). You don't seem vurry bright this evening. I'd
like you to converse with your friend opposite, so I could get a chance
to chip in. I'm ever so interested in that girl!

CULCH. Presently--presently, if I have an opportunity. (_Hastily to_ MR.
B.) I gather that you paint yourself, Sir?

MR. B. Well, yes. I assure you I often go to a Gallery, see a picture
there that takes my fancy, go back to my office, and paint it in half an
hour from memory--so like the original that, if it were framed, and hung
up alongside, it would puzzle the man who painted it to know t'other
from which! I have indeed! I paint original pictures, too. Most
important thing I ever did was--let me see now--three feet by two and
three-quarters. I was most successful in getting an effect of
rose-coloured snow against the sky. I sponged it up, and--well, it came
right somehow. _Luck_, that was, not skill, you know. I sent that
picture to the Royal Academy, and they did me the honour to--ar--reject
it.

CULCH. (_vaguely_). An--er--honour, indeed.--(_In despair, as_ MR. B.
_rises._)--You----You're not _going!_

MR. B. (_consolingly_). Only into the garden, for coffee. I observe you
are interested in Art. We will--ar--resume this conversation later.

[_Rises_; MISS PRENDERGAST _rises too, and goes towards the garden._

CULCH. (_as he follows, hastily_). I must get this business over--if I
can. But I wish I knew exactly _how_ much to tell her. It's really very
awkward--between the two of them. I'm afraid I've been a little too
precipitate.


IN THE GARDEN; A FEW MINUTES LATER.

MISS PREND. (_who has retired to fetch her glasses--with gracious
playfulness_). Well, Mr. Culchard, and how has my knight performed his
lady's behests?

CULCH. May I ask _which_ knight you refer to?

MISS P. (_slightly changing countenance_). Which! Then--you know there
is another? Surely there is nothing in that circumstance to--to
offend--or hurt you?

CULCH. Offended? (_Considers whether this would be a good line to
take._) Hardly _that_. Hurt? Well, I confess to being pained--very much
pained, to discover that I was unconsciously pitted--against Podbury!

MISS P. But why? I have expressed no preference as yet. You can scarcely
have become so attached to him that you dread the result of a successful
rivalry!

CULCH. (_to himself_). It's a loop-hole--I'll try it. (_Aloud._) You
have divined my feeling exactly. In--er--obeying your commands, I have
learned to know Podbury better--to see in him a sterling nature, more
worthy, in some respects, than my own. And I know how deeply he has
centred all his hopes upon you, Miss Prendergast. Knowing, seeing that
as I--er--_do_, I feel that--whatever it costs me--I cannot run the risk
of wrecking the--er--life's happiness of so good a fellow. So you must
really allow me to renounce vows accepted under--er--an imperfect
comprehension of the--er--facts! [_Wipes his brow._

MISS P. This is quite too Quixotic. Reflect, Mr. Culchard. Is such a
sacrifice demanded of you? I assure you I am perfectly neutral at
present. I _might_ prefer Mr. Podbury. I _really_ don't know. And--and I
don't _like_ losing one of my suitors like this!

CULCH. Don't tempt me! I--I mustn't listen, I cannot. No, I renounce. Be
kind to Podbury--try to recognize the good in him ... he is so devoted
to you--make him happy, if you can!

MISS P. (_affected_). I--I really can't tell you how touched I am, Mr.
Culchard. I can guess what this renunciation must have cost you. It--it
gives me a better opinion of human nature ... it does, indeed!

CULCH. (_loftily, as she rises to go in_). Ah, Miss Prendergast, _don't_
lose your faith in human nature! Trust me, it is--er--full of surprises!
(_Alone._) Now am I an abominable humbug, or what? I swear I felt every
word I said, at the time. Curious psychological state to be in. But I'm
out of what might have been a very unpleasant mess, at all events!

MISS T. (_coming upon him from round a corner_). Well, I'm _sure_, Mr.
Culchard!

CULCH. You are a young lady of naturally strong convictions, I am aware.
But what are you so sure of at the present moment?

MISS T. Well, I guess I'm not just as sure of _you_ as I should like to
be, anyway. Seems to me, considering you've been so vurry inconsolable
away from me, you'd a good deal to say to that young lady in the patent
folders. And I'd like an explanation--you're right down splendid at
explaining most things.

CULCH. (_with virtuous indignation_). So you actually suspect me of
having carried on a flirtation!

MISS T. I guess girls don't use their pocket-handkerchiefs that way over
the weather. Who _is_ she, anyway?

CULCH. (_calmly_). If you insist on knowing, she is the lady to whom Mr.
Podbury has every prospect of being engaged. I hope your mind is at ease
_now_?

MISS T. Well, I expect my mind would have stood the strain as it was--so
it's Mr. Podbury who's her admirer? See here, you're going to introduce
me to that girl right away. It's real romantic, and I'm perfectly dying
to make her acquaintance!

CULCH. Hum--well. She is--er--_peculiar_, don't you know, and I rather
doubt whether you will have much in common.

MISS T. Well, if you don't introduce me, I shall introduce myself,
that's all.

CULCH. By all means. (_To himself._) Not if _I_ can prevent it, though!




CHAPTER XVI.

Culchard feels slightly Uncomfortable.


SCENE--_Terrace and Grounds of the Grand Hôtel Villa d'Este, on Lake
Como._ PODBURY _and_ CULCHARD _are walking up and down together._

PODB. Well, old chap, your resigning like that has made all the
difference to _me_, I can tell you!

CULCH. If I have succeeded in advancing your cause with Miss
Prendergast, I am all the better pleased, of course.

PODB. You have, and no mistake. She's regularly taken me in hand, don't
you know--she says I've no intelligent appreciation of Italian Art; and
gad, I believe she's right there! But I'm pulling up--bound to teach you
a lot, seeing all the old altar-pieces I do! And she gives me the right
tips, don't you see; she's no end of a clever girl, so well-read and all
that! But I say--about Miss Trotter? Don't want to be inquisitive, you
know, but you don't seem to be much _about_ with her.

CULCH. I--er--the feelings I entertain towards Miss Trotter have
suffered no change--quite the reverse, only--and I wish to impress this
upon you, Podbury--it is undesirable, for--er--many reasons, to make my
attentions--er--too conspicuous. I--I trust you have not alluded to the
matter to--well, to Miss Prendergast, for example?

PODB. Not I, old fellow--got other things to talk about. But I don't
quite see why----

CULCH. You are not _required_ to see. I don't WISH it, that is all.
I--er--think that should be sufficient.

PODB. Oh, all right, _I'll_ keep dark. But she's bound to know sooner or
later, now she and Miss Trotter have struck up such a friendship. And
Hypatia will be awfully pleased about it--why _shouldn't_ she, you know?
... I'm going to see if there's any one on the tennis-court, and get a
game if I can. Ta-ta!

CULCH. (_alone_). Podbury knows very little about women. If Hyp--Miss
Prendergast--once found out _why_ I renounced my suitorship, I should
have very little peace, I know that--I've taken particular care not to
betray my attachment to Maud. I'm afraid she's beginning to notice it,
but I must be careful. I don't like this sudden intimacy between
them--it makes things so very awkward. They've been sitting under that
tree over there for the last half-hour, and goodness only knows what
confidences they may have exchanged! I really must go up and put a stop
to it, presently.

[Illustration: "BOUND TO TEACH YOU A LOT, SEEING ALL THE OLD
ALTAR-PIECES I DO!"]


UNDER THE TREE.

HYPATIA. I only tell you all this, dearest, because I _do_ think you
have rather too low an opinion of men as a class, and I wanted to show
you that I have met at least _one_ man who was capable of a real and
disinterested devotion.

MAUD. Well, I allowed that was about your idea.

HYP. And don't you recognize that it was very fine of him to give up
everything for his friend's sake?

MAUD. I guess it depends how much "everything" amounted to.

HYP. (_annoyed_). I thought, darling, I had made it perfectly plain what
a sacrifice it meant to him. _I_ know how much he--I needn't tell you
there are certain symptoms one can_not_ be deceived in.

MAUD. No, I guess you needn't tell me _that_, love. And it was perfectly
lovely of him to give you up, when he was under vow for you and all,
sooner than stand in his friend's light--only I don't just see how that
was going to help his friend any.

HYP. Don't you really? Not when the friend was under vow for me too?

MAUD. Well, Hypatia Prendergast! And how many admirers do you have
around under vow, as a regular thing?

HYP. There were only those two. Ruskin permits as many as seven at one
time.

MAUD. That's a vurry liberal allowance, too. I don't see how there'd be
sufficient suitors to go round. But maybe each gentleman can be under
vow for seven distinct girls, to make things sort of square now?

HYP. Certainly not. The whole beauty of the idea lies in the unselfish
and exclusive devotion of every knight to the same sovereign lady. In
this case I happen to know that the--a--individual had never met his
ideal until--

MAUD. Until he met you? At Nuremberg, wasn't it? My! And what was his
name? Do tell!

HYP. You must not press me, dear Maud, for I cannot tell that--even to
you.

MAUD. I don't believe but what I could guess. But say, you didn't care
any for _him_, or you'd never have let him go like that? _I_ wouldn't. I
should have suspected there was something behind!

HYP. My feelings towards him were purely potential. I did him the simple
justice to believe that his self-abnegation was sincere. But, with your
practical, cynical little mind, darling, you are hardly capable
of--excuse me for saying so--of appreciating the real value and meaning
of such magnanimity!

MAUD. Oh, I guess I _am_, though. Why, here's Mr. Culchard coming along.
Well, Mr. Culchard?

CULCH. I--ah--appear to have interrupted a highly interesting
conversation?

MAUD. Well, we were having a little discussion, and I guess you're in
time to give the casting vote--Hypatia, you want to keep just where you
are, do you hear? I mean you should listen to Mr. Culchard's opinion.

CULCH. (_flattered_). Which I shall be delighted to give, if you will
put me in possession of the--er--facts.

MAUD. Well, these are the--er--facts. There were two gentlemen under
vow--maybe you'll understand the working of that arrangement better than
I do?--under vow for the same young lady. [Hypatia Prendergast, sit
still, or I declare I'll pinch you!] One of them comes up and tells her
that he's arrived at the conclusion the other admirer is the better man,
and, being a friend of his, he ought to retire in his favour, and he
does it, too, right away. Now _I_ say that isn't natural--he'd some
other motive. Miss Prendergast here will have it he was one of those
noble unselfish natures that deserve they should be stuffed for a dime
museum. What's _your_ opinion now?

CULCH. (_perspiring freely_). Why--er--really, on so delicate a matter,
I--I---- [_He maunders._

HYP. Maud, why _will_ you be so headstrong! (_In a rapid whisper._)
Can't you see ... can't you _guess_?...

MAUD. I guess I want to make sure Mr. Culchard isn't that kind of
magnanimous man himself. I shouldn't want him to renounce _me_!

HYP. Maud! You might at _least_ wait until Mr. Culchard has----

MAUD. Oh, but he _did_--weeks ago, at Bingen. And at Lugano, too, the
other day, he spoke out tolerable plain. I guess he didn't wish any
secret made about it--_did_ you, Mr. Culchard?

CULCH. I--ah--this conversation is rather.... If you'll excuse me----
[_Escapes with as much dignity as he can command._

MAUD. Well, my dear,--that's the sort of self-denying hairpin _he_ is!
What do you think of him _now_?

HYP. I do not think so highly of him, I confess. His renunciation was
evidently less prompted by consideration for his friend than by a
recollection--tardy enough, I am afraid--of the duty which bound him to
_you_, dearest. But if you had seen and heard him, as I did, you would
not have doubted the _reality_ of the sacrifice, whatever the true
reason may have been. For myself, I am conscious of neither anger nor
sorrow--my heart, as I told you, was never really affected. But what
must it be to _you_, darling!

MAUD. Well, I believe I'm more amused than anything.

HYP. Amused! But surely you don't mean to have anything more to do with
him?

MAUD. My dear girl, I intend to have considerable more to do with him
before I'm through. He's under vow for _me_ now, anyway, and I don't
mean he should forget it, either. He's my monkey, and he's got to jump
around pretty lively, at the end of a tolerable short chain, too. And I
guess, if it comes to renouncing, all the magnanimity's going to be on
_my_ side this time!


IN AN AVENUE.

CULCH. (_to himself, as he walks hurriedly on_). I only just saved
myself in time. I don't _think_ Maud noticed anything--she couldn't have
been so innocent and indifferent if she had.... And Hypatia won't
enlighten her any further now--after what she knows. It's rather a
relief that she _does_ know.... She took it very well, poor girl--_very_
well. I expect she is really beginning to put up with Podbury--I'm sure
I _hope_ so, sincerely!




CHAPTER XVII.

Culchard cannot be "Happy with Either."


