Culchard descends from the Clouds.
SCENE--_in Front of the Hotel Bodenhaus at Spluegen. The Diligence For
Bellinzona is having its team attached. An elderly Englishwoman is
sitting on her trunk, trying to run through the last hundred pages of a
novel from the Hotel Library before her departure._ PODBURY _is in the
Hotel, negotiating for sandwiches._ CULCHARD _is practising his Italian
upon a very dingy gentleman in smoked spectacles, with a shawl round his
throat._
THE DINGY ITALIAN (_suddenly discovering_ CULCHARD'S _nationality_).
Ecco, siete Inglese! Lat us spika Ingelis. I onnerstan' 'im to ze
bottomside. (_Laboriously, to_ CULCHARD, _who tries to conceal his
chagrin._) 'Ow menni time you employ to go since Coire at here? (C.
_nods with vague encouragement._) Vich manners of vezzer you vere
possess troo your travels--mosh ommerella? (C.'s _eyes grow vacant._)
Ha, I _tink_ it vood! Zis day ze vicket root sall 'ave plenti 'orse to
pull, &c., &c. (_Here_ PODBURY _comes up, and puts some rugs in the
coupe of the diligence._) You sit at ze beginning-end, hey? better, you
tink, zan ze mizzle? I too, zen, sall ride at ze front--we vill spika
Ingelis, altro!
PODB. (_overhearing this, with horror_). One minute, Culchard. (_He
draws him aside._) I say, for goodness' sake, don't let's have that old
organ-grinding Johnny in the _coupe_ with _us!_
CULCH. Organ-grinder! you are so _very_ insular! For anything you can
tell, he may be a decayed nobleman.
PODB. (_coarsely_). Well, let him decay somewhere else, that's all!
Just tell the Conductor to shove him in the _interieur_, do, while I
nip into the _coupe_ and keep our places.
[CULCHARD, _on reflection, adopts this suggestion, and the_ ITALIAN
GENTLEMAN, _after fluttering feebly about the coupe door, is
unceremoniously bundled by the_ CONDUCTOR _into the hinder part of the
diligence._
* * * * *
IN THE BERNARDINO PASS, DURING THE ASCENT.
CULCH. Glorious view one gets at each fresh turn of the road, Podbury!
Look at Hinter-rhein, far down below there, like a toy village, and that
vast desolate valley, with the grey river rushing through it, and the
green glacier at the end, and these awful snow-covered peaks all
round--_look_, man!
[Illustration: AN ELDERLY ENGLISHWOMAN IS SITTING ON HER TRUNK.]
PODB. I'm looking, old chap. It's all there, right enough!
CULCH. (_vexed_). It doesn't seem to be making any particular impression
on you, I must say!
PODB. It's making me deuced peckish, I know that--how about lunch, eh!
CULCH. (_pained_). We are going through scenery like this, and all you
think of is--lunch! (PODBURY _opens a basket.)_ You may give me one of
those sandwiches. What made you get _veal_? and the bread's all crust,
too! Thanks, I'll take some claret.... (_They lunch; the vehicle
meanwhile toils up to the head of the Pass._) Dear me, we're at the top
already! These rocks shut out the valley altogether--much colder at this
height, eh? Don't you find this keen air most exhilarating?
PODB. (_shivering_). Oh very, do you mind putting your window up?
Thanks. You seem uncommon chirpy to-day. Beginning to get _over_ it, eh?
CULCH. We shan't get over it for some hours yet.
PODB. I didn't mean the Pass, I meant--(_hesitating_)--well, your little
affair with Miss Prendergast, you know.
CULCH. My little affair? Get over? (_He suddenly understands._) Oh, ah,
to be sure. Yes, thank you, my dear fellow, it is not making me
_particularly_ unhappy. [_He goes into a fit of silent laughter._
PODB. Glad to hear it. (_To himself._) 'Jove, if he only knew what _I_
know! [_He chuckles._
CULCH. _You_ don't appear to be exactly heartbroken?
PODB. I? why _should_ I be--about _what_?
CULCH. (_with an affectation of reserve_). Exactly, I was forgetting.
(_To himself._) It's really rather humorous. (_He laughs again._) Ha,
we're beginning to go down now. Hey for Italy--la bella Italia! (_The
diligence takes the first curve._) Good Heavens, what a turn! We're
going at rather a sharp pace for downhill, eh? I suppose these Swiss
drivers know what they're about, though.
PODB. Oh, yes, generally--when they're not drunk. I can only see this
fellow's boots--but they look to me a trifle squiffy.
CULCH. (_inspecting them, anxiously)_. He does seem to drive very
recklessly. _Look_ at those leaders--heading right for the precipice....
Ah, just saved it! How we do lurch in swinging round!
