The Travelling Companions Part 26

You're not looking in the right way to see them, Mr. Podbury!

PODB. (_faintly_). I--I did see them--_all_ of them, on my honour I did!

But it gives me such a crick in my neck!

MISS P. Surely Tintoret is worth a crick in the neck. Did you observe "the intense delight in biting expressed in their eyes"?

BOB. (_frivolously_). _I_ did, 'Patia--exactly the same look I observed last night, in a mosquito's eye.

[PODBURY _has to use his handkerchief violently_.

THE STOUT LADY. Now, Ethel, we can just spend ten minutes on the ceiling--and then we _must_ go. That's evidently Jonah in the small oval (_referring to plan_). Yes, I thought so,--it _is_ Jonah. Ruskin considers "the whale's tongue much too large, unless it is a kind of crimson cus.h.i.+on for Jonah to kneel upon." Well, why _not_?

ETHEL. A cus.h.i.+on, Mother? what, _inside_ the whale!

THE STOUT LADY. That we are not _told_, my love--"The submissiveness of Jonah is well given"--So true--but Papa can't bear being kept waiting for his lunch--we really ought to go now. [_They go._

THE SOLEMN G. (_reading_). "There comes up out of the mist a dark hand."

Have _you_ got the dark hand yet, my dear?

HIS WIFE. No, dear, only the mist. At least, there's something that _may_ be a branch; or a _bird_ of some sort.

THE S. G. Ha, it's full of suggestion, full of suggestion!

[_He pa.s.ses on, coughing._

MISS P. (_to_ PODBURY, _who is still quivering_). Now notice the end one--"the Fall of Manna"--not _that_ end; that's the "Fall of _Man_."

Ruskin points out (_reading_) "A very sweet incident. Four or five sheep, instead of pasturing, turn their heads to catch the manna as it comes down" (_here_ BOB _catches_ PODBURY'S _eye_), "or seem to be licking it off each other's fleeces." (PODBURY _is suddenly convulsed by inexplicable and untimely mirth_.) Really, Mr. Podbury, this is _too_ disgraceful!

[_She shuts the book sharply and walks away._

OUTSIDE; BY THE LANDING STEPS.

MISS P. Bob, go on and get the gondola ready. I wish to speak to Mr.

Podbury. (_To_ PODBURY, _after_ BOB _has withdrawn_.) Mr. Podbury, I cannot tell you how disgusted and disappointed I feel at your senseless irreverence.

PODB. (_penitently_). I--I'm really most awfully sorry--but it came over me suddenly, and I simply couldn't help myself!

MISS P. That is what makes it so very hopeless--after all the pains I have taken with you! I have been beginning to fear for some time that you are incorrigible--and to-day is really the _last_ straw! So it is kinder to let you know at once that you have been tried and found wanting. I have no alternative but to release you finally from your vows--I cannot allow you to remain my suitor any longer.

PODB. (_humbly_). I was always afraid I shouldn't last the course, don't you know. I did my best--but it wasn't _in_ me, I suppose. It was awfully good of you to put up with me so long. And, I say, you won't mind our being friends still, will you now?

MISS P. Of course not. I shall always wish you well, Mr. Podbury--only I won't trouble you to accompany me to any more galleries!

PODB. A--thanks. I--I mean, I know I should only be in your way and all that. And--I'd better say good-bye, Miss Prendergast. You won't want me in the gondola just now, I'm sure. I can easily get another.

MISS P. Well--good-bye then, Mr. Podbury. I will explain to Bob.

[_She steps into the gondola_; BOB _raises his eyebrows in mute interrogation at_ PODBURY, _who shakes his head, and allows the gondola to go without him_.

PODB. (_to himself as the gondola disappears_). So _that's_ over! Hanged if I don't think I'm sorry, after all. It will be beastly lonely without anybody to bully me, and she could be awfully nice when she chose....

