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.
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?
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.
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!
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.
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——
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——!
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.