PODB. Topheavy--I expect, too much luggage on board--have another
sandwich?
CULCH. Not for me, thanks. I say, I wonder if it's safe, having no
parapet, only these stone posts, eh?
PODB. Safe enough--unless the wheel catches one--it was as near as a
toucher just then--aren't you going to smoke? No? _I_ am. By the way,
what were you so amused about just now, eh?
CULCH. _Was_ I amused? (_The vehicle gives another tremendous lurch._)
Really, this is _too_ horrible!
PODB. (_with secret enjoyment._) We're right enough, if the horses don't
happen to stumble. That off-leader isn't over sure-footed--did you see
_that_? (CULCH. _shudders._) But what's the joke about Miss Prendergast?
CULCH. (_irritably_). Oh, for Heaven's sake, don't bother about that
_now_! I've something else to think about. My goodness, we were nearly
over that time! What are you looking at?
PODB. (_who has been leaning forward_). Only one of the traces--they've
done it up with a penny ball of string, but I dare say it will stand the
strain. You aren't _half_ enjoying the view, old fellow.
CULCH. Yes, I am. Magnificent!--glorious!--isn't it?
PODB. Find you see it better with your eyes shut? But I say, I wish
you'd explain what you were sniggering at.
CULCH. Take my advice, and don't press me, my dear fellow; you may
regret it if you do!
PODB. I'll risk it. It must be a devilish funny joke to tickle you like
that. Come, out with it!
CULCH. Well, if you must know, I was laughing.... Oh, he'll _never_ get
those horses round in.... I was--er--rather amused by your evident
assumption that I must have been _rejected_ by Miss Prendergast.
PODB. Oh, was _that_ it? And you're nothing of the kind, eh?
[_He chuckles again._
CULCH. (_with dignity_). No doubt you will find it very singular; but,
as a matter of fact, she--well, she most certainly did not _discourage_
my pretensions.
PODB. The deuce she didn't! Did she tell you Ruskin's ideas about
courtship being a probation, and ask you if you were ready to be under
vow for her, by any chance?
CULCH. This is too bad, Podbury! you must have been there, or you
couldn't possibly know!
PODB. Much obliged, I'm sure. I don't listen behind doors, as a general
thing. I suppose, now, she set you a trial of some kind, to prove your
mettle, eh? [_With another chuckle._
CULCH. (_furiously_). Take care--or I may tell you more than you bargain
for!
PODB. Go on--never mind _me_. Bless you, _I'm_ under vow for her too, my
dear boy. Fact!
CULCH. That's impossible, and I can prove it. The service she demanded
was, that I should leave Constance at once--with you. Do you
understand--with _you_, Podbury!
PODB. (_with a prolonged whistle_). My aunt!
CULCH. (_severely_). You may invoke every female relative you possess in
the world, but it won't alter the fact, and that alone ought to convince
you----
PODB. Hold on a bit. Wait till you've heard _my_ penance. She told me to
cart _you_ off. _Now_, then!
CULCH. (_faintly_). If I thought she'd been trifling with us both like
that, I'd never----
PODB. She's no end of a clever girl, you know. And, after all, she may
only have wanted time to make up her mind.
CULCH. (_violently_). I tell you _what_ she is--she's a cold-blooded
pedantic prig, and a systematic flirt! I loathe and detest a prig, but a
flirt I despise--yes, _despise_, Podbury!
PODB. (_with only apparent irrelevance_). The same to you, and many of
'em, old chap! Hullo, we're going to stop at this inn. Let's get out and
stretch our legs and have some coffee.
[_They do; on returning, they find the_ ITALIAN GENTLEMAN _smiling
blandly at them from inside the coupe._
THE IT. G. Goodaby, dear frens, a riverderla! I success at your chairs.
I vish you a pleasure's delay!
PODB. But I say, look here, Sir, we're going on, and you've got our
place!
THE IT. G. Sank you verri moch. I 'ope so.
[_He blows_ PODBURY _a kiss._
PODB. (_with intense disgust_). How on earth are we going to get that
beggar out? Set the Conductor at him, Culchard, do--you can talk the
lingo best!
CULCH. (_who has had enough of_ PODBURY _for the present_). Talk to him
yourself, my dear fellow, _I_'m not going to make a row. [_He gets in._
PODB. (_to_ CONDUCTOR). Hi! sprechen sie Franzoesisch, oder was? _il-y-a
quelque chose dans mon siege, dites-lui de_--what the deuce is the
French for "clear out"?
COND. _Montez, Monsieur, nous bartons, montez vite alors!_
[_He thrusts_ PODBURY, _protesting vainly, into the interieur, with two
peasants, a priest, and the elderly Englishwoman. The diligence starts
again._