Still it _is_ a relief to have got rid of old Tintoret, and not to have to bother about Bellini and Cima and that lot.... How that beggar Culchard will crow when he hears of it! Shan't tell him anything--if I can help it.... But the worst of getting the sack is--people are almost _bound_ to spot you.... I think I'll be off to-morrow. I've had enough of Venice!

CHAPTER XXIV.

+THE PILGRIMS OF LOVE.+

SCENE--_The Piazza of St. Mark at night. The roof and part of the facade gleam a greenish silver in the moonlight. The shadow of the Campanile falls, black and broad, across the huge square, which is crowded with people listening to the Military Band, and taking coffee, &c., outside the cafes._ MISS TROTTER _and_ CULCHARD _are seated at one of the little tables in front of the Quadri_.

MISS T. I'd like ever so much to know why it is you're so anxious to see that Miss Prendergast and me friendly again? After she's been treating you this long while like you were a toad--and not a popular kind of toad at that!

CULCH. (_wincing_). Of course I am only too painfully aware of--of a certain distance in her manner towards me, but I should not think of allowing myself to be influenced by any--er--merely personal considerations of that sort.

MISS T. That's real n.o.ble! And I presume, now, you cann't imagine any reason why she's been treading you so flat.

CULCH. (_with a shrug_). I really haven't troubled to speculate. Who can tell how one may, quite unconsciously, give offence--even to those who are--er--comparative strangers?

MISS T. Just so. (_A pause._) Well, Mr. Culchard, if I wanted anything to confirm my opinion of you, I guess you've given it me!

CULCH. (_internally_). It's very unfortunate that she _will_ insist on idealizing me like this!

MISS T. Maybe, now, you can form a pretty good idea already what that opinion is?

CULCH. (_in modest deprecation_). You give me some reason for inferring that it is far higher than I deserve.

MISS T. Well, I don't know that you've missed your guess altogether. Are you through your ice-cream yet?

CULCH. Almost. (_He finishes his ice._) It is really most refres.h.i.+ng.

MISS T. Then, now you're refreshed, I'll tell you what I think about you. (CULCHARD _resigns himself to enthusiasm_.) My opinion of you, Mr.

Culchard, is that, taking you by and large, you amount to what we Amurrcans describe as "a pretty mean cuss."

CULCH. (_genuinely surprised_). A mean cuss? Me! Really, this unjustifiable language is _most_----!

MISS T. Well, I don't just know what your dictionary term would be for a man who goes and vows exclusive devotion to one young lady, while he's waiting for his answer from another, and keeps his head close shut to each about it. Or a man who backs out of his vows by trading off the sloppiest kind of flap-doodle about not wis.h.i.+ng to blight the hopes of his dearest friend. Or a man who has been trying his hardest to get into the good graces again of the young lady he went back on first, so he can cut out that same dearest friend of his, and leave the girl he's haff engaged to right out in the cold. And puts it all off on the high-toned-est old sentiments, too. But I don't consider the expression, "a mean cuss," too picturesque for that particular kind of hero myself!

CULCH. (_breathing hard_). Your feelings have apparently undergone a sudden change--quite recently!

MISS T. Well, no, the change dates back considerable--ever since we were at the Villa d'Este. Only, I like Mr. Podbury pretty well, and I allowed he ought to have fair play, so I concluded I'd keep you around so you shouldn't get a chance of spoiling your perfectly splendid act of self-denial--and I guess I've _kept_ you around pretty much all the time.

CULCH. (_bitterly_). In other words, you have behaved like a heartless coquette!

MISS T. You may put it at that if you like. Maybe it wouldn't have been just the square thing to do if you'd been a different sort of man--but you wanted to be taught that you couldn't have all the fun of flirtation on _your_ side, and I wasn't afraid the emotional strain was going to shatter you up to any serious extent. Now it's left off amusing me, and I guess it's time to stop. I'm as perfectly aware as I can be that you've been searching around for some way of getting out of it this long while back--so there's no use of your denying you'll be real enchanted to get your liberty again!

[Ill.u.s.tration: "A MEAN CUSS? ME! REALLY--!"]