Culchard has the Best of it.
SCENE--_Upper deck of the Rhine Steamer_, Koenig Wilhelm, _somewhere
between Bonn and Bingen. The little tables on deck are occupied by
English, American, and German tourists, drinking various liquids, from
hock to Pilsener beer, and eating veal cutlets._ MR. CYRUS K. TROTTER
_is on the lower deck, discussing the comparative merits of the New York
hotels with a fellow countryman._ MISS MAUD S. TROTTER _is seated on the
afterdeck in close conversation with_ CULCHARD. PODBURY _is perched on a
camp-stool in the forward part. Near him a British Matron, with a
red-haired son, in a green and black blazer, and a blue flannel
nightcap, and a bevy of rabbit-faced daughters, are patronising a tame
German Student in spectacles, who speaks a little English._
THE BRITISH MATRON. Oh, you _ought_ to see London; it's our
capital--chief city, you know. Very grand--large--four million
inhabitants! [_With pride, as being in some way responsible for this._
A RABBIT-FACED DAUGHTER (_with a simper_). Quite a little _world_!
[_She looks down her nose, as if in fear of having said something a
little_ too _original_.
THE GERM. STUD. No, I haf not yet at London peen. Ven I vill pedder
Englisch learn, I go.
THE BLAZER. You read our English books, I suppose? Dickens, you know,
and Homer, eh? About the Trojan War--that's his _best_ work!
THE STUD. (_Ollendorffically_). I haf not read Diggins; but I haf read
ze bapers by _Bigvig_. Zey are vary indereshtin, and gurious.
[Illustration: MR. CYRUS K. TROTTER DISCUSSING NEW YORK HOTELS.]
A PATRIOTIC YOUNG SCOT (_to an admiring Elderly Lady in a black_
_mushroom hat_). Eh, but we just made a pairrty and went up Auld
Drachenfels, and when we got to th' tope, we danced a richt gude Scots
reel, and sang, "_We're a' togither an' naebody by_," concluding--just
to show, ye'll understan', that we were loyal subjics--wi' "_God Save_
_th' Queen_." The peasants didna seem just to know what to mak' of us, I
prawmise ye!
THE BLACK MUSHROOM. How I wish I'd been one of you!
THE YOUNG SCOT (_candidly_). I doot your legs would ha' stood such wark.
[PODBURY _becomes restless, and picks his way among the campstools to_
CULCHARD _and_ MISS TROTTER.
PODBURY (_to himself_). Time _I_ had a look in, I think. (_Aloud._)
Well, Miss Trotter, what do you think of the Rhine, as far as you've
got?
MISS T. Well, I guess it's navigable, as far as _I've_ got.
PODB. No, but I mean to say--does it come up to the mark in the scenery
line, you know?
MISS T. I cannt answer that till I know whereabouts it is they mark the
scenery-line. I expect Mr. Culchard knows. He knows pretty well
everything. Would you like to have him explain the scenery to you going
along? His explanations are vurry improving, I assure you.
PODB. I dare say; but the scenery just here is so flat that even my
friend's remarks won't improve it.
CULCH. (_producing his note-book ostentatiously_). I do not propose to
attempt it. No doubt you will be more successful in entertaining Miss
Trotter than I can pretend to be. I retire in your favour. [_He
scribbles._
PODB. Is that our expenses you're corking down there, Culchard, eh?
CULCH. (_with dignity_). If you want to know, I am "corking down," to
adopt your elegant expression, a sonnet that suggested itself to me.
PODB. Much better cork that _up_, old chap--hadn't he, Miss Trotter?
[_He glances at her for appreciation._
MISS T. That's so. I don't believe the poetic spirit has much chance of
slopping over so long as Mr. Podbury is around. You have considerable
merit as a stopper, Mr. Podbury.
PODB. I see; I'd better clear out till the poetry has all gurgled out of
him, eh? Is that the idea?
MISS T. If it is, it's your own, so I guess it's a pretty good one.
[PODBURY _shoulders off._
CULCH. (_with his pathetic stop on_). I wish I had more of your divine
patience! Poor fellow, he is not without his good points; but I do find
him a thorn in my flesh occasionally, I'm afraid.
MISS T. Well, I don't know as a thorn in the flesh is any the pleasanter
for having a good point.
CULCH. Profoundly true, indeed. I often think I could like him better if
there were less in him to like. I assure you he tries me so at times
that I could almost wish I was back at work in my department at Somerset
House!
MISS T. I dare say you have pretty good times there, too. Isn't that one
of your leading dry goods stores?
CULCH. (_pained_). It is not; it is a Government Office, and I am in the
Pigeonhole and Docket Department, with important duties to discharge. I
hope you didn't imagine I sold ribbons and calico over a counter?
