The Travelling Companions Part 10

PODB. (_nettled_). Oh--but _you_ find him plain-sailing enough, I suppose?

CULCH. I have certainly not encountered any insuperable difficulties in his works as _yet_.

PODB. Well, I'll just trouble you to explain _this_--wait a bit. (_Opens volume again._) Ah, here we are--"And these illusive and primordial cognitions, or pseud-ideas, are h.o.m.ogeneous ent.i.ties which may be differentiated objectively or subjectively, according as they are presented as Noumenon or Phenomenon. Or, in other words, they are only cognoscible as a colligation of incongruous coalescences." Now then--are you going to tell me you can make head or tail of all that?

CULCH. (_perceiving that_ MISS P. _is awaiting his reply in manifest suspense_). It's simple enough, my dear fellow, only I can't expect _you_ to grasp it. It is merely a profound truth stated with masterly precision.

PODB. Oh, is _that_ all, my dear fellow? (_He flings up his heels in an ecstasy._) I _knew_ I'd have you! Why, I made that up myself as I went along, and if _you_ understand it, it's a jolly sight more than _I_ do!

[_He roars with laughter._

MISS P. (_behind her handkerchief_). Mr. Culchard has evidently gone through the--the "preliminary mental discipline."

CULCH. (_scarlet and sulky_). Of course, if Mr. Podbury descends to childishness of that sort, I can't pretend to----

PODB. (_wiping his eyes_). But you _did_ pretend, old chap. You said it was "profound truth" and "masterly precision"! I've got more profound truth where _that_ came from. I say, I shall set up as an intellectual Johnny after this, and get you to write an Epitome of me. I think I pulled your leg _that_ time, eh?

CULCH. (_biting his lip_). When you have extracted sufficient entertainment from that very small joke, you will perhaps allow Miss Prendergast to sit down and begin her sketch. You may not be aware that you've taken her place.

[_He withdraws majestically to the parapet, while_ PODBURY _makes way for_ MISS P. _with apologies._

PODB. (_as he leans over seat while she sketches_). I wish your brother Bob had been here--he would have enjoyed that!

MISS P. It was really too bad of you, though. Poor Mr. Culchard!

PODB. He shouldn't try to make me out a bigger duffer than I am, then.

But I say, you don't _really_ think it was too bad? Ah, you're _laughing_--you don't!

MISS P. Never mind what I really think. But you have got us both into sad disgrace. Mr. Culchard is dreadfully annoyed with us--look at his _shoulders_!

CULCH. (_leaning over parapet with his back to them_). That _a.s.s_ Podbury! To think of his taking me in with an idiotic trick like that!

And before Her too! And when I had made it all right about the other evening, and was producing an excellent impression on the way up here. I wish I could hear what they are whispering about--more silly jokes at my expense, no doubt. Bah! as if it affected _me_!

PODB. (_to_ MISS P.). I say, how awfully well you draw!

MISS P. There you betray your ignorance in Art matters. Sketching with me is a pastime, not a serious pursuit. (_They go on conversing in a lower tone._) No, _please_, Mr. Podbury. I'm quite sure he would never----

PODB. (_rises; comes up to_ CULCHARD, _and touches his shoulder_). I say, old chappie----

CULCH. (_jerking away with temper_). Now, look here, Podbury. I'm not in the mood for any more of your foolery----

PODB. (_humbly_). All right, old boy. I wouldn't bother you, only Miss Prendergast wants a figure for her foreground, and I said I'd ask you if you'd keep just as you are for a few minutes. Do you mind?

CULCH. (_to himself_). Afraid she's gone too far--thinks she'll smooth me down! Upon my word, it would serve her right to--but no, I won't be petty. (_Aloud._) Pray tell Miss Prendergast that I have no immediate intention of altering my position.

PODB. Thanks awfully, old chap. I knew you'd oblige.

CULCH. (_incisively_). I am obliging Miss Prendergast, and her only.

(_Raising his voice, without turning his head._) Would you prefer me to _face_ you, Miss Prendergast?

MISS P. (_in tremulous tones_). N--no, thank you. It--it's so much more n--natural, don't you know, for you to be l--looking at the view.

