+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 glassy 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 dickens 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 Blaetter_."
PODBURY _is at the bookcase, turning over odd Tauchnitz volumes._
THE CHAPLAIN'S WIFE (_to the_ CURATE, _a new arrival_). Oh, you will
_very_ soon get into all our little ways. The hours here are _most_
convenient--breakfast (_table d'hote_) with choice of eggs or fish and
coffee--really _admirable_ coffee--from eight to nine; midday dinner at
one. Supper at nine. Then, if you want to write a letter, the post for
England goes out--(_&c., &c._) And on Sundays, eleven o'clock service
(Evangelical, of _course!_) at the----(_&c., &c.,_) My husband----(_&c.,
&c._)
FIRST OLD MAID (_looking up from a four days' old "Telegraph"_). I see
they are still continuing that very interesting correspondence on "Our
Children's Mouths--and are they widening?" One letter attributes it to
the habit of thumb-sucking in infancy--which certainly ought to be
checked. Now I never _would_ allow any----
THE C.'S. W. Nor I. But corals are quite as bad. Only this afternoon I
was telling a Lady in this hotel that her little boy would be much
happier with a rubber ring. You get them at a shop in the
Hoch-strasse--I can take you to it at any time, or if you like to
mention my name----(_&c., &c._)
SECOND O. M. One correspondent thought the practice of eating soup with
table-spoons tended to enlarge the mouth. I really believe there may be
something in it. [_A pause._
THE CURATE. The weather we have been having seems to have materially
affected the harvest prospects at home; they say there will be little or
no fodder for the cattle this year. I saw somewhere--I forget where it
was exactly--a suggestion to feed cows on chickweed.
PODB. (_at the bookcase_). Capital thing for them too, Sir. Know a man
who never gives his cattle anything else.
THE CURATE. Oh, really? And does he find the experiment answer?
PODB. They take to it like birds. And--curious thing--after he'd tried
it a month, all the cows turned yellow and went about chirping and
twittering and hopping. Fact, I assure you!
THE CURATE. Dear me--I should scarcely have----
[_He gradually comes to the conclusion that he is being trifled with,
and after a few moments of uncomfortable silence, gets up and quits the
room with dignity._
PODB. (_to himself_). _One_ of 'em gone! Now if I can only clear these
old tabbies out, I can tackle Culchard. (_Aloud, to_ CHAPLAIN'S WIFE.)
You don't happen to know if there's a good doctor here, I suppose? A
lady was saying in the Musik-saal--the lady with the three daughters who
came this afternoon--that she was afraid they were in for bad feverish
colds or something, and asking who there was to call in.
[Illustration: GETS UP AND QUITS THE ROOM WITH DIGNITY.]
THE C.'S W. Oh, I've _no_ belief in foreign doctors. I always find a few
drops of aconite or pulsatilla,----I have my homoeopathic case with me
now. Perhaps, if I went and had a talk with her I could----
[_She goes out energetically._
PODB. Another gone! (_To the_ OLD MAIDS.) So you aren't going down to
the Cloisters to-night? I'm told there's to be some fun
there--Hide-and-seek, or something--first-rate place for it, especially
now the moon's up!
FIRST O. M. Nobody told _us_ a word about it. Hide-and-seek--and in
those quaint old Cloisters too--It sounds delightful! What do you say,
Tabitha. Shall we just----? Only to look _on_, you know. We needn't
_play_, unless----
[_The_ TWO OLD MAIDS _withdraw in a pleased flutter._ PODBURY _crosses
to_ CULCHARD.
PODB. (_with determination_). Look here, Culchard, I'd just like to know
what you mean by the way you're going on.
CULCH. I thought we were both agreed that discussions of this kind----
PODB. It's all bosh our travelling together if we're not to have any
discussions. You've been on the sulk long enough. And I'll thank you to
inform me what you're after here, going about alone with Miss
Prendergast like this, in the Museum with her all the morning, and on
the lake again this afternoon--it won't _do,_ you know!
CULCH. If she happens to prefer my society to yours and her brother's, I
presume you have no claim to interfere.
PODB. I don't know about that. How about Miss Trotter?
CULCH. If I remember rightly, you yourself were not insensible to Miss
Trotter's--er--attractions?
PODB. Perhaps not; but I am not engaged to her--you _are_. You told me
so in the train.
CULCH. You entirely misunderstood me. There was no definite
understanding between us--nothing of the sort or kind. In fact, it was
merely a passing caprice. Since I have had the privilege of knowing Miss
Prendergast, I see clearly----
PODB. Then you mean to propose to her, eh?
CULCH. That is certainly my intention; have you any objection to offer?
PODB. Only that I mean to propose too. I dare say my chances are as good
as yours--even now.
CULCH. I doubt it, my dear fellow; however, don't let _me_ discourage
you.
PODB. I don't intend to. (_The figure of_ MISS PRENDERGAST _is seen to
pass the glazed doors, and move slowly across the Musik-saal; both
rush_ _to the door, and look after her._) She's gone out into the
balcony. 'Jove, I'll go too, and get it over!
CULCH. I should not advise you to do so. It is possible she may have
gone there with the--er--expectation of being joined by--by somebody
else. [_He smiles complacently._
PODB. You mean she gave you a _rendezvous_ there? I don't believe it!
CULCH. I did not say so. But I am not prepared to deny that I have been
waiting here with some such expectation.
PODB. (_holding the door_). If you go, I go too--that's all.
CULCH. Don't be absurd. You will only be _de trop,_ I assure you.
PODB. _De trop_ or not, I mean going--she shall choose between us.
CULCH. (_turning pale_). I suppose you intend to enlighten her as to
my--er--little flirtation (before I knew _her_) with Miss Trotter? Do
it, Podbury, do it--if you think you'll gain any good by it!
PODB. Telling tales is not exactly in my line. But you don't go on that
balcony without me--that's all.
CULCH. Well, listen to reason, my dear fellow. What you propose is
ridiculous. I--I don't mind conceding this: we'll each go, and--er--tit
up, as you call it, which goes first.
PODB. Done with you! (_Produces a mark._) Sudden death. You're
Eagle--I'm the other Johnny. (_Tosses._) Eagle! Confound you! But I mean
to have my innings all the same.
CULCH. You're perfectly welcome--when I've had mine. I'll--er--wish you
good evening.
[_He stalks out triumphantly._ PODBURY _places himself in a position
from which he can command a view of the Musik-saal, over the top of
"ueber Land und Meer," and awaits results._