     SCENE--_Under the Colonnade of the Hôtel Grande Bretagne,
     Bellagio._ CULCHARD _is sitting by one of the pillars, engaged
     in constructing a sonnet. On a neighbouring seat a group of
     smart people are talking over their acquaintances, and near
     them is another visitor, a_ MR. CRAWLEY STRUTT, _who is
     watching his opportunity to strike into the conversation._

MRS. HURLINGHAM. Well, she'll _be_ Lady Chesepare some day, when
anything happens to the old Earl. He was looking quite ghastly when we
were down at Skympings last. But they're frightfully badly off _now_,
poor dears! Lady Driblett lets them have her house in Park Lane for
parties and that--but it's wonderful how they live at all!

COLONEL SANDOWN. He looked pretty fit at the Rag the other day. Come
across the Senlacs anywhere? Thought Lady Senlac was going abroad this
year.

MR. CRAWLEY STRUTT. Hem--I saw it mentioned in the _Penny Patrician_
that her Ladyship had----

MRS. HURL. (_without taking the slightest notice of him_). She's just
been marryin' her daughter, you know--rather a good match, too. Not what
I call pretty,--smart-lookin', that's all. But then her _sister_ wasn't
pretty till she married.

COL. SAND. Nice family she married into! Met her father-in-law, old Lord
Bletherham, the other morning, at a chemist's in Piccadilly--he'd
dropped in there for a pick-me-up; and there he was, tellin' the chemist
all the troubles he'd had with his other sons marryin' the way they
did, and that. Rum man to go and confide in his chemist, but he's like
that--fond of the vine!

MR. C. S. Er--her--it's becoming a very serious thing, Sir, the way our
aristocracy is deteriorating, is it not?

[Illustration: "I DON'T KNOW IF YOU'RE ACQUAINTED WITH A PAPER CALLED
THE 'PENNY PATRICIAN'?"]

COL. S. Is it? What have they been up to now, eh? Haven't seen a paper
for days.

MR. C. S. I mean these mixed marriages, and, well, their general goings
on. I don't know if you're acquainted with a paper called the _Penny
Patrician_? I take it in regularly, and I assure _you_--loyal supporter
of our old hereditary institutions as I am--some of the revelations I
read about in high life make me blush--yes, downright _blush_ for them!

[MRS. HURLINGHAM _retires_.

COL. S. Do they, though? If I were you I should let 'em do their own
blushin', and save my pennies.

MR. C. S. (_deferentially_). No doubt you're right, Sir, but I _like_
the _Patrician_ myself--it's very smartly written. Talking of that, do
you happen to know the ins and outs of that marriage of young Lord
Goslington's? Something very mysterious about the party he's going to
marry--who _are_ her people now?

COL. S. Can't say, I'm sure--no business of mine, you know.

MR. C. S. There I venture to think you're wrong, Sir. It's the business
of everybody--the _duty_, I may say--to see that the best blood of the
nation is not----(COL. S. _turns into the hotel_; MR. C. S. _sits down
near_ CULCH.)--Remarkably superior set of visitors staying here, Sir! My
chief objection to travel always is, that it brings you in contact with
parties you wouldn't think of associating with at home. I was making
that same remark to a very pleasant little fellow I met on the
steamer--er--Lord Uppersole, I think it was--and he entirely concurred.
Your friend made us acquainted.--(PODBURY _comes out of the
hotel_.)--Ah, here _is_ your friend,--(_To_ PODB.)--Seen his Lordship
about lately, Sir?--Lord Uppersole I _mean_, of course!

PODB. Uppersole? No--he's over at Cadenabbia, I believe.

MR. C. S. A highly agreeable spot to stay at. Indeed, I've some idea
myself of----Exceedingly pleasant person his Lordship--so affable, so
completely the gentleman!

PODB. Oh, he's affable enough--for a boot-maker. I always give him a
title when I see him, for the joke of the thing--he likes it.

MR. C. S. _He_ may, Sir. I consider a title is not a thing to be treated
in that light manner. It--it was an unpardonable liberty to force me
into the society of that class of person--unpardonable, Sir!

[_He goes._

PODB. Didn't take much _forcing_, after he once heard me call him "Lord
Uppersole"! Where are all the others, eh? Thought we were going up to
the Villa Serbelloni this afternoon.

CULCH. I--er--have not been consulted. Are they--er--_all_ going?

[_With a shade of anxiety._

PODB. I believe so. You needn't be afraid, you know. Hypatia won't have
the chance of ragging you now--she and Miss Trotter have had a bit of a
breeze.

CULCH. I rather gathered as much. I think I could guess the----

PODB. Yes, Hypatia's rather uneasy about poor old Bob; thinks Miss
Trotter is--well, carrying on, you know. She is no end of a little
flirt--_you_ know that well enough!--(C. _disclaims impatiently_.) Here
you all are, eh?--(_To_ MISS P., MISS T., _and_ BOB.)--Well, who knows
the way up to the villa?

MISS T. It's through the town, and up some steps by the church--you
can't miss it. But Mr. Prendergast is going to show me a short cut up
behind the hotel--aren't you, Mr. Prendergast?

MISS P. (_icily_). I really think, dear, it would be better if we all
kept together--for so _many_ reasons!

CULCH. (_with alacrity_). I agree with Miss Prendergast. A short cut is
invariably the most indirect route.

MISS P. (_with intention_). You hear what Mr. Culchard says, my dear
Maud? He advocates direct ways, as best in the long run.

MISS T. It's only going to be a short run, my love. But I'm vurry glad
to observe that you and Mr. Culchard are so perfectly harmonious, as I'm
leaving him on your hands for a spell. Aren't you ever coming, Mr.
Prendergast? [_She leads him off, a not unwilling captive._


A PATH IN THE GROUNDS OF THE VILLA SERBELLONI.

PODB. (_considerately, to_ CULCHARD, _who is following_ MISS PRENDERGAST
_and him, in acute misery_). Look here, old fellow, Miss Prendergast
would like to sit down, I know; so don't you bother about keeping with
us if you'd rather _not_, you know! [CULCHARD _murmurs an inarticulate
protest_.

MISS P. Surely, Mr. Podbury, you are aware by this time that Mr.
Culchard has a perfect mania for self-sacrifice!

[CULCHARD _drops behind, crushed_.


AMONG THE RUINS AT THE TOP OF THE HILL.

CULCH. (_who has managed to overtake_ MISS T. _and her companion_). Now
_do_ oblige me by looking through that gap in the pines towards Lecco. I
particularly wish you to observe the effect of light on those
cliffs--it's well worth your while.

MISS T. Why, certainly, it's a view that does you infinite credit. Oh,
you _didn't_ take any hand in the arrangement? But ain't you afraid if
you go around patting the scenery on the head this way, you'll have the
lake overflow?

BOB P. Ha-ha-ha! One in the eye for _you_, Culchard!

CULCH. (_with dignity_). Surely one may express a natural enthusiasm
without laying oneself open----?

MISS T. Gracious, yes! I should hope you wouldn't want to show your
enthusiasm _that_ way--like a Japanese nobleman!

CULCH. (_to himself_). Now that's coarse--_really_
coarse!--(_Aloud._)--I seem to be unable to open my mouth now without
some ridiculous distortion----

MISS T. My!--but that's a serious symptom--isn't it? You don't feel like
you were going to have lock-jaw, do you, Mr. Culchard?

     [CULCHARD _falls back to the rear once more. Later_--MR. VAN
     BOODELER _has joined the party_; HYPATIA _has contrived to
     detach her brother_. CULCHARD _has sought refuge with_ PODBURY.

MISS T. (_to_ VAN B.). So that's what kept you? Well, it sounds just too
enchanting. But I cann't answer for what Miss Prendergast will say to
it. It mayn't suit her notions of propriety.

MR. VAN B. I expect she'll be superior to Britannic prejudices of that
kind. I consider your friend a highly cultivated and charming lady,
Maud. She produces that impression upon me.

MISS T. I presume, from that, she has shown an intelligent interest in
the great Amurrcan novel?

MR. VAN B. Why, yes; it enlists her literary sympathies--she sees all
its possibilities.

MISS T. And they're pretty numerous, too. But here she comes. You'd
better tell her your plan right now.

MISS P. (_in an earnest undertone to_ BOB, _as they approach, followed
by_ CULCH. _and_ POD.). You _must_ try and be sensible about it, Bob; if
_you_ are too blind to see that she is only----

BOB (_sulkily_). All _right!_ Haven't I _said_ I'd go? What's the good
of _jawing_ about it?

MR. V. B. (_to_ MISS P.). I've been telling my cousin I've been
organising a little water-party for this evening--moonlight, mandolins,
Menaggio. If you find the alliteration has any attractions, I hope you
and your brother will do me the pleasure of----

MISS P. I'm afraid not, thanks. We have all our packing to do. We find
we shall have to leave early to-morrow.

     [VAN B.'s _face falls_; BOB _listens gloomily to_ MISS T.'s
     _rather perfunctory expressions of regret_; PODBURY _looks
     anxious and undecided_; CULCHARD _does his best to control an
     unseemly joy_.




CHAPTER XVIII.

A Suspension of Hostilities.


     SCENE--_The roof of Milan Cathedral; the innumerable statues
     and fretted pinnacles show in dazzling relief against the
     intense blue sky. Through the open-work of the parapet is seen
     the vast Piazza, with its yellow toy tram cars, and the small
     crawling figures which cast inordinately long shadows. All
     around is a maze of pale brown roofs, and beyond, the green
     plain blending on the horizon with dove-coloured clouds in a
     quivering violet haze._ CULCHARD _is sitting by a small doorway
     at the foot of a flight of steps leading to the Spire_.

CULCHARD (_meditating_). I think Maud must have seen from the tone in
which I said I preferred to remain below, that I object to that cousin
of hers perpetually coming about with us as he does. She's far too
indulgent to him--a posing, affected prig, always talking about the
wonderful things he's _going_ to write! He had the impudence to tell me
I didn't know the most elementary laws of the sonnet this morning!
Withering repartee seems to have no effect whatever on him. I wish I had
some of Podbury's faculty for flippant chaff! I wonder if he and the
Prendergasts really are at Milan. I certainly thought I recognised----
If they are, it's very bad taste of them, after the pointed way in which
they left Bellagio. I only hope we shan't----

     [_Here the figure of_ MISS PRENDERGAST _suddenly emerges from
     the door_; CULCHARD _rises and stands aside to let her pass;
     she returns his salutation distantly, and passes on with her
     chin in the air; her brother follows, with a side-jerk of
     recognition._ PODBURY _comes last, and halts undecidedly._

PODB. (_with a rather awkward laugh_). Here we are again, eh? (_Looks
after_ MISS P., _hesitates, and finally sits down by_ CULCHARD.) Where's
the fascinating Miss Trotter? How do you come to be off duty like this?

[Illustration: SHE PASSES ON WITH HER CHIN IN THE AIR.]

CULCH. (_stiffly_). The fascinating Miss Trotter is up above with Van
Boodeler, so my services are not required.

PODB. Up above? And Hypatia just gone up with Bob! Whew, there'll be
ructions presently! Well out of it, you and I! So it's Boodeler's turn
now? That's rough on _you_--after Hypatia had whistled poor old Bob off.
As much out in the cold as ever, eh?

CULCH. I am nothing of the kind. I find him distasteful to me, and avoid
him as much as I can, that's all. I wish, Podbury, er--I _almost_ wish
you could have stayed with me, instead of allowing the Prendergasts to
carry you off as they did. You would have kept Van Boodeler in order.

PODB. Much obliged, old chap; but I'm otherwise engaged. Being kept in
order myself. Oh, I _like_ it, you know. She's developing my mind like
winking. Spent the whole morning at the Brera, mugging up these old
Italian Johnnies. They really are clinkers, you know. Raphael, eh?--and
Giotto, and Mantegna, and all that lot. As Hypatia says, for intensity
of--er--religious feeling, and--and subtlety of symbolism, and--and so
on, they simply take the cake--romp in, and the rest nowhere! I'm
getting quite the connoisseur, I can tell you!

CULCH. Evidently. I suppose there's no chance of a--a _reconciliation_
up there? [_With some alarm._

PODB. Don't you be afraid. When Hypatia once gets her quills up, they
don't subside so easily! Hallo! isn't this old Trotter?

[_That gentleman appears in the doorway._

MR. T. Why, Mr. Podbury, so you've come along here? That's _right_! And
how do you like Milan? I like the place first-rate--it's a live city,
Sir. And I like this old cathedral, too; it's well constructed--they've
laid out money on it. I call it real ornamental, all these little
figgers they've stuck around--and not two of 'em a pair either. Now,
they might have had 'em all alike, and no one any the wiser up so high
as this; but it certainly gives it more variety, too, having them
different. Well, I'm going up as high as ever I _can_ go. You two better
come along up with me.


