F. Anstey

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. 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.