CULCH. As you please. (_To himself._) Can't meet my eye. Good! I shall go on treating her distantly for a little. I wonder if I look indifferent enough from behind? Shall I cross one foot? Better not--she may have begun sketching me. If she imagines I'm susceptible to feminine flattery of this palpable kind, she'll----how her voice shook, though, when she spoke. Poor girl, she's afraid she offended me by laughing--and I _did_ think she had more sense than to--but I mustn't be too hard on her. I'm afraid she's already beginning to think too much of--and with my peculiar position with Miss Trotter--(Maud, that is)--not that there's anything definite at present, still----(_Aloud._) Ahem, Miss Prendergast--am I standing as you wish? (_To himself._) She doesn't answer--too absorbed, and I can't hear that idiot--found he hasn't scored so much after all, and gone off in a huff, I expect. So much the better! What a time she is over this, and how quiet she keeps! I wish I knew whether it was coquetry or--shall I turn round and see? No, I must be perfectly indifferent. And she _did_ laugh at me. I distinctly saw her. Still, if she's sorry, this would be an excellent opportunity for--(_Aloud._) Miss Prendergast! (_No reply----louder._) May I take it that you regret having been betrayed into momentary approbation of a miserable piece of flippancy? If so, let me a.s.sure you--(_Turns round--to discover that he is addressing two little flaxen haired girls in speckled pinafores, who are regarding him open-mouthed._ MISS PRENDERGAST _and_ PODBURY _have disappeared._) Podbury _again_! He must have planned this--with _her_! It is too much. I have done--yes--done with the pair of them! [_Strides off in bitter indignation._

CHAPTER X.

+Podbury insists on an Explanation.+

SCENE--_A flight of steps by the lake in the grounds of the Insel Hotel, Constance. Time, late afternoon. A small boat, containing three persons, is just visible far out on the gla.s.sy grey-green water._ BOB PRENDERGAST _and_ PODBURY _are perched side by side on a parapet, smoking disconsolately._

PODBURY. Do they look at all as if they meant to come in? I tell you what, Bob, I vote we row out to them and tell them they'll be late for _table d'hote_. Eh? [_He knocks out his pipe._

PRENDERGAST (_phlegmatically_). Only be late for it ourselves if we do.

They'll come in when they want to.

PODB. It's not safe for your sister,--I'm hanged if it is--going out in a boat with a duffer like Culchard! He'll upset her as sure as eggs.

PREND. (_with fraternal serenity_). With pin-oars? Couldn't if he tried!

And they've a man with them, too. The less I see of that chap Culchard the better. I did hope we'd choked him off at Nuremberg. I hate the sight of his supercilious old mug!

PODB. You can't hate it more than I do--but what can I do?

(_Pathetically_.) I've tried rotting him, but somehow he always manages to get the best of it in the end. I never saw such a beggar to hang on!

PREND. What on earth made you ask him to come on here, after he declared he wouldn't?

PODB. I! _I_ ask him? He settled it all with your sister. How could _I_ help it?

PREND. I'd do _something_. Why can't you tell him right out he ain't wanted? _I_ would--like a shot!

PODB. It's not so easy to tell him as you think. We haven't been on speaking terms these three days. And, after all (_feebly_) we're supposed to be travelling together, don't you know! _You_ might drop him a hint now.

PREND. Don't see how I can very well--not on my own hook. Might lead to ructions with Hypatia, too.

PODB. (_anxiously_). Bob, you--you don't think your sister really----eh?

PREND. Hypatia's a rum girl--always was. She certainly don't seem to object to your friend Culchard. What the d.i.c.kens she can see in him, I don't know!--but it's no use my putting _my_ oar in. She'd only jump on _me_, y'know!

PODB. (_rising_). Then I _must_. If that's what he's really after, I think I can stop his little game. I'll try, at any rate. It's a long worm that has no turning, and I've had about enough of it. The first chance I get, I'll go for him.

PREND. Good luck to you, old chap. There, they're coming in now. We'd better go in and change, eh? We've none too much time.

[_They go in._

_In the Lese-zimmer, a small gaslit room, with glazed doors opening upon the Musik-saal. Around a table piled with German and English periodicals, a mild Curate, the Wife of the English Chaplain, and two Old Maids are seated, reading and conversing._ CULCHARD _is on a central ottoman, conscientiously deciphering the jokes in "Fliegende Blatter_."

PODBURY _is at the bookcase, turning over odd Tauchnitz volumes._