The Travelling Companions Part 3

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.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "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?