ON THE TOP.

MISS P. (_as she perceives_ MISS T. _and her companion_). Now, Bob, pray
remember all I've told you! [BOB _turns away, petulantly_.

MISS T. (_aside, to_ VAN B.). I guess the air's got cooler up here,
Charley. But if that girl imagines she's going to freeze _me_!
(_Advancing to_ MISS P.) Why, my dear, it's almost too sweet for
anything, meeting you again!

MISS P. You're extremely kind, Maud; I wish I could return the
compliment; but really, after what took place at Bellagio, I----

MISS T. (_taking her arm_). Well, I'll own up to being pretty
horrid--and so were you; but there don't seem any sense in our meeting
up here like a couple of strange cats on tiles. I won't fly out any
more, there! I'm just dying for a reconciliation; and so is Mr. Van
Boodeler. The trouble I've had to console that man! He never met anybody
before half so interested in the great Amurrcan Novel. And he's wearying
for another talk. So you'd better give that hatchet a handsome funeral,
and come along and take pity on him.

     [HYP., _after a struggle, yields, half-reluctantly, and allows
     herself to be taken across to_ MR. VAN B., _who greets her
     effusively_. MISS T. _leaves them together_.

BOB P. (_who has been prudently keeping in the background till now,
decides that his chance has come_). How do you do, Miss Trotter? It's
awfully jolly to meet you again like this!

MISS T. Well, I guess that remark would have been more convincing if
you'd made it a few minutes earlier.

BOB. I--I--you see, I didn't know ... I was afraid--I rather thought----

MISS T. You don't get much further with _rather_ thinking, as a general
rule, than if you didn't think at all. But if you're at all anxious to
run away the way you did at Bellagio, you needn't be afraid _I'll_
hinder you.

BOB. (_earnestly_). Run away! _Do_ you think I'd have gone if--I've felt
dull enough ever since, without _that!_

MISS T. Oh, I expect you've had a beautiful time. _We_ have.

MISS P. (_coming up_). Robert, I thought you wanted to see the Alps? You
should come over to the other side, and----

MISS T. I'll undertake that he sees the Alps, my dear, presently--when
we're through our talk.

MISS P. As you please, dear. But (_pointedly_) did I not see Mr.
Culchard below?

MISS T. You don't mean to say you're wearied of Mr. Van Boodeler
_already_! Well, Mr. Culchard will be along soon, and I'll loan him to
you. I'll tell him you're vurry anxious to converse with him some more.
He's just coming along now, with Mr. Podbury and Poppa.

MISS P. (_under her breath_). Maud! if you _dare_----!

MISS T. Don't you _dare_ me, then--or you'll see. But I don't want to be
mean unless I'm obliged to.

[MR. TROTTER, _followed by_ CULCHARD _and_ PODBURY, _arrives at the
upper platform_. CULCHARD _and_ PODBURY _efface themselves as much as
possible_. MR. TROTTER _greets_ MISS PRENDERGAST _heartily_.

MR. T. Well now, I call this sociable, meeting all together again like
this. I don't see why in the land we didn't _keep_ together. I've been
saying so to my darter here, ever since Bellagio--ain't that so, Maud?
And _she_ didn't know just how it came about either.

MISS P. (_hurriedly_). We--we had to be getting on. And I am afraid we
must say good-bye now, Mr. Trotter. I want Bob and Mr. Podbury to see
the Da Vinci fresco, you know, before the light goes. (BOB _mutters a
highly disrespectful wish concerning that work of Art_.) We _may_ see
you again, before we leave for Verona.

MR. T. Verona? Well, I don't care if I see Verona myself. Seems a pity
to separate now we _have_ met, _don't_ it? See here, now, we'll _all_ go
along to Verona together--how's that, Maud? Start whenever _you_ feel
like it, Miss Prendergast. How does that proposal strike you? I'll be
real hurt if you cann't take to my idea.

MISS T. The fact is, Poppa, Hypatia isn't just sure that Mr. Prendergast
wouldn't object.

BOB P. I--object? Not _much_! Just what I should _like_, seeing Verona
with--all _together_, you know!

MISS T. Then I guess _that's_ fixed. (_Aside, to_ MISS P., _who is
speechless_.) Come, you haven't the heart to go and disappoint my poor
Cousin Charley by saying you won't go! I expect he'll be perfectly
enchanted to be under vow--unless you've filled up _all_ the vacancies
already! (_Aloud, to_ VAN B., _as he approaches_.) We've persuaded Miss
Prendergast to join our party. I hope you feel equal to entertaining
her?

VAN B. I shall be proud to be permitted to try. (_To_ MISS P.) Then I
may take it that you agree with me that the function of the future
American fictionist will be---- [_They move away conversing._

PODB. (_to_ CULCH.). I say, old fellow, we're to be travelling
companions again, after all. And a jolly good thing, too, _I_ think!...
eh?

CULCH. Oh, h'm--quite so. That is--but no doubt it will be an
advantage--(_with a glance at_ VAN B., _who is absorbed in_ MISS P.'S
_conversation_)--in--er--_some_ respects. (_To himself_) Hardly from
poor dear Podbury's point of view, I'm afraid though! However, if _he_
sees nothing----! [_He shrugs his shoulders, pityingly._




CHAPTER XIX.

+Crumpled Roseleaves.+


SCENE--_The Tombs of the_ SCALIGERS _at Verona. A seedy and voluble
Cicerone, who has insisted upon volunteering his services, is
accompanying_ MISS TROTTER, BOB PRENDERGAST, _and_ CULCHARD. _It is a
warm afternoon, and_ CULCHARD, _who has been intrusted with_ MISS T.'S
_recent purchases--two Italian blankets, and a huge pot of hammered
copper--is not in the most amiable of moods._

THE CICERONE (_in polyglot_). Ecco, Signore (_pointing out the
interlaced ladders in the wrought-iron railings_), l'échelle, la scala,
c'est tout flexible--(_He shakes the trellis_)--molto, molto curioso!

CULCH. (_bitterly, to the other two_). I _warned_ you how it would be!
We shall have this sort of thing all the afternoon _now_!

MISS T. Well, I don't mind; he's real polite and obliging--and that's
something, anyway!

CULCH. Polite and obliging! Now I _ask_ you--has he given us the
slightest atom of valuable information _yet_?

MISS T. I guess he's too full of tact to wish to interfere with your
special department.

THE CIC. (_to_ CULCHARD, _who looks another way_). Ici le tombeau di
Giovanni della Scala, Signore. Verri grazioso, molto magnifique, joli
conservé! (_He skips up on the pedestal, and touches a sarcophagus._)
Non bronzo--verde-antique! [_Nods at_ CULCHARD, _with a beaming smile_.

CULCH. (_with a growl_). Va bene, va bene--_we_ know all about it!

BOB P. _You_ may; but you might give Miss Trotter and me a chance, you
know!

THE CIC. Zees, Marmor di Carrara; _zat_, Marmor di Verona--Verona
marbre. Martino Primo a fait bâtir. (_Counting on his fingers for_
CULCHARD'S _benefit_.) Quattuor dichième secolo--_fotteen_!

[Illustration: "BELLISSIMO SCULTORE!"]

CULCH. Will you kindly understand that I am quite capable of estimating
the precise period of this sculpture for myself.

THE CIC. Sî-sì, Signore. Scultore Bonino da Campiglione. (_With a
wriggle of deferential enthusiasm._) Bellissimo scultore!

MISS T. He's got an idea you find him vurry instructive, Mr. Culchard,
and I guess, if you want to disabuse him, you'd better do it in Italian.

CULCH. I think my Italian is equal to conveying an impression that I can
willingly dispense with his society. (_To the_ CIC.) Andate via--do you
understand? An-da-te _via_!

THE CIC. (_hurt, and surprised_). Ah, Signore!

[_He breaks into a fervent vindication of his value as guide,
philosopher, and friend._

MISS T. I guess he's endeavouring to intimate that his wounded
self-respect isn't going to be healed under haff a dollar. And every red
cent I had went on that old pot! Mr. Culchard, will you give him a
couple of francs for me?

CULCH. I--er--really see no necessity. He's done nothing whatever to
deserve it!

BOB P. (_eagerly_). May _I_, Miss Trotter? (_Producing a ten-lire
note._) This is the smallest change I've got.

MISS T. No, I guess ten francs would start him with more self-respect
than he's got any use for. Mr. Culchard will give him three--that's one
apiece--to punish him for being so real mean!

CULCH. (_indignantly_). Mean? because I----! (_He pays and dismisses
the_ CIC.) Now we can examine these monuments in peace--they are
really--er--unique examples of the sepulchral pomp of Italian
mediævalism.

MISS T. They're handsome tombs enough--but considerable cramped. I
should have thought these old Scallywags would have looked around for a
roomier burying lot. (_To_ CULCHARD, _who shivers_.) You aren't feeling
sick any?

CULCH. No--only pained by such a travesty of a noble name. "Scallywags"
for Scaligers seems to me, if I may say so, a very cheap form of humour!

MISS T. Well, it's more than cheap--it isn't going to cost you a cent,
so I should think you'd appreciate it!

BOB P. Haw--score for _you_, Miss Trotter!

CULCH. I should have thought myself that mere personality is hardly
enough to give point to any repartee--there is a slight difference
between brilliancy and--er--_brutality_!

BOB P. Hullo! You and I are being sat upon pretty heavily, Miss Trotter.

MISS T. I guess our Schoolmaster's abroad. But why Mr. Culchard should
want to make himself a train out of my coverlets, I don't just see--he
looks majestic enough without that.

[CULCHARD _catches up a blanket which is trailing, and says bad words
under his breath_.


AT THE TOMB OF JULIET.

CULCH. (_who is gradually recovering his equanimity_). Think of it! the
actual spot on which _Romeo_ and _Juliet_--Shakspeare's _Juliet_--drew
their last breath! Does it not realise the tragedy for you?

MISS T. Well, no--it's a disappointing tomb. I reckoned it would look
less like a horse-trough. I should have expected _Juliet's_ Poppa and
Momma would want, considering all the facts of the case, to throw more
style into her monument!

CULCH. (_languidly_). May not its very simplicity--er--attest the
sincerity of their remorse?

MISS T. Do you attach any particular meaning to that observation now?
(CULCHARD _bites his lip_.) I notice this tomb is full of visiting
cards--my! but ain't that curious?

CULCH. (_instructively_). It only shows that this place is not without
its pathos and interest for _most_ visitors, no matter what their
nationality may be. You don't feel inclined yourself to----?

MISS T. To leave a pasteboard? Why I shouldn't sleep any all night, for
fear she'd return my call!

CULCH. (_producing a note-book_). It's fanciful, perhaps--but, if you
don't mind waiting a little, I should like to contribute--not my card,
but a sonnet. I feel one on its way.

BOB P. Better make sure the tomb's _genuine_ first, hadn't you? Some say
it _isn't_.

CULCH. (_exasperated_). I _knew_ you'd make some matter-of-fact remark
of that kind! There--it's no use! Let us go.

MISS T. Why, your sonnets seem as skeery as those lizards there! I hope
Juliet won't ever know what she's missed. But likely you'll mail those
verses on to her later. [_She and_ BOB P. _pass on, laughing_.

CULCH. (_following_). She only affects this vulgar flippancy to torment
me. If I didn't know _that_----There, I've left that infernal pot
behind now! [_Goes back for it, wrathfully._

_In the Amphitheatre_; MISS PRENDERGAST, PODBURY, _and_ VAN BOODELER,
_are seated on an upper tier_.

PODB. (_meditatively_). I suppose they charged highest for the lowest
seats. Wonder whether a lion ever nipped up and helped himself to some
fat old buffer in the Stalls when the martyrs turned out a leaner lot
than usual!

VAN B. There's an ingenuous modernity about our friend's historical
speculations that is highly refreshing.

MISS P. There is, indeed--though he might have spared himself and _us_
the trouble of them if he had only remembered that the _podium_ was
invariably protected by a railing, and occasionally by _euripi_, or
trenches, You surely learnt that at school, Mr. Podbury?

PODB. I--I dare say. Forgotten all I learnt at school, you know!

VAN B. I should infer now, from that statement, that you enjoyed the
advantages of a pretty liberal education?

PODB. If that's meant to be cutting, I should save it up for that novel
of yours; it may seem smart--_there_!

MISS P. Really, Mr. Podbury, if you choose to resent a playful remark in
that manner, you had better go away.

PODB. Perhaps I had. (_Rises, and moves off huffily._) D----his
playfulness! 'Pon my word, poor old Culchard was _nothing_ to that
beggar! And she backs him up! But there--it's all part of my probation!
(_Here_ CULCHARD _suddenly appears, laden with burdens_.) Hullo! are you
_moving_, or what?

