The Travelling Companions Part 20

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'ech.e.l.le, 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 conserve! (_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 batir. (_Counting on his fingers for_ CULCHARD'S _benefit_.) Quattuor dichieme secolo--_fotteen_!

[Ill.u.s.tration: "BELLISSIMO SCULTORE!"]

CULCH. Will you kindly understand that I am quite capable of estimating the precise period of this sculpture for myself.

THE CIC. Si-s, 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 mediaevalism.

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 s.h.i.+vers_.) You aren't feeling sick any?