+One Man's Meat; another Man's Poison.+
SCENE--_The Campo S. S. Giovanni e Paulo. Afternoon._ CULCHARD _is
leaning against the pedestal of the Colleoni Statue_.
PODBURY. (_who has just come out of S. Giovanni, recognising_ CULCHARD).
Hullo! _alone_, eh? Thought you were with Miss Trotter?
CULCHARD. So I am. That is, she is going over a metal-worker's show-room
close by, and I--er--preferred the open air. But didn't you say you were
going out with the--er--Prendergasts again?
PODB. So I am. She's in the Church with Bob, so I said I'd come out and
keep an eye on the gondola. Nothing much to see in _there_, you know!
CULCH. (_with a weary irony_). Only the mausoleums of the
Doges--Ruskin's "Street of the Tombs"--and a few trifles of that sort!
PODB. That's all. And I'm feeling a bit done, you know. Been doing the
Correr Museum all the morning, and not lunched yet! So Miss Trotter's
looking at ornamental metal-work? Rather fun that, eh?
CULCH. For those who enjoy it. She has only been in there an hour, so
she is not likely to come back just yet. What do you say to coming into
S. S. Giovanni e Paulo again, with _me_? Those tombs form a really
remarkable illustration, as Ruskin points out, of the gradual decay
of----
MISS TROTTER (_suddenly flutters up, followed by an attendant carrying a
studded halberd, an antique gondola-hook, and two copper
water-buckets--all of which are consigned to the disgusted_ CULCHARD).
Just hold these a spell till I come back. Thanks ever so much.... Well,
Mr. Podbury! Aren't you going to admire my purchases? They're real
antique--or if they aren't, they'll wear all the better.... There, I
believe I'll just have to run back a minute--don't you put those things
in the gondola yet, Mr. Culchard, or they'll get stolen. [_She flutters
off._
CULCH. (_helplessly, as he holds the halberd, &c._). I suppose I shall
have to stay _here_ now. You're not going?
PODB. (_consulting his watch_). Must. Promised old Bob I'd relieve guard
in ten minutes. Ta-ta.
[_He goes_; _presently_ BOB PRENDERGAST _lounges out of the church_.
CULCH. If I could only make a friend of _him_! (_To_ BOB.) Ah,
Prendergast! lovely afternoon, isn't it? Delicious breeze!
BOB (_shortly_). Can't say. Not had much of it, at present.
CULCH. You find these old churches rather oppressive, I dare say.
Er--will you have a cigarette? [_Tenders case._
BOB. Thanks; got a pipe. (_He lights it._) Where's Miss Trotter?
CULCH. She will be here presently. By the way, my dear Prendergast,
this--er--misunderstanding between your sister and her is very
unfortunate.
BOB. I know that well enough. It's none of _my_ doing! And _you_'ve no
reason to complain, at all events!
CULCH. Quite so. Only, you see, we _used_ to be good friends at
Constance, and--er--until recently----
BOB. Used we? Of course, if you say so, it's all right. But what are you
driving at exactly?
CULCH. All I am driving at is this: Couldn't we two--er--agree to effect
a reconciliation between the two ladies? So much pleasanter for--er--all
parties!
BOB. I dare say. But how are you going to set about it? _I_ can't begin.
CULCH. Couldn't you induce your sister to lay aside her--er--prejudice
against me? Then _I_ could easily----
BOB. Very likely--but I _couldn't_. I never interfere in my sister's
affairs, and, to tell you the honest truth, I don't feel particularly
inclined to make a beginning on your account. [_Strolls away._
CULCH. (_to himself_). What a surly boor it is! But I don't care--I'll
do him a good turn, in spite of himself! (MISS T. _returns_.) Do you
know, I've just been having a chat with poor young Prendergast. He seems
quite cut up at being forced to side with his sister. I undertook
to--er--intercede for him. Now is it quite fair, or like your--er--usual
good-nature, to visit his sister's offences--whatever they are--on him?
I--I only put it to you.
MISS T. Well, to think now! I guess you're about the most unselfish
saint on two legs! Now some folks would have felt jealous.
CULCH. Possibly--but I cannot accuse myself of such a failing as that.