CULCH. I am merely carrying a few things for Miss Trotter. (_Drops the
copper pot, which bounds down into the arena._) Dash the thing!...
(_Returning with it._) It's natural that, in my position, I should have
these--er--privileges. (_He trips over a blanket._) Conf----Have you
happened to see Miss Trotter about, by the way?

PODB. Fancy I saw her down below just now--with Bob. I expect they're
walking round under the arches.

CULCH. Just so. Do you know, Podbury, I almost think I'll go down and
find her. I--I'm curious to hear what her impressions of a place like
this are. Such a scene, you know,--so full of associations with--er--the
splendours and cruelties of a corrupt past--must produce a powerful
effect upon the fresh untutored mind of an American girl, eh?

MISS T.'S _voice_ (_distinctly from arena_). I'd like ever so much to
see Buffalo Bill run his Show in here--he'd just make this old circus
hum!

MISS P.'S _voice_ (_indistinctly from topmost tier_). Almost fancy it
all ... Senators--_equites_--_populus_--_pullati_ ... yellow sunlight
striking down through _vellarium_ ... crimsoned sand ... _mirmillo_
fleeing before _secutor_ ... Diocletian himself, perhaps, lolling over
there on _cubiculum_ ... &c. &c. &c.

CULCH. The place appears to excite Miss Prendergast's enthusiasm, at all
events! [_Sighs._

PODB. Rath-er! But then she's no end of a classical swell, you know!
[_Sighs._

CULCH. (_putting his arm through_ PODBURY'S). Ah, well, my dear Podbury,
one mustn't expect too much, must one?

PODB. I _don't_, old chap--only I'm afraid _she_ does. Suppose we toddle
back to the hotel, eh? Getting near _table d'hôte_ time. [_They go out
arm-in-arm._




CHAPTER XX.

+Put not your Faith in 'Fidibus.'+


SCENE--_The interior of a covered gondola, which is conveying_ CULCHARD
_and_ PODBURY _from the Railway Station to the Hotel Dandolo, Venice.
The gondola is gliding with a gentle sidelong heave under shadowy
bridges of stone and cast-iron, round sharp corners, and past mysterious
blank walls, and old scroll-work gateways, which look ghostly in the
moonlight._

CULCH. (_looking out of the felze window, and quoting conscientiously_).

    "I saw from out the wave her structures rise,
    As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand."

PODB. For rest, see guide-books, _passim_, eh? Hanged if _I_ can see any
structures with this thing on, though! Let's have it off, eh? (_He
crawls out and addresses_ GONDOLIER _across the top._) _Hi! Otez-moi
ceci. entendez-vous?_ (_Drums on roof of felze with fists; the_
GONDOLIER _replies in a torrent of Italian_.) Now a London cabby would
see what I wanted at once. This chap's a fool!

CULCH. He probably imagines you are merely expressing your satisfaction
with Venice. And I don't see how you expect him to remove the entire
cabin here! (PODBURY _crawls in again, knocking his head_.) I think we
did well to let the--the others travel on first. More _dignified_, you
know!

PODB. Um--don't see any particular dignity in missing the train, myself!

CULCH. They won't know it was not intentional. And I think, Podbury, we
should go on--er--asserting ourselves a little while by holding rather
aloof. It will show them that we don't mean to put up with----

[Illustration: "HI! OTEZ-MOI CECI!"]

PODB. Don't see that either. Not going to let that beast, Van Boodeler,
have it _all_ his own way!

CULCH. Surely you know he decided suddenly to stay at Vicenza? He said
so at breakfast. But I will _not_ have your friend Bob perpetually----

PODB. At breakfast? Oh, I came down late. Vicenza, eh? Then _he's_ out
of it! Hooray! But as for Bob, _he's_ all right too. Oh, I forgot you
cut _déjeuner_. Hypatia had another squabble with Miss Trotter, and poor
old Bob got dragged into it as usual, and now they ain't on speaking
terms.

CULCH. (_overjoyed_). You don't say so! Then all _I_ can say, Podbury,
is that if we two can't manage, in a place like this, to recover all the
ground we have lost----

PODB. More water than ground in a place like this, eh? But _I_ know what
you mean--we _must_ be duffers if we don't leave Venice engaged
men--which we're not as yet, worse luck!

CULCH. No--but we _shall_ be, if we only insist upon being treated
seriously.

PODB. She treats me a devilish deal _too_ seriously, my boy. But there,
never mind--things will go better now!


SCENE--_A double-bedded room in the Grand Hotel Dandolo, which_ PODBURY
_and_ CULCHARD _have to share for the night._

PODB. (_from his bed, suspiciously, to_ CULCHARD, _who is setting fire
to a small pastille in a soap-dish_). I say, old chappie, bar
_fireworks_, you know! What the deuce _are_ you up to over there?

CULCH. Lighting a "fidibus." Splendid thing to drive out mosquitoes.
(_The pastille fizzes, and begins to emit a dense white smoke, and a
suffocating odour._)

PODB. (_bounding_). Mosquitoes! It would drive a _dragon_ out. Phew--ah!
(CULCHARD _closes the window_.) You _don't_ mean to say you're going to
shut me up in this infernal reek on a stifling night like this?

CULCH. If I didn't, the mosquitoes would come in again.

PODB. Come in? With that pastille doing the young Vesuvius! _Do_ you
think a mosquito's a born fool? (_He jumps out and opens the window._)
I'm not going to be smoked like a wasp's nest, _I_ can tell you!

CULCH. (_calmly shutting it again, as_ PODBURY _returns to bed_). You'll
be grateful to me by-and-by.

[_Slips between his mosquito curtains in a gingerly manner, and switches
off the electric light. A silence._

PODB. I say, you ain't asleep, are you? Think we shall see anything of
them to-morrow, eh?

CULCH. See? I can _hear_ one singing in my ear at this moment.
(_Irritably._) You _would_ open the window!

PODB. (_sleepily_). Not mosquitoes. I meant Hypatia, and
the--haw--yaw--Trotters.

CULCH. How can _I_ tell? (_Second silence._) Podbury! What did I _tell_
you? One's just bitten me--the _beast_! (_He turns on the light, and
slaps about frantically_). I say, I can hear him buzzing all over the
place!

PODB. So can I hear _you_ buzzing. How the dickens is a fellow to get to
sleep while you're playing Punch and Judy in there?

CULCH. He's got me on the nose now! There's a lot outside. Just turn off
the light, will you? I daren't put my arm out. (_To_ Mosquito.) You
brute! (_To_ PODB.) Podbury, _do_ switch off the light--like a good
fellow!

PODB. (_dreamily_). Glass up, Gondolier ... stifling in this cab ...
drive me ... nearest Doge. [_He snores._

CULCH. Brutal selfishness! (_Turns out the light himself._) Now if I can
only get off to sleep while that little beast is quiet----

MOSQUITO (_ironically, in his ear_). Ping-a-wing-wing!

_Same Scene; the next morning._

CULCH. (_drawing_ PODBURY'S _curtains_). Here, wake up, Podbury--it's
just eight. (PODBURY _sits up, and rubs his eyes_.) I've had a
_horrible_ night, my dear fellow! I'm stung to such an extent! But
(_hopefully_) I suppose there's nothing to _show_ particularly, eh?

[_Presenting his countenance for inspection._

PODB. Not much of your original features, old fellow! (_He roars with
laughter._) You've got a pair of cheeks like a raised map!

CULCH. It--it's going _down_. Nothing to what it _was_, half an hour
ago!

PODB. Then I'm jolly glad you didn't call me earlier, that's all!

CULCH. It does feel a little inflamed. I wonder if I could get a
little--er--violet powder, or something----?

PODB. (_with a painful want of sympathy_). Violet powder! Buy a blue
veil--a good thick one!

CULCH. What sort of impression _do_ you suppose I should get of Venice
with a blue veil on?

PODB. Can't say--but a pleasanter one than Venice will get of you
_without_ it. You don't mean to face the fair Miss Trotter while you're
like _that_, do you?

CULCH. (_with dignity_). Most certainly I _do_. I am much mistaken in
Miss Trotter if she will attach the slightest importance to a mere
temporary--er--disfigurement. These swellings never do last long. _Do_
they now?

PODB. Oh, not more than a month or so, I dare say, if you can keep from
touching them. (_He laughs again._) Excuse me, old chap, but I just got
you in a new light. Those mosquitoes have paid you out for that
pastille--by Jove, they have!

LANDING-STEPS AND ENTRANCE OF THE HOTEL.

NINE A.M.

CULCH. (_coming out a little self-consciously, and finding_ MR.
TROTTER). Ah, good morning! What are your--er--impressions of Venice,
Mr. Trotter?

MR. TROTTER (_thoughtfully_). Well, I'm considerable struck with it,
Sir. There's a purrfect freshness and novelty about Vernis that's
amusing to a stranger like myself. We've nothing just like this city out
West. No, _Sir_. And how are--(_Becomes aware of_ CULCHARD'S
_appearance_.) Say, _you_ don't look like your slumbers had been one
unbroken ca'm, either! The mosquitoes hev been powerful active makin'
alterations in you. Perseverin' and industrious insects, Sir! Me and my
darter have been for a loaf round before breakfast. I dunno if you've
seen _her_ yet, she's----

MISS T. (_coming out from behind_). Poppa, they've fixed up our
breakf--(_Sees_ CULCHARD, _and turns away, covering her face_). Don't
you turn your head in _this_ direction, Mr. Culchard, or I guess I'll
expire right away!

CULCH. (_obeying, wounded_). I confess I did _not_ think a few
mosquito-bites would have quite such an effect upon you!

MISS T. You're vurry polite, I'm sure! But I possess a hand-mirror; and,
if you cann't bear to look me in the face, you'd better keep away!

CULCH. (_takes a hasty glance, and discovers, with a shock, that she is
almost as much disfigured as himself_). Oh, I--I wasn't----(_With an
effort of politeness._) Er--I hope _you_ haven't been inconvenienced at
all?

MISS T. Inconvenienced! With haff a dozen healthy mosquitoes springing a
surprise party on me all night! I should guess _so_. (_Noticing_ C.'S
_face_.) But what in the land have you been about? Well, if that isn't
real _tact_ now! I reckoned I'd been dealt a full hand in spots; but now
I've seen you, I guess there's a straight flush against me, and I can
just throw up. But you don't play Poker, _do_ you? Come along in, Poppa,
do. [_She goes in with_ MR. T.

CULCH. (_alone, disenchanted_). I could _not_ have believed any amount
of bites could have made such a terrible difference in her. She looks
positively _plain_! I do trust they're not _permanent_, or really----!

[_He gazes meditatively down on the lapping water._




CHAPTER XXI.

+Wearing Rue with a Difference.+


SCENE--_The Steps of the Hotel Dandolo, about_ 11 A.M. PODBURY _is
looking expectantly down the Grand Canal_, CULCHARD _is leaning upon the
Balustrade_.

PODB. Yes, met Bob just now. They've gone to the Europa, but we've
arranged to take a gondola together, and go about. They're to pick me up
here. Ah, that looks rather like them. (_A gondola approaches, with_
MISS PRENDERGAST _and_ BOB; PODBURY _goes down the steps to meet them_.)
How are you, Miss Prendergast? Here I _am_, you see.

MISS P. (_ignoring_ C.'S _salute_). How do you do, Mr. Podbury? Surely
you don't propose to go out in a gondola in _that_ hat!

PODB. (_taking off a brown "pot-hat," and inspecting it_). It--it's
quite _decent_. It was new when I came away!

BOB (_who is surly this morning_). Hang it all, Patia! Do you want him
to come out in a chimney-pot? Jump in, old fellow, never mind your tile?

PODB. (_apologetically_). I had a straw once--but I sat on it. I'm
awfully sorry, Miss Prendergast. Look here, shall I go and see if I can
buy one?

MISS P. Not now--it doesn't signify, for once. But a round hat and a
gondola are really _too_ incongruous!

PODB. Are they? A lot of the Venetians seem to wear 'em. (_He steps
in._) Now what are we going to do--just potter about?

MISS P. One hardly comes to Venice to _potter_! I thought we'd go and
study the Carpaccios at the Church of the Schiavoni first--they won't
take us more than an hour or so; then cross to San Giorgio Maggiore, and
see the Tintorets, come back and get a general idea of the exterior of
St. Mark's, and spend the afternoon at the Accademia.

PODB. (_with a slight absence of heartiness_). Capital! And--er--lunch
at the Academy, I suppose?

MISS P. There does not happen to be a restaurant there--we shall see
what time we have. I must say _I_ regard every minute of daylight spent
on food here as a sinful waste.

BOB. Now just look here, Patia, if you _are_ bossing this show, you
needn't go cutting us off our grub! What do _you_ say, Jem?

