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 s.h.i.+rt 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 bos.h.!.+ 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?