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 anyone 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 vîte! 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 done, mon ami, est-ce qu'on
peut voir d'ici le champ de bataille?
_Conductor_ (_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?
_Culchard_ (_interested_). On the right? Yes, what happened _there_?
[Illustration: "Leesten, I dell you vonce more."]
_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 Chalyroy to
the left.