PODB. (_desperately anxious to please_). Oh, I don't know that I care
about lunch myself--much. [_Their voices die away on the water._

CULCH. (_musing_). She might have _bowed_ to me!... _She_ has escaped
the mosquitoes.... Ah, well, I doubt if she'll find those two
particularly sympathetic companions! Now I _should_ enjoy a day spent in
that way. Why shouldn't I, as it is? I dare say Maud will----

[_Turns and sees_ MR. TROTTER.

MR. T. My darter will be along presently. She's Cologning her
cheeks--they've swelled up again some. I guess you want to Cologne
_your_ cheeks--they're dreadful lumpy. I've just been on the Pi-azza
again, Sir. It's curious now the want of enterprise in these Vernetians.
Any one would have expected they'd have thrown a couple or so of girder
bridges across the canal between this and the Ri-alto, and run an
elevator up the Campanile--but this ain't what you might call a
_business_ city, Sir, and that's a fact. (_To_ MISS T. _as she
appears_.) Hello, Maud, the ice-water cool down your face any?

MISS T. Not _much_. My face just made that ice-water boil over. I don't
believe I'll ever have a complexion again--it's divided up among several
dozen mosquitoes, who've no use for one. But it's vurry consoling to
look at _you_, Mr. Culchard, and feel there's a pair of us. Now what way
do you propose we should endeavour to forget our sufferings?

CULCH. Well, we might spend the morning in St. Mark's----?

MISS T. The morning! Why, Poppa and I saw the entire show inside of ten
minutes, before breakfast!

CULCH. Ah! (_Discouraged._) What do you say to studying the Vine and
Fig-tree angles and the capitals of the arcades in the Ducal Palaces? I
will go and fetch the _Stones of Venice_.

[Illustration: "I GUESS YOU WANT TO COLOGNE _YOUR_ CHEEKS--THEY'RE
DREADFUL LUMPY."]

MISS T. I GUESS YOU CAN LEAVE THOSE OLD STONES IN PEACE. I DON'T FEEL
LIKE STUDYING UP ANYTHING THIS MORNING--IT'S AS MUCH AS EVER I CAN DO
NOT TO SCREAM ALOUD!

CULCH. Then shall we just drift about in a gondola all the morning,
and--er--perhaps do the Academy later?

MISS T. Not any canals in this hot sun for me! I'd be just as _sick_!
That gondola will keep till it's cooler.

CULCH. (_losing patience_). Then I must really leave it to you to make a
suggestion!

MISS T. Well, I believe I'll have a good look round the curiosity
stores. There's ever such a cunning little shop back of the Clock Tower
on the Pi-azza, where I saw some brocades that were just too sweet! So
I'll take Poppa along bargain-hunting. Don't _you_ come if you'd rather
poke around your old churches and things!

CULCH. I don't feel disposed to--er--"poke around" alone, so, if you
will allow me to accompany you,----

MISS T. Oh, I'll allow you to escort me. It's handy having some one
around to carry parcels. And Poppa's bound to drop the balance every
time!

CULCH. (_to himself_). That's all I am to her. A beast of burden! And a
whole precious morning squandered on this confounded shopping--when I
might have been--ah, well! [_Follows, under protest._

_On the Grand Canal._ 9 P.M. _A brilliant moonlight night; a
music-barge, hung with coloured lanterns, is moving slowly up towards
the Rialto, surrounded and followed by a fleet of gondolas, amongst
which is one containing the_ TROTTERS _and_ CULCHARD. CULCHARD _has just
discovered--with an embarrassment not wholly devoid of a certain
excitement--that they are drawing up to a gondola occupied by the_
PRENDERGASTS _and_ PODBURY.

MR. TROTTER (_meditatively_). It's real romantic. That's the third
deceased kitten I've seen to-night. They haven't only a two-foot tide in
the Adriatic, and it stands to reason all the sewage----

[_The two gondolas are jammed close alongside._

MISS P. How absolutely magical those palaces look in the moonlight! Bob,
how _can_ you yawn like that?

BOB. I beg your pardon, Patia, really, but we've had rather a long day
of it, you know!

MR. T. Well, now, I declare I sort of recognised those voices!
(_Heartily._) Why, how are _you_ getting along in Vernis? _We_'re
gettin' along fust-rate. Say, Maud, here's your friend alongside!

[MISS P. _presents a stony silence_.

MISS T. (_in an undertone_). I don't see how you _can_ act so,
Poppa,--when you know she's just as _mad_ with me!

MR. T. There! Dumned if I didn't clean forget you were out! But, see
here, now--why cann't we let bygones be bygones?

BOB. (_impulsively_). Just what _I_ think, Mr. Trotter, and I'm sure my
sister will----

MISS P. Bob, will you kindly not make the situation more awkward than it
is? If I desired a reconciliation, I think I am quite capable of saying
so!

MISS T. (_in confidence to the Moon_). This Ark isn't proposing to send
out any old dove, either--we've no use for an olive-branch. (_To_ MR.
T.) That's "_Santa Lucia_" they're singing now, Poppa.

MR. T. They don't appear to me to get the twist on it they did at
Bellagio!

MISS T. You mean that night Charley took us out on the Lake? Poor
Charley! he'd just love to be here--he's ever so much artistic feeling!

MR. T. Well, I don't see why he couldn't have come along if he'd wanted.

MISS T. (_with a glance at her neighbour_). I presume he'd reasons
enough. He's a vurry cautious man. Likely he was afraid he'd get bitten.

MISS P. (_after a swift scrutiny of_ MISS T.'S _features_). Oh, Bob,
remind me to get some more of that mosquito stuff. I _should_ so hate to
be bitten--such a _dreadful_ disfigurement!

MISS T. (_to the Moon_). I declare if I don't believe I can feel some
creature trying to sting me now!

MISS P. Some people are hardly recognisable, Bob, and they say the marks
never _quite_ disappear!

MISS T. Poppa, don't you wonder what Charley's doing just now? I'd like
to know if he's found any one yet to feel an interest in the great
Amurrcan Novel. It's curious how interested people do get in that novel,
considering it's none of it written, and never will be. I guess
sometimes he makes them believe he means something by it. They don't
understand it's only Charley's way!

MISS P. The crush isn't quite so bad now. Mr. Podbury, if you will
kindly ask your friend not to hold on to our gondola, we should probably
be better able to turn. (CULCHARD, _who had fondly imagined himself
undetected, takes his hand away as if it were scorched_.) Now we can get
away. (_To_ Gondolier.) Voltiamo, se vi piace, prestissimo!

[_The gondola turns and departs._

MISS T. Well, I do just enjoy making that Prendergast girl perfectly
wild, and that's a fact. (_Reflectively._) And it's queer, but I like
her ever so much all the time. Don't _you_ think that's too fonny of me,
Mr. Culchard, now? [CULCHARD _feigns a poetic abstraction_.




CHAPTER XXII.

+One Man's Meat; another Man's Poison.+


SCENE--_The Campo S. S. Giovanni e Paulo. Afternoon._ CULCHARD _is
leaning against the pedestal of the Colleoni Statue_.

PODBURY. (_who has just come out of S. Giovanni, recognising_ CULCHARD).
Hullo! _alone_, eh? Thought you were with Miss Trotter?

CULCHARD. So I am. That is, she is going over a metal-worker's show-room
close by, and I--er--preferred the open air. But didn't you say you were
going out with the--er--Prendergasts again?

PODB. So I am. She's in the Church with Bob, so I said I'd come out and
keep an eye on the gondola. Nothing much to see in _there_, you know!

CULCH. (_with a weary irony_). Only the mausoleums of the
Doges--Ruskin's "Street of the Tombs"--and a few trifles of that sort!

PODB. That's all. And I'm feeling a bit done, you know. Been doing the
Correr Museum all the morning, and not lunched yet! So Miss Trotter's
looking at ornamental metal-work? Rather fun that, eh?

CULCH. For those who enjoy it. She has only been in there an hour, so
she is not likely to come back just yet. What do you say to coming into
S. S. Giovanni e Paulo again, with _me_? Those tombs form a really
remarkable illustration, as Ruskin points out, of the gradual decay
of----

MISS TROTTER (_suddenly flutters up, followed by an attendant carrying a
studded halberd, an antique gondola-hook, and two copper
water-buckets--all of which are consigned to the disgusted_ CULCHARD).
Just hold these a spell till I come back. Thanks ever so much.... Well,
Mr. Podbury! Aren't you going to admire my purchases? They're real
antique--or if they aren't, they'll wear all the better.... There, I
believe I'll just have to run back a minute--don't you put those things
in the gondola yet, Mr. Culchard, or they'll get stolen. [_She flutters
off._

CULCH. (_helplessly, as he holds the halberd, &c._). I suppose I shall
have to stay _here_ now. You're not going?

PODB. (_consulting his watch_). Must. Promised old Bob I'd relieve guard
in ten minutes. Ta-ta.

[_He goes_; _presently_ BOB PRENDERGAST _lounges out of the church_.

CULCH. If I could only make a friend of _him_! (_To_ BOB.) Ah,
Prendergast! lovely afternoon, isn't it? Delicious breeze!

BOB (_shortly_). Can't say. Not had much of it, at present.

CULCH. You find these old churches rather oppressive, I dare say.
Er--will you have a cigarette? [_Tenders case._

BOB. Thanks; got a pipe. (_He lights it._) Where's Miss Trotter?

CULCH. She will be here presently. By the way, my dear Prendergast,
this--er--misunderstanding between your sister and her is very
unfortunate.

BOB. I know that well enough. It's none of _my_ doing! And _you_'ve no
reason to complain, at all events!

CULCH. Quite so. Only, you see, we _used_ to be good friends at
Constance, and--er--until recently----

BOB. Used we? Of course, if you say so, it's all right. But what are you
driving at exactly?

CULCH. All I am driving at is this: Couldn't we two--er--agree to effect
a reconciliation between the two ladies? So much pleasanter for--er--all
parties!

BOB. I dare say. But how are you going to set about it? _I_ can't begin.

CULCH. Couldn't you induce your sister to lay aside her--er--prejudice
against me? Then _I_ could easily----

BOB. Very likely--but I _couldn't_. I never interfere in my sister's
affairs, and, to tell you the honest truth, I don't feel particularly
inclined to make a beginning on your account. [_Strolls away._

CULCH. (_to himself_). What a surly boor it is! But I don't care--I'll
do him a good turn, in spite of himself! (MISS T. _returns_.) Do you
know, I've just been having a chat with poor young Prendergast. He seems
quite cut up at being forced to side with his sister. I undertook
to--er--intercede for him. Now is it quite fair, or like your--er--usual
good-nature, to visit his sister's offences--whatever they are--on him?
I--I only put it to you.

MISS T. Well, to think now! I guess you're about the most unselfish
saint on two legs! Now some folks would have felt jealous.

CULCH. Possibly--but I cannot accuse myself of such a failing as that.

MISS T. I'd just like to hear you accuse yourself of _any_ failing! I
don't see however you manage to act so magnanimous and live. I told you
I wanted to study your character, and I believe it isn't going to take
me vurry much longer to make up my mind about _you_. You _don't_ suppose
I'll have any time for Mr. Prendergast after getting such a glimpse into
your nature? There, help me into the gondola, and don't talk any more
about it. Tell him to go to Salviate's right away.

CULCH. (_dejectedly to himself_). I've bungled it! I might have _known_
I should only make matters worse!

_On the Piazzetta; it is moonlight, the Campanile and dome of San
Giorgio Maggiore are silhouetted sharp and black against the steel-blue
sky across a sea of silver ripples._ PODBURY _and_ CULCHARD _are pacing
slowly arm-in-arm between the two columns_.

CULCH. And so you went on to S. Giovanni in Bragora, eh? then over the
Arsenal, and rowed across the lagoons to see the Armenian convent? A
delightful day, my dear Podbury! I hope you--er--appreciate the
inestimable privileges of--of seeing Venice so thoroughly?

PODB. Oh, of course it's very jolly. Find I get a trifle mixed
afterwards, though. And, between ourselves, I wouldn't mind--now and
then, you know--just dawdling about among the shops and people, as you
and the Trotters do!

CULCH. That has its charm, no doubt. But don't you find Miss Prendergast
a mine of information on Italian Art and History?

PODB. Don't I just--rather too _deep_ for me, y' know! I say, isn't Miss
Trotter immense sport in the shops and that?

[Illustration: "I GUESS YOU'RE THE MOST UNSELFISH SAINT ON TWO LEGS!"]

CULCH. She is--er--vivacious, certainly. (PODBURY _sighs_.) You seem
rather dull to-night, my dear fellow?

