_Culchard comes out of his Shell._
SCENE--_On the Coach from Braine l'Alleud to Waterloo. The
vehicle has a Belgian driver, but the conductor is a true-born
Briton._ MR. CYRUS K. TROTTER _and his daughter are behind
with_ PODBURY. CULCHARD, _who is not as yet sufficiently on
speaking terms with his friend to ask for an introduction, is
on the box-seat in front._
MR. TROTTER. How are you getting along, Maud? Your seat pretty
comfortable?
MISS TROTTER. Well, I guess it would be about as luxurious if it hadn't
got a chunk of wood nailed down the middle--it's not going to have any
one confusing it with a bed of roses _just_ yet. (_To_ PODB.) Your
friend mad about anything? He don't seem to open his head more'n he's
obliged to. I presume he don't approve of your taking up with me and
father--he keeps away from us considerable, I notice.
PODB. (_awkwardly_). Oh--er--I wouldn't say that, but he's a queer kind
of chap rather, takes prejudices into his head and all that. I wouldn't
trouble about him if I were you--not worth it, y' know.
MISS T. Thanks--but it isn't going to shorten my existence any.
[CULCH. _overhears all this, with feelings that may be imagined._
BELGIAN DRIVER (_to his horses_). Pullep! Allez vite! Bom-bom-bom!
Alright!
CONDUCTOR (_to_ CULCHARD). 'E's very proud of 'is English, _'e_ is.
'Ere, Jewls, ole feller, show the gen'lm'n 'ow yer can do a swear.
(_Belgian Driver utters a string of English imprecations with the utmost
fluency and good-nature._) 'Ark at 'im now! Bust my frogs! (_Admiringly,
and not_ _without a sense of the appropriateness of the phrase._) But
he's a caution, Sir, ain't he? _I_ taught him most o' what he knows!
A FRENCH PASSENGER (_to_ CONDUCTOR). Dis donc, mon ami, est-ce qu'on
peut voir d'ici le champ de bataille?
COND. (_with proper pride_). It ain't no use your torkin _to me_,
Mossoo; I don't speak no French myself. (_To_ CULCHARD.) See that field
there, Sir?
CULCH. (_interested_). On the right? Yes; what happened _there_?
COND. Fine lot o' rabbits inside o' there--big fat 'uns. (_To another
Passenger._) No, Sir, that ain't Belly Lions as you see from 'ere;
that's Mon Sin Jeean, and over there Oogymong, and Challyroy to the
left.
ON THE TOP OF THE MOUND.
CULCHARD, _who has purchased a map in the Waterloo Museum as a
means of approaching_ MISS TROTTER, _is pounced upon by an
elderly Belgian Guide in a blue blouse, from whom he finds it
difficult to escape._
THE GUIDE (_fixing_ CULCHARD _with a pair of rheumy eyes and a gnarled
forefinger_). You see vere is dat schmall voodt near de vite 'ouse? not
dere, along my shdeek--so. Dat is vare Peecton vas kill, Inglis Officer,
Peecton. Two days pefore he was voundet in de ahum. 'E say to his
sairvan', "You dell ennipoddies, I keel you!" He vandt to pe in ze
bataille: he _vas_ in ze bataille--seven lance troo 'im, seven; Peecton,
Inglis Officer. (CULCHARD _nods his head miserably._) Hah, you 'ave de
shart dere--open 'im out vide, dat de odder shentilmans see. (CULCHARD
_obeys, spell-bound._) Vare you see dat blue gross, Vaterloo Shirshe,
vere Loart Uxbreedge lose 'is laig. Zey cot 'im off and pury him in ze
cottyardt, and a villow grow oudt of 'im. 'E com 'ere to see the villow
growing oudt of his laig.
CULCH. (_abandoning his map, and edging towards_ MISS TROTTER). Hem--we
are gazing upon one of the landmarks of our national history--Miss
Trotter.
MISS T. That's a vurry interesting re-mark. I presume you must have
studied up some for a reflection of that kind. Mr. Podbury, your friend
has been telling me----, [_She repeats_ CULCHARD'S _remark_.
PODB. (_with interest_). Got any _more_ of those, old fellow?
[CULCHARD _moves away with disgusted hauteur_.
THE GUIDE (_re-capturing him_). Along dat gross vay, Vellainton meet
Blushair. Prussian general, Blushair. Vellainton 'e com hier. I see 'im.
Ven 'e see ze maundt, 'e vos vair angri. 'E say, "Eet is no ze
battle-fiel' no more--I com back nevare!" Zat aidge is vere de Scots
Greys vas. Ven they dell Napoleon 'oo zey are, 'e say, "Fine
mens--splendid mens, I feenish dem in von hour!" Soult 'e say, "Ah,
Sire, you do not know dose dairible grey 'orses!" Napoleon 'e _not_ know
dem. Soult 'e meet dem at de Peninsulaire--'_e_ know dem. In dat Shirsh,
dventy, dirty dablets to Inglis officers. Napoleon 'e coaled op 'is
laift vink, zey deploy in line, vair you see my shdeek--ha, ze
shentelman is gone avay vonce more!
MISS T. (_to_ CULCHARD, _who has found himself unable to keep away_).
You don't seem to find that old gentleman vurry good company?
CULCH. The fact is that I much prefer to receive my impressions of a
scene like this in solitude.
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.
[Illustration: "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
shirt 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 bosh! 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_.