The Travelling Companions: A Story in Scenes

[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.

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!

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 throughanother 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?