PODB. Not dull--a trifle out of sorts, that's all. Fact is, I don't
think Venice agrees with me. All this messing about down beastly
back-courts and canals and in stuffy churches--it _can't_ be healthy,
you know! And they've _no_ drainage. I only hope I haven't caught
something, as it is. I've that kind of sinking feeling, and a general
lowness--_She_ says I lunch too heavily--but I swear it's more than
that!

CULCH. Nonsense, you're well enough. And why you should feel low, with
all your advantages--in Venice as you are, and in constant intercourse
with a mind adorned with every feminine gift--!

PODB. Hul-lo! why, I thought you called her a pedantic prig?

CULCH. If I used such a term at all, it was in no disparaging sense.
Every earnest nature presents an--er--priggish side at times. I know
that even I myself have occasionally, and by people who didn't _know_ me
of course, been charged with priggishness.

PODB. Have you, though? But of course there's nothing of that about
_her_. Only--well, it don't signify. [_He sighs._

CULCH. Ah, Podbury, take the good the gods provide you and be content!
You might be worse off, believe me!

PODB. (_discontentedly_). It's all very well for _you_ to talk--with
Miss Trotter all to yourself. I suppose you're regularly engaged by this
time, eh?

CULCH. Not quite. There's still a----And your probation, that's
practically at an end?

PODB. I don't know. Can't make her out. She wouldn't sit on me the way
she does unless she _liked_ me, I suppose. But I say, it must be
awf--rather jolly for you with Miss Trotter? She's got so much _go_, eh?

CULCH. You used to say she wasn't what you call cultivated.

PODB. I know I did. That's just what I like about her! At least--well,
we _both_ ought to think ourselves uncommonly lucky beggars, I'm sure!
[_He sighs more heavily than ever._

CULCH. You especially, my dear Podbury. In fact, I doubt if you're half
grateful enough!

PODB. (_snappishly_). Yes, I am, I tell you. _I_'m not grumbling, am I?
I know as well as you do she's miles too good for me. Haven't I _said_
so? Then what the devil do you keep on nagging at me for, eh?

CULCH. I am glad you see it in that light. Aren't you a little irritable
to-night?

PODB. No, I'm not. It's those filthy canals. And the way you talk--as if
a girl like Miss Trotter wasn't----!

CULCH. I really can't allow you to lecture me. I am not insensible to my
good-fortune--if others are. Now we'll drop the subject.

PODB. I'm willing enough to drop it. And I shall turn in now--it's late.
You coming?

CULCH. Not yet. Good-night. (_To himself, as_ PODBURY _departs_.) You
tasteless _dolt_!

PODB. Good-night! (_To himself, as he swings off._) Confounded
patronizing _prig_!




CHAPTER XXIII.

+PEARLS AND PIGS.+


SCENE--_The Lower Hall of the Scuola di San Rocco, Venice. British
Tourists discovered studying the Tintorets on the walls and ceiling by
the aid of Ruskin, Hare, and Bædeker, from which they read aloud,
instructively, to one another._ MISS PRENDERGAST _has brought "The
Stones of Venice" for the benefit of her brother and_ PODBURY. _Long
self-repression has reduced_ PODBURY _to that unpleasantly hysterical
condition known as "a fit of the giggles," which, however, has hitherto
escaped detection_.

MISS P. (_standing opposite "The Flight into Egypt" reading_). "One of
the principal figures here is the Donkey." Where _is_ Mr. Podbury? [_To_
P., _who reappears, humbly proffering a tin focussing-case_.] Thanks,
but you need not have troubled! "The Donkey ... um--um--never
seen--um--um--any of the nobler animals so sublime as this quiet head of
the domestic ass"--(_here_ BOB _digs_ PODBURY _in the ribs behind_ MISS
P.'S _back_)--"chiefly owing to the grand motion in the nostril, and
writhing in the ears." (_A spasmodic choke from_ PODBURY.) May I ask
what you find so amusing?

PODB. (_crimson_). I--I _beg_ your pardon--I don't know _what_ I was
laughing at exactly. (_Aside to_ BOB.) _Will_ you shut up, confound you!

A STOUT LADY (_close by, reading from Hare_). "The whole symmetry of it
depending on a narrow line of light." (_Dubiously, to her Daughter._) I
don't _quite_--oh yes, I do now--that's it--where my sunshade is--"the
edge of a carpenter's square, which connects those unused tools" ...
h'm--can _you_ make out the "unused tools," Ethel? _I_ can't.... But he
says--"The Ruined House is the Jewish Dispensation." Now I should never
have found _that_ out for myself. (_They pass to another canvas._)
"Tintoret denies himself all aid from the features.... No time allowed
for watching the expression."... (That reminds me--what _is_ the time by
your bracelet, darling?) "No blood, no stabbing, or cutting ... but an
awful substitute for these in the chiaroscuro." (Ah, yes, indeed! Do you
see it, love?--in the right-hand corner.) "So that our eyes
"--(_comfortably_)--"seem to become blood-shot, and strained with
strange horror, and deadly vision." (Not one o'clock, _really_?--and
we've to meet Papa outside Florian's for lunch at one-thirty! Dear me,
we mustn't stay too long over this room.)

A SOLEMN GENTLEMAN (_struggling with a troublesome cough, who is also
provided with Hare, reading aloud to his wife_). "Further enhanced
by--rook--rook--rook!--a largely-made--rook--ook!--farm-servant, leaning
on a ork-ork--ork--ork--or--ook!--basket. Shall I--ork!--go on?"

HIS WIFE. Yes, dear, do, _please_! It makes one notice things so _much_
more! [_The_ SOLEMN GENTLEMAN _goes on_.

MISS P. (_as they reach the staircase_). Now just look at this Titian,
Mr. Podbury! Ruskin particularly mentions it. Do note the mean and petty
folds of the drapery, and compare them with those in the Tintorets in
there.

PODB. (_obediently_). Yes, I will,--a--did you mean _now_--and will it
take me long, because---- [MISS PRENDERGAST _sweeps on scornfully_.

PODB. (_following, with a desperate effort to be intelligent_). They
don't seem to have any Fiammingoes here.

MISS P. (_freezingly, over her shoulder_). Any _what_, Mr. Podbury?
Flamingoes?

PODB. (_confidently, having noted down the name at the Accademia on his
shirt-cuff_). No, "Ignoto Fiammingo," don't you know. I like that chap's
style--what I call thoroughly Venetian.

[_Well-informed persons in front overhear and smile._

MISS P. (_annoyed_). That is rather strange--because "Ignoto Fiammingo"
happens to be merely the Italian for "an unknown Fleming," Mr. Podbury.
[_Collapse of_ PODBURY.

BOB. (_aside to_ PODBURY). You great owl, you came a cropper _that_
time!

[_He and_ PODBURY _indulge in a subdued bear-fight up the stairs, after
which they enter the Upper Hall in a state of preternatural solemnity_.

THE SOLEMN G. Now what _I_ want to see, my dear, is the ork--ork--angel
that Ruskin thinks Tintoretto painted the day after he saw a
rook--kic--kic--kic--kingfisher.

[BOB _nudges_ PODBURY, _who resists temptation heroically_.

[Illustration: A SOLEMN GENTLEMAN STRUGGLING WITH A TROUBLESOME COUGH.]

MISS P. (_reading_).... "the fig-tree which, by a curious caprice, has
golden ribs to all its leaves."--Do you see the ribs, Mr. Podbury?

PODB. (_feebly_). Y--yes. I _believe_ I do. Think they grew that sort of
fig-tree formerly, or is it--a--_allegorical_?

MISS P. (_receiving this query in crushing silence_). The ceiling
requires careful study. Look at that oblong panel in the centre--with
the fiery serpents, which Ruskin finely compares to "winged lampreys."
You're not looking in the right way to see them, Mr. Podbury!

PODB. (_faintly_). I--I did see them--_all_ of them, on my honour I did!
But it gives me such a crick in my neck!

MISS P. Surely Tintoret is worth a crick in the neck. Did you observe
"the intense delight in biting expressed in their eyes"?

BOB. (_frivolously_). _I_ did, 'Patia--exactly the same look I observed
last night, in a mosquito's eye.

[PODBURY _has to use his handkerchief violently_.

THE STOUT LADY. Now, Ethel, we can just spend ten minutes on the
ceiling--and then we _must_ go. That's evidently Jonah in the small oval
(_referring to plan_). Yes, I thought so,--it _is_ Jonah. Ruskin
considers "the whale's tongue much too large, unless it is a kind of
crimson cushion for Jonah to kneel upon." Well, why _not_?

ETHEL. A cushion, Mother? what, _inside_ the whale!

THE STOUT LADY. That we are not _told_, my love--"The submissiveness of
Jonah is well given"--So true--but Papa can't bear being kept waiting
for his lunch--we really ought to go now. [_They go._

THE SOLEMN G. (_reading_). "There comes up out of the mist a dark hand."
Have _you_ got the dark hand yet, my dear?

HIS WIFE. No, dear, only the mist. At least, there's something that
_may_ be a branch; or a _bird_ of some sort.

THE S. G. Ha, it's full of suggestion, full of suggestion!

[_He passes on, coughing._

MISS P. (_to_ PODBURY, _who is still quivering_). Now notice the end
one--"the Fall of Manna"--not _that_ end; that's the "Fall of _Man_."
Ruskin points out (_reading_) "A very sweet incident. Four or five
sheep, instead of pasturing, turn their heads to catch the manna as it
comes down" (_here_ BOB _catches_ PODBURY'S _eye_), "or seem to be
licking it off each other's fleeces." (PODBURY _is suddenly convulsed by
inexplicable and untimely mirth_.) Really, Mr. Podbury, this is _too_
disgraceful!

[_She shuts the book sharply and walks away._


OUTSIDE; BY THE LANDING STEPS.

MISS P. Bob, go on and get the gondola ready. I wish to speak to Mr.
Podbury. (_To_ PODBURY, _after_ BOB _has withdrawn_.) Mr. Podbury, I
cannot tell you how disgusted and disappointed I feel at your senseless
irreverence.

PODB. (_penitently_). I--I'm really most awfully sorry--but it came over
me suddenly, and I simply couldn't help myself!

MISS P. That is what makes it so very hopeless--after all the pains I
have taken with you! I have been beginning to fear for some time that
you are incorrigible--and to-day is really the _last_ straw! So it is
kinder to let you know at once that you have been tried and found
wanting. I have no alternative but to release you finally from your
vows--I cannot allow you to remain my suitor any longer.

PODB. (_humbly_). I was always afraid I shouldn't last the course, don't
you know. I did my best--but it wasn't _in_ me, I suppose. It was
awfully good of you to put up with me so long. And, I say, you won't
mind our being friends still, will you now?

MISS P. Of course not. I shall always wish you well, Mr. Podbury--only I
won't trouble you to accompany me to any more galleries!

PODB. A--thanks. I--I mean, I know I should only be in your way and all
that. And--I'd better say good-bye, Miss Prendergast. You won't want me
in the gondola just now, I'm sure. I can easily get another.

MISS P. Well--good-bye then, Mr. Podbury. I will explain to Bob.

[_She steps into the gondola_; BOB _raises his eyebrows in mute
interrogation at_ PODBURY, _who shakes his head, and allows the gondola
to go without him_.

PODB. (_to himself as the gondola disappears_). So _that's_ over! Hanged
if I don't think I'm sorry, after all. It will be beastly lonely without
anybody to bully me, and she could be awfully nice when she chose....
Still it _is_ a relief to have got rid of old Tintoret, and not to have
to bother about Bellini and Cima and that lot.... How that beggar
Culchard will crow when he hears of it! Shan't tell him anything--if I
can help it.... But the worst of getting the sack is--people are almost
_bound_ to spot you.... I think I'll be off to-morrow. I've had enough
of Venice!




CHAPTER XXIV.

+THE PILGRIMS OF LOVE.+


SCENE--_The Piazza of St. Mark at night. The roof and part of the façade
gleam a greenish silver in the moonlight. The shadow of the Campanile
falls, black and broad, across the huge square, which is crowded with
people listening to the Military Band, and taking coffee, &c., outside
the cafés._ MISS TROTTER _and_ CULCHARD _are seated at one of the little
tables in front of the Quadri_.

MISS T. I'd like ever so much to know why it is you're so anxious to see
that Miss Prendergast and me friendly again? After she's been treating
you this long while like you were a toad--and not a popular kind of toad
at that!

CULCH. (_wincing_). Of course I am only too painfully aware of--of a
certain distance in her manner towards me, but I should not think of
allowing myself to be influenced by any--er--merely personal
considerations of that sort.

MISS T. That's real noble! And I presume, now, you cann't imagine any
reason why she's been treading you so flat.

CULCH. (_with a shrug_). I really haven't troubled to speculate. Who can
tell how one may, quite unconsciously, give offence--even to those who
are--er--comparative strangers?