MISS T. I'd just like to hear you accuse yourself of _any_ failing! I
don't see however you manage to act so magnanimous and live. I told you
I wanted to study your character, and I believe it isn't going to take
me vurry much longer to make up my mind about _you_. You _don't_ suppose
I'll have any time for Mr. Prendergast after getting such a glimpse into
your nature? There, help me into the gondola, and don't talk any more
about it. Tell him to go to Salviate's right away.
CULCH. (_dejectedly to himself_). I've bungled it! I might have _known_
I should only make matters worse!
_On the Piazzetta; it is moonlight, the Campanile and dome of San
Giorgio Maggiore are silhouetted sharp and black against the steel-blue
sky across a sea of silver ripples._ PODBURY _and_ CULCHARD _are pacing
slowly arm-in-arm between the two columns_.
CULCH. And so you went on to S. Giovanni in Bragora, eh? then over the
Arsenal, and rowed across the lagoons to see the Armenian convent? A
delightful day, my dear Podbury! I hope you--er--appreciate the
inestimable privileges of--of seeing Venice so thoroughly?
PODB. Oh, of course it's very jolly. Find I get a trifle mixed
afterwards, though. And, between ourselves, I wouldn't mind--now and
then, you know--just dawdling about among the shops and people, as you
and the Trotters do!
CULCH. That has its charm, no doubt. But don't you find Miss Prendergast
a mine of information on Italian Art and History?
PODB. Don't I just--rather too _deep_ for me, y' know! I say, isn't Miss
Trotter immense sport in the shops and that?
[Illustration: "I GUESS YOU'RE THE MOST UNSELFISH SAINT ON TWO LEGS!"]
CULCH. She is--er--vivacious, certainly. (PODBURY _sighs_.) You seem
rather dull to-night, my dear fellow?
PODB. Not dull--a trifle out of sorts, that's all. Fact is, I don't
think Venice agrees with me. All this messing about down beastly
back-courts and canals and in stuffy churches--it _can't_ be healthy,
you know! And they've _no_ drainage. I only hope I haven't caught
something, as it is. I've that kind of sinking feeling, and a general
lowness--_She_ says I lunch too heavily--but I swear it's more than
that!
CULCH. Nonsense, you're well enough. And why you should feel low, with
all your advantages--in Venice as you are, and in constant intercourse
with a mind adorned with every feminine gift--!
PODB. Hul-lo! why, I thought you called her a pedantic prig?
CULCH. If I used such a term at all, it was in no disparaging sense.
Every earnest nature presents an--er--priggish side at times. I know
that even I myself have occasionally, and by people who didn't _know_ me
of course, been charged with priggishness.
PODB. Have you, though? But of course there's nothing of that about
_her_. Only--well, it don't signify. [_He sighs._
CULCH. Ah, Podbury, take the good the gods provide you and be content!
You might be worse off, believe me!
PODB. (_discontentedly_). It's all very well for _you_ to talk--with
Miss Trotter all to yourself. I suppose you're regularly engaged by this
time, eh?
CULCH. Not quite. There's still a----And your probation, that's
practically at an end?
PODB. I don't know. Can't make her out. She wouldn't sit on me the way
she does unless she _liked_ me, I suppose. But I say, it must be
awf--rather jolly for you with Miss Trotter? She's got so much _go_, eh?
CULCH. You used to say she wasn't what you call cultivated.
PODB. I know I did. That's just what I like about her! At least--well,
we _both_ ought to think ourselves uncommonly lucky beggars, I'm sure!
[_He sighs more heavily than ever._
CULCH. You especially, my dear Podbury. In fact, I doubt if you're half
grateful enough!
PODB. (_snappishly_). Yes, I am, I tell you. _I_'m not grumbling, am I?
I know as well as you do she's miles too good for me. Haven't I _said_
so? Then what the devil do you keep on nagging at me for, eh?
CULCH. I am glad you see it in that light. Aren't you a little irritable
to-night?
PODB. No, I'm not. It's those filthy canals. And the way you talk--as if
a girl like Miss Trotter wasn't----!
CULCH. I really can't allow you to lecture me. I am not insensible to my
good-fortune--if others are. Now we'll drop the subject.
PODB. I'm willing enough to drop it. And I shall turn in now--it's late.
You coming?
CULCH. Not yet. Good-night. (_To himself, as_ PODBURY _departs_.) You
tasteless _dolt_!
PODB. Good-night! (_To himself, as he swings off._) Confounded
patronizing _prig_!