MISS T. (_ambiguously_). Well, I wasn't just sure. It takes a pretty
bright man to do that where I come from.
AN OLD LADY (_who is sitting next to_ PODBURY, _and reading a homeletter
to another Old Lady_). "Dear Maria and dear Madeline are close by, they
have taken very comfortable lodgings in Marine Crescent. Dear Madeline's
frame is expected down next Saturday."
SECOND OLD LADY. Madeline's frame! Is anything wrong with the poor
girl's spine?
FIRST OLD LADY. I never heard of it. Oh, I see, it's _fiance_, my dear.
Caroline _does_ write so illegibly. (_Continuing._) "Um--um,--suppose
you know she will be maimed----" (perhaps it _is_ her spine after
all--oh, _married_, to be sure), "very slowly" (is it slowly or shortly,
I wonder?), um, um, "very quiet wedding, nobody but dear Mr. Wilkinson
and his hatter."
SECOND O. L. The idea of choosing one's hatter for one's best man! I'm
surprised Maria should allow it!
FIRST O. L. Maria always _was_ peculiar--still, now I come to look, it's
more like "brother," which is certainly _much_ more suitable.
(_Continuing._) "She will have no--no bird's-marks ..." (Now, what
_does_ that--should you think that meant "crows-feet"? Oh, no, _how_
stupid of me--_bridesmaids_, of course!)--"and will go to the otter a
plain guy"--(Oh, Caroline really is _too_ ...)--"to the _altar_ in plain
_grey_! She has been given such quantities of pea-nuts"--(very odd
things to give a girl! Oh, _presents_! um, um)--"Not settled yet where
to go for their hangman"--(the officiating clergyman, I suppose--very
flippant way of putting it, I _must_ say! It's meant for _honeymoon_,
though, I see, to be _sure_!) &c. &c.
CULCH. (_to_ MISS T.). I should like to be at Nuremberg with you. It
would be an unspeakable delight to watch the expansion of a fresh young
soul in that rich mediaeval atmosphere!
MISS T. I guess you'll have opportunities of watching Mr. Podbury's
fresh young soul under those conditions, any way.
CULCH. It would not be at all the same thing--even if he--but you _do_
think you're coming to Nuremberg, don't you?
MISS T. Well, it's this way. Poppa don't want to get fooling around any
more one-horse towns than he can help, and he's got to be fixed up with
the idea that Nuremberg is a prominent European sight before he drops
everything to get there.
CULCH. I will undertake to interest him in Nuremberg. Fortunately, we
are all getting off at Bingen, and going, curiously enough, to the same
hotel. (_To himself._) Confound that fellow Podbury, here he is _again_!
PODB. (_to himself, as he advances_). If she's carrying on with that
fellow, Culchard, to provoke me, I'll soon show her how little
I--(_Aloud._) I say, old man, hope I'm not interrupting you, but I just
want to speak to you for a minute, if Miss Trotter will excuse us. Is
there any particular point in going as far as Bingen to-night, eh?
CULCH. (_resignedly_). As much as there is in not going farther than
somewhere else, _I_ should have thought.
PODB. Well, but look here--why not stop at Bacharach, and see what sort
of a place it is?
CULCH. You forget that our time is limited if we're going to stick to
our original route.
PODB. Yes, of course; mustn't waste any on the Rhine. Suppose we push
on to Maintz to-night, and get the Rhine off our hands then? (_With a
glance at_ MISS TROTTER.) The sooner I've done with this steamer
business the better!
MISS T. Well, Mr. Podbury, that's not a vurry complimentary remark to
make before me!
PODB. We've seen so little of one another lately that it can hardly make
much difference--to _either_ of us--can it?
MISS T. Now I call that real kind, you're consoling me in advance!
THE STEWARD (_coming up_). De dickets dat I haf nod yed seen!
(_examining_ CULCHARD'S _coupons_). For Bingen--so?
CULCH. _I_ am. This gentleman gets off--is it Bacharach or Maintz,
Podbury?
PODB. (_sulkily_). Neither, as it happens. I'm for Bingen, too, as you
won't go anywhere else. Though you _did_ say when we started, that the
advantage of travelling like this was that we could go on or stop just
as the fancy took us!
CULCH. (_calmly_). I did, my dear Podbury. But it never occurred to me
that the fancy would take you to get tired of a place before you got
there!
PODB. (_as he walks forwards_). Hang that fellow! I know I shall punch
his head some day. And She didn't seem to care whether I stayed or not.
(_Hopefully._) But you never _can_ tell with women!
[_He returns to his camp-stool and the letter-reading Old Ladies._