MISS T. Just so. (_A pause._) Well, Mr. Culchard, if I wanted anything
to confirm my opinion of you, I guess you've given it me!

CULCH. (_internally_). It's very unfortunate that she _will_ insist on
idealizing me like this!

MISS T. Maybe, now, you can form a pretty good idea already what that
opinion is?

CULCH. (_in modest deprecation_). You give me some reason for inferring
that it is far higher than I deserve.

MISS T. Well, I don't know that you've missed your guess altogether. Are
you through your ice-cream yet?

CULCH. Almost. (_He finishes his ice._) It is really most refreshing.

MISS T. Then, now you're refreshed, I'll tell you what I think about
you. (CULCHARD _resigns himself to enthusiasm_.) My opinion of you, Mr.
Culchard, is that, taking you by and large, you amount to what we
Amurrcans describe as "a pretty mean cuss."

CULCH. (_genuinely surprised_). A mean cuss? Me! Really, this
unjustifiable language is _most_----!

MISS T. Well, I don't just know what your dictionary term would be for a
man who goes and vows exclusive devotion to one young lady, while he's
waiting for his answer from another, and keeps his head close shut to
each about it. Or a man who backs out of his vows by trading off the
sloppiest kind of flap-doodle about not wishing to blight the hopes of
his dearest friend. Or a man who has been trying his hardest to get into
the good graces again of the young lady he went back on first, so he can
cut out that same dearest friend of his, and leave the girl he's haff
engaged to right out in the cold. And puts it all off on the
high-toned-est old sentiments, too. But I don't consider the expression,
"a mean cuss," too picturesque for that particular kind of hero myself!

CULCH. (_breathing hard_). Your feelings have apparently undergone a
sudden change--quite recently!

MISS T. Well, no, the change dates back considerable--ever since we were
at the Villa d'Este. Only, I like Mr. Podbury pretty well, and I allowed
he ought to have fair play, so I concluded I'd keep you around so you
shouldn't get a chance of spoiling your perfectly splendid act of
self-denial--and I guess I've _kept_ you around pretty much all the
time.

CULCH. (_bitterly_). In other words, you have behaved like a heartless
coquette!

MISS T. You may put it at that if you like. Maybe it wouldn't have been
just the square thing to do if you'd been a different sort of man--but
you wanted to be taught that you couldn't have all the fun of flirtation
on _your_ side, and I wasn't afraid the emotional strain was going to
shatter you up to any serious extent. Now it's left off amusing me, and
I guess it's time to stop. I'm as perfectly aware as I can be that
you've been searching around for some way of getting out of it this long
while back--so there's no use of your denying you'll be real enchanted
to get your liberty again!

[Illustration: "A MEAN CUSS? ME! REALLY--!"]

CULCH. I may return your charming candour by admitting that
my--er--dismissal will be--well, not wholly without its consolations.

MISS T. Then _that's_ all right! And if you'll be obliging enough to
hunt up my Poppa and send him along, I guess I can dispense with your
further escort, and you can commence those consolations right away.

CULCH. (_alone_). The little vixen! Saw I was getting tired of it, and
took care to strike first. Clever--but a trifle crude. But I'm free now.
Unfortunately my freedom comes too late. Podbury's _Titania_ is much too
enamoured of those ass's ears of his----How the brute will chuckle when
he hears of this! But he won't hear of it from _me_. I'll go in and pack
and be off to-morrow morning before he's up!

          *         *        *         *          *

NEXT MORNING; IN THE HALL OF THE GRAND HOTEL DANDOLO.

THE GERMAN PORTER (_a stately person in a gold-laced uniform and a white
waistcoat, escaping from importunate visitors_). In von momendt, Matam,
I attend to you. You want a larcher roûm, Sare? You address ze manager,
blease. Your dronks, Laties? I haf zem brod down, yes.

_A Lady._ Oh, Porter, we want a gondola this afternoon to go to the
Lido, and _do_ try if you can get us Beppo--that _nice_ gondolier, you
know, we had yesterday!

THE PORTER. Ach! I do nod know _any_ nah-ice gondolier--zey are oal--I
dell you, if you lif viz zem ade mons as me, you cot your troat--yes!

ANOTHER LADY. Porter, can you tell me the name of the song that man is
singing in the barge there?

PORTER. I gannot dell you ze name--pecause zey sing always ze same ting!

A HELPLESS MAN IN KNICKERBOCKERS (_drifting in at the door_). Here, I
say. We engaged rooms here by telegram from Florence. What am I to give
these fellows from the station? _Combien_, you know!

PORTER. You gif zem two franc--and zen zey vill gromble. You haf engage
roûms? yes. Zat vill pe oal rahit--Your loggage in ze gondola, yes? I
haf it taken op.

THE H. M. No, it's left behind at Bologna. My friend's gone back for it.
And I say, think it will turn up all right?

PORTER. Eef you register it, and your vrient is zere, you ged it--yes.

THE H. M. Yes, but look _here_, don't you know? Oughtn't I to make a
row--a fuss--about it, or something, eh?

PORTER (_moving off with subdued contempt_). Oh, you can make a foss,
yes, if you like--you ged nossing!

CULCH. _and_ PODB. (_stopping him simultaneously_). I say, I want my
luggage brought down from No.--in time for the twelve o'clock--(_To each
other._) Hallo! are _you_ off too?

CULCH. (_confused_). Er--yes--thought I might as well be getting back.

PODB. Then I--I suppose it's all settled--with Miss T.--you know--eh?

CULCH. Fortunately--yes. And--er--_your_ engagement happily concluded?

PODB. Well, it's _concluded_, anyway. It's all _off_, you know. I--I
wasn't artistic enough for her.

CULCH. She has refused you? My _dear_ Podbury, I'm really delighted to
hear this--at least, that is----

PODB. Oh, don't mind _me_. I'm getting over it. But I must congratulate
you on better luck.

CULCH. On precisely similar luck. Miss Trotter and I--er--arrived at the
conclusion last night that we were not formed to make each other's
happiness.

PODB. Did you, by Jove? Porter, I say, never mind about that luggage. Do
you happen to know if Mr. and Miss Trotter--the American gentleman and
his daughter--are down yet?

PORTER. Trodders? Led me see, yes, zey ged zeir preakfast early, and
start two hours since for Murano and Torcello.

PODB. Torcello? Why, that's where Bob and Miss Prendergast talked of
going to-day! Culchard, old fellow, I've changed my mind. Shan't leave
to-day, after all. I shall just nip over and see what sort of place
Torcello is.

CULCH. Torcello--"the Mother of Venice!" it really seems a pity to go
away without having seen it. Do you know, Podbury, I think I'll join
you!

PODB. (_not over cordially_). Come along, then--only look sharp. Sure
you don't mind? Miss Trotter will be there, you know!

CULCH. Exactly; and so--I think you said--will the--er--Prendergasts.
(_To_ PORTER.) Just get us a gondola and two rowers, will you, for
Torcello. And tell them to row as fast as they can!




CHAPTER XXV.

+JOURNEYS END IN LOVERS' MEETING.+


SCENE--_Near Torcello._ CULCHARD _and_ PODBURY _are seated side by side
in the gondola, which is threading its way between low banks, bright
with clumps of Michaelmas daisies and pomegranate-trees laden with red
fruit. Both_ CULCHARD _and_ PODBURY _are secretly nervous and anxious
for encouragement_.

PODBURY (_humming_ "_In Old Madrid_" _with sentiment_).
La-doodle-um-La-doodle-oo: La-doodle-um-te-dumpty-loodle-oo! I think she
rather seemed to like me--those first days at Brussels, don't _you_?

CULCHARD (_absently_). Did she? I dare say. (_Whistling_ "_The
Wedding March_" _softly_.) Few-fee; di-fee-fee-few-few;
few-fiddledy-fee-fiddledy-few-few-few-fee. I fancy I'm right in my
theory, eh?

PODB. Oh, I should say so--yes. _What_ theory?

CULCH. (_annoyed_). What theory? Why, the one I've been explaining to
you for the last ten minutes!--that all this harshness of hers lately is
really, when you come to analyse it, a decidedly encouraging symptom.

PODB. But I shouldn't have said Miss Trotter was exactly _harsh_ to
me--lately, at all events.

CULCH. (_with impatience_). Miss Trotter! You! What an egoist you are,
my dear fellow! I was referring to myself and Miss Prendergast. And you
can't deny that, both at Nuremberg and Constance, she----

PODB. (_with careless optimism_). Oh, _she_'ll come round all right,
never fear. I only wish I was half as safe with Miss Trotter!

CULCH. (_mollified_). Don't be too down-hearted, my dear Podbury. I
happen to know that she likes you--she told me as much last night. Did
Miss Prendergast--er--say anything to that effect about _me_?

PODB. Well,--not exactly, old chap--not to me, at least. But I say, Miss
Trotter didn't tell you _that_? Not _really_? Hooray! Then it's all
right--she may have me after all!

CULCH. (_chillingly_). I should advise you not to be over-confident. (_A
silence follows, which endures until they reach the landing-steps at
Torcello._) They _are_ here, you see--those are evidently their
gondolas, I recognise those two cloaks. Now the best thing _we_ can do
is to separate.

PODB. (_springing out_). Right you are! (_To himself._) I'll draw the
church first and see if she's there. (_Approaches the door of Santa
Maria: a Voice within, apparently reading aloud_: "_Six balls, or rather
almonds, of purple marble veined with white are set around the edge of
the pulpit, and form its only decoration_.") Hypatia, by Jove! Narrow
shave that!

[_He goes round to back._

CULCH. (_comes up to the door_). I know I shall find her here. Lucky I
know that Torcello chapter in "The Stones" very nearly by heart!
(_Reaches threshold. A Voice within._ "_Well, I guess I'm going to climb
up and sit in that old amphitheatre there, and see how it feels_!") Good
heavens,--_Maud_! and I was as nearly as possible--I think I'll go up to
the top of the Campanile and see if I can't discover where Hypatia is.

[_He ascends the tower._


IN THE BELFRY.

PODB. (_arriving breathless, and finding_ CULCHARD _craning eagerly
forward_). Oh, so _you_ came up too? Well, can you _see_ her?

CULCH. Ssh! She's just turned the corner! (_Vexed._) She's with Miss
Trotter!... They're sitting down on the grass below!

PODB. Together? That's a nuisance! Now we shall have to wait till they
separate--sure to squabble, sooner or later.

MISS T.'S VOICE (_which is perfectly audible above_). I guess we'll give
Ruskin a rest now, Hypatia. I'm dying for a talk. I'm just as enchanted
as I can be to hear you've dismissed Mr. Podbury. And I expect you can
guess _why_.

PODB. (_in a whisper_). I say, Culchard, they're going to talk about us.
Ought we to listen, eh? Better let them know we're here?

[Illustration: "HYPATIA, BY JOVE! NARROW SHAVE THAT!"]

CULCH. I really don't see any necessity--however,--(_Whistles feebly._)
Feedy-feedy-feedle!

PODB. What is the use of fustling like that? (_Yödels._) Lul-li-ety!

MISS P.'S V. Well, my dear Maud, I confess that I----

CULCH. It's quite impossible to make them hear down there, and it's no
fault of ours if their voices reach us occasionally. And it _does_ seem
to me, Podbury, that, in a matter which may be of vital importance to
me--to us both--it would be absurd to be over-scrupulous. But of course
you will please yourself. _I_ intend to remain where I am. [PODBURY
_reluctantly resigns himself to the situation_.

MISS T.'S V. Now, Hypatia Prendergast, don't tell _me_ you're not
interested in him! And he's more real suited to you than ever Mr.
Podbury was. Now, isn't that _so_?

CULCH. (_withdrawing his head_). Did you hear, Podbury? She's actually
pleading for me! _Isn't_ she an angel? Be quiet, now. I must hear the
answer!

MISS T.'S V. I--I don't know, really. But, Maud, I want to speak to you
about--Somebody. You can't think how he adores you, poor fellow! I have
noticed it for a long time.

POBD. (_beaming_). Culchard! You heard? She's putting in a word for me.
What a brick that girl is!

MISS T.'S V. I guess he's pretty good at concealing his feelings, then.
He's been keeping far enough away!

MISS P.'S V. That was _my_ fault. I _kept_ him by me. You see, I
believed you had quite decided to accept Mr. Culchard.

Miss T.'s V. Well, it does strike me that, considering he was adoring me
all this time, he let himself be managed tolerable easy. [PODBURY
_shakes his head in protestation_.

MISS P.'S V. Ah, but let me explain. I could only keep him quiet by
threatening to go home by myself, and dear Bob is such a devoted brother
that----

POBD. Brother! I say, Culchard, she can't be meaning _Bob_ all this
time! She _can't_! can she now?

CULCH. How on earth can _I_ tell? If it is so, you must be a
philosopher, my dear fellow, and bear it--that's all.

MISS P.'S V. That _does_ alter the case, doesn't it? And I may tell him
there's some hope for him? You mustn't judge him by what he is with his
friend, Mr. Podbury. Bob has such a _much_ stronger and finer character!

MISS T.'S V. Oh well, if he couldn't stand up more on his edge than Mr.
Podbury! Not that I mind Mr. Podbury any, there's no harm in him, but
he's too real frivolous to amount to much.

PODB. (_collapsing_). Frivolous! From _her_ too! Oh, hang it _all_!

[_He buries his head in his hands with a groan._

MISS T.'S V. Well, see here, Hypatia. I'll take your brother on trial
for a spell, to oblige you--there. I cann't say more at present. And
now--about the other. I want to know just how you feel about him.

CULCH. The _other_!--that's Me! I wish to goodness you wouldn't make all
that noise, Podbury, just when it's getting interesting!

MISS P.'S V. (_very low_). What is the good! Nothing will bring him
back--_now_!

CULCH. Nothing? How little she knows me!

MISS T.'S V. I hope you don't consider _me_ nothing. And a word from me
would bring him along pretty smart. The only question is whether I'm to
say it or not.

MISS T.'S V. (_muffled_). Dar-ling!

CULCH. I really think I might almost venture to go down now, eh,
Podbury? (_No answer._) Selfish brute! [_Indignantly._

MISS T.'S V. But mind this--if he comes back, you've got to care for him
the whole length of your boa--you won't persuade him to run in couples
with anybody else. That's why he broke away the first time--and you were
ever so mad with me because you thought I was at the bottom of it. But
it was all his pride. He's too real independent to share chances with
anybody alive.

CULCH. How thoroughly she understands me!

MISS T.'S V. And I guess Charley will grow out of the great Amurrcan
Novel in time--it's not going ever to grow out of _him_, anyway!

CULCH. (_bewildered_). Charley? I don't see why she should mention Van
Boodeler _now_!

MISS T.'S V. I like Charley ever so much, and I'm not going to have him
cavort around along with a circus of suitors under vows. So, if I
thought there was any chance of--well, say Mr. Culchard----

MISS P.'S V. (_indignant_). Maud! how _can_ you? That odious
hypocritical creature! If you knew how I despised and----!

MISS T.'S V. Well, my dear, he's pretty paltry--but we'll let him go at
that--I guess his shares have gone down considerable all round.

CULCH. Podbury, I--I--this conversation is evidently not intended
for--for other ears--I don't know whether _you_ have heard enough, _I_
shall go down!

PODB. (_with a ghastly chuckle_). Like your shares, eh, old chap? And
mine too, for that matter. Well, _I'm_ ready enough to go. Only, for
goodness' sake, let's get away without being seen!

[_They slip softly down the series of inclined planes, and out to the
steps, where they re-embark. As their gondola pushes off_, MR. TROTTER
_and_ BOB PRENDERGAST _appear from the Museum_.

MR. T. Why, land sakes! ain't that Mr. Podbury and Mr. Culchard? Hi! you
ain't ever going away? There's my darter and Miss Hypatia around
somewhere--They'll be dreadful disappointed to have missed you!

PODB. (_with an heroic attempt at cheeriness_). We--we're awfully
disappointed to have missed _them_, Mr. Trotter. Afraid we can't stop
now! Good-bye!

[CULCHARD _pulls his hat-brim over his eyes and makes a sign to the
gondoliers to get on quickly_; MR. TROTTER _comments with audible
astonishment on their departure to_ BOB, _who preserves a discreet
silence_.




CHAPTER XXVI.

+Podbury Kisses the Rod.+


SCENE--_On the Lagoons._ CULCHARD _and_ PODBURY'S _gondola is nearing
Venice. The apricot-tinted diaper on the façade of the Ducal Palace is
already distinguishable, and behind its battlements the pearl-grey domes
of St. Mark's shimmer in the warm air._ CULCHARD _and_ PODBURY _have
hardly exchanged a sentence as yet. The former has just left off
lugubriously whistling as much as he can remember of "Che faro," the
latter is still humming "The Dead March in Saul," although in a
livelier manner than at first_.

CULCH. Well, my dear Podbury, our--er--expedition has turned out rather
disastrously!

PODB. (_suspending the_ "_Dead March_," _chokily_). Not much mistake
about _that_--but there, it's no good talking about it. Jolly that brown
and yellow sail looks on the fruit barge there. See?

CULCH. (_sardonically_). Isn't it a little late in the day to be
cultivating an eye for colour? I was about to say that those two girls
have treated us infamously. I say deliberately, my dear Podbury,
_infamously_!

PODB. Now drop it, Culchard, do you hear? I won't hear a word against
either of them. It serves us jolly well right for not knowing our own
minds better--though I no more dreamed that old Bob would----Oh, hang
it, I can't talk about it yet!

CULCH. That's childishness, my dear fellow; you _ought_ to talk about
it--it will do you good. And really, I'm not at all sure, after all,
that we have not both of us had a fortunate escape. One is very apt
to--er--overrate the fascinations of persons one meets abroad. Now
neither of those two was _quite_----

PODB. (_desperately_). Take care! I swear I'll pitch you out of this
gondola, unless you stop that jabber!

CULCH. (_with wounded dignity_). I am willing to make allowance for your
state of mind, Podbury, but such an expression as--as _jabber_, applied
to my--er--well-meant attempts at consolation, and just as I was about
to propose an arrangement--really, it's _too_ much! The moment we reach
the hotel, I will relieve you from any further infliction from
(_bitterly_) what you are pleased to call my "jabber"!

PODB. (_sulkily_). Very well--I'm sure _I_ don't care! (_To himself._)
Even old Culchard won't have anything to do with me now! I must have
_somebody_ to talk to--or I shall go off my head! (_Aloud._) I say, old
_chap_! (_No answer._) Look here--it's bad enough as it is without _our_
having a row! Never mind anything I said.

CULCH. I _do_ mind--I _must_. I am not accustomed to hear myself called
a--a _jabberer_!

PODB. I _didn't_ call you a jabberer--I only said you _talked_ jabber.
I--I hardly know what I _do_ say, when I'm like this. And I'm deuced
sorry I spoke--there!

CULCH. (_relaxing_). Well, do you withdraw jabber?

PODB. Certainly, old chap. I _like_ you to talk, only not--not against
Her, you know! What were you going to propose?

CULCH. Well, my idea was this. My leave is practically unlimited--at
least, without vanity, I think I may say that my Chief sufficiently
appreciates my services not to make a fuss about a few extra days. So I
thought I'd just run down to Florence and Naples, and perhaps catch a P.
& O. at Brindisi. I suppose _you're_ not tied to time in any way?

PODB. (_dolefully_). Free as a bird! If the Governor had wanted me back
in the City, he'd have let me know it. Well?

CULCH. Well, if you like to come with me, I--I shall be very pleased to
have your company.

PODB. (_considering_). I don't care if I do--it may cheer me up a bit.
Florence, eh?--and Naples? I shouldn't mind a look at Florence. Or Rome.
How about Rome, now?

CULCH. (_to himself_). Was I wise to expose myself to this sort of thing
_again_? I'm almost sorry I----(_Aloud._) My dear fellow, if we are to
travel together in any sort of comfort, you must leave all details to
_me_. And there's one thing I _do_ insist on. In future we must keep to
our original resolution--not to be drawn into any chance
acquaintanceship. I don't want to reproach you, but if, when we were
first at Brussels, you had not allowed yourself to get so intimate with
the Trotters all this would never----

PODB. (_exasperated_). There you go again! I can't stand being jawed at,
Culchard, and I won't!

CULCH. I am no more conscious of "jawing" than "jabbering," and if
_that_ is how I am to be spoken to----!

PODB. I know. Look here, it's no use. You must go to Florence by
yourself. I simply don't feel up to it, and that's the truth. I shall
just potter about here till--till _they_ go.

CULCH. As you choose. I gave you the opportunity--out of kindness. If
you prefer to make yourself ridiculous by hanging about here, it's no
concern of mine. I dare say I shall enjoy Florence at least as well by
myself.

[_He sulks until they arrive at the Hotel Dandolo, where they are
received on the steps by the_ PORTER.

PORTER. Goot afternoon, Schendlemen. You have a bleasant dimes at
Torcello, yes? Ach! you haf gif your gondoliers vifdeen franc? Zey
schvindle you, oal ze gondoliers alvays schvindles eferypody, yes! Zere
is som ledders for you. I vetch them. [_He bustles away._

MR. BELLERBY (_suddenly emerging from a recess in the entrance, as he
recognizes_ CULCHARD). Why, bless me, there's a face I know! Met at
Lugano, didn't we? To be sure--very pleasant chat we had too! So you're
at Venice, eh? I know every stone of it by heart, as I needn't say. The
first time I was ever at Venice----

CULCH. (_taking a bulky envelope from the_ PORTER). Just so--how are
you? Er--will you excuse me?

[_He opens the envelope, and finds a blue official-looking enclosure,
which he reads with a gradually lengthening countenance._

MR. B. (_as_ CULCHARD _thrusts the letter angrily in his pocket_).
You're new to Venice, I think? Well, just let me give you a word of
advice.

[Illustration: READS WITH A GRADUALLY LENGTHENING COUNTENANCE.]

Now you _are_ here--you make them give you some tunny. Insist on it,
Sir. Why, when I was here first----

CULCH. (_impatiently_). I know. I mean, you told me that before. And I
_have_ tasted tunny.

MR. B. Ha! well, what did you think of it? _Delicious_, eh?

CULCH. (_forgetting all his manners_). Beastly, Sir, _beastly_!

[_Leaves the scandalized_ MR. B. _abruptly, and rushes off to get a
telegram form at the bureau._

MR. CRAWLEY STRUTT (_pouncing on_ PODBURY _in the hall, as he finishes
the perusal of his letter_). Excuse me--but surely I have the honour of
addressing Lord George Gumbleton? You may perhaps just recollect, my
Lord----?

PODB. (_blankly_). Think you've made a mistake, really.

MR. C. S. Is it possible! I have come across so many people while I've
been away that--but surely we have met _somewhere_? Why, of course, Sir
John Jubber! you must pardon me, Sir John----

PODB. (_recognizing him_). My name's Podbury--plain Podbury, but you're
quite right. You _have_ met me--and you've met my bootmaker too, "Lord
Uppersole," eh? That's where the mistake came in!

MR. C. S. (_with hauteur_). I think not, Sir; I have no recollection of
the circumstance. I see now your face is quite unfamiliar to me.

[_He moves away_; PODBURY _gets a telegram form and sits down at a table
in the hall opposite_ CULCHARD.

CULCH. (_reading over his telegram_). "Yours just received. Am returning
immediately."

PODB. (_do., do._). "Letter to hand. No end sorry. Start at once."
(_Seeing_ CULCHARD.) Writing to Florence for room, eh?

CULCH. Er--no. The fact is, I've just heard from my Chief--a--a most
intemperate communication, insisting on my instant return to my duties!
I shall have to humour him, I suppose, and leave at once.

PODB. So shall I. No end of a shirty letter from the Governor. Wants to
know how much longer I expect him to be tied to the office. Old humbug,
when he only turns up twice a week for a couple of hours!

THE PORTER. Beg your bardons, Schendlemen, but if you haf qvide done vid
ze schtamps on your ledders, I gollect bostage-schtamps, yes.

CULCH. (_irritably flings him the envelope_). Oh, confound it all, take
them. _I_ don't want them! (_He looks at his letter once more._) I say,
Podbury, it--it's worse than I thought. This thing's a week old! Must
have been lying in my rooms all this time--or else in that infernal
Italian post!

PODB. Whew, old chap! I say, I wouldn't be _you_ for something! Won't
you catch it when you _do_ turn up? But look here--as things are, we may
as well travel _home_ together, eh?

CULCH. (_with a flicker of resentment_). In spite of my tendency to
"jaw" and "jabber"?

PODB. Oh, never mind all that now. We're companions in misfortune, you
know, and we'd better stick together, and keep each other's spirits up.
After all, you're in a much worse hat than _I_ am!

CULCH. If _that's_ the way you propose to keep my spirits up!----But let
us keep together, by all means, if you wish it, and just go and find out
when the next train starts, will you? (_To himself, as_ PODBURY
_departs_.) I must put up with him a little longer, I suppose. Ah me!
_How_ differently I should be feeling now, if Hypatia had only been true
to herself. But that's all over, and I dare say it's better so.... I
dare say!

[_He strolls into the hotel garden, and begins to read his Chief's
missives once more, in the hope of deciphering some faint encouragement
between the lines._


FINIS.

_Richard Clay & Sons, Limited, London & Bungay._