The Travelling Companions: A Story in Scenes

The Y. L. No, I was merely saturating my mind with the general effect. I shall not really begin my sketch till to-morrow. I am going now. I hope the genius of the place will inspire you.

Culch. Thank you. I trust it will – er – have that effect. (To himself after the Young Lady has left the terrace.) Now, that's a very superior girl – she has intellect, style, culture – everything the ideal woman should have. I wonder, now, whether, if I had met her before – but such speculations are most unprofitable! How clear her eyes looked through her pince-nez! Blue-grey, like Athene's own. If I'd been with Podbury, I should never have had this talk. The sight of him would have repelled her at once. I shall tell him when I take him that book that he had better go his own way with his new friends. I like the view from this terrace – I shall come up here again – often.

Scene —The Conversations-Saal at the Wurtemburger-Hof. Evening. Podbury at the piano; Bob Prendergast and his sister Hypatia seated near him.

Podb. (chanting dolefully) —

Now then, this party as what came from Fla-an-ders,What had the com-plex-i-on rich and rare,He went and took and caught the yaller ja-un-ders —And his complexion isn't what it were!

Mr. and Miss Prendergast (joining sympathetically in chorus). And his complexion isn't what it were!

[There is a faint knock at the door, and Culchard enters with a volume under his arm. None of the three observe him, and he stands and listens stiffly as Podbury continues,—

Well, next this party as what came from Fla-an-ders,Whose complex-shun was formi-ally rare,Eloped to Injia with Eliza Sa-aun-ders,As lived close by in Canonbury Square.

Culch. (advances to piano and touches Podbury's arm with the air of his better angel). Er – I have brought you the philosophical work I mentioned. I will leave it for an occasion when you are – er – in a fitter frame of mind for its perusal.

Podb. Oh, beg pardon, didn't see you, old fellow. Awfully obliged; jam it down anywhere, and (whispering) I say, I want to introduce you to —

Culch. (in a tone of emphatic disapproval). You must really excuse me, as I fear I should be scarcely a congenial spirit in such a party. So good-night – or, rather – er – good-bye. [He withdraws.

Miss Hypatia P. (just as C. is about to close the door). Please don't stop, Mr. Podbury, that song is quite too deliciously inane!

[Culchard turns as he hears the voice, and – too late – recognises his Athene of that afternoon. He retires in confusion, and, as he passes under the window, hears Podbury sing the final verse.

The moral is – Now don't you come from Fla-an-ders,If you should have complexions rich and rare;And don't you go and catch the yaller ja-aun-ders,Nor yet know girls in Canonbury Square!

Miss Hypatia P. (in a clear soprano). "Nor yet know girls in Canonbury Square!" [Culchard passes on, crushed.

CHAPTER IX.

Culchard is rather too Clever

Scene —The Burg Terrace at Nuremberg. Podbury on a bench, grappling with the "Epitome of Spencer."

Podb. (reading aloud, with comments). "For really to conceive the infinite divisibility of matter is mentally to follow out the divisions to infinity, and to do this would require infinite time." You're right there, old cock, and, as I haven't got it to spare, I won't trouble you! – um – um … "opposite absurdities" – "subjective modifications" … "ultimate scientific ideas, then, are all representative of ideas that cannot be comprehended." I could have told him that. What bally rot this Philosophy is – but I suppose I must peg away at it. Didn't she say she was sorry I didn't go in more for cultivating my mind? (He looks up.) Jove, here she comes! and yes, there's that beggar Culchard with her! I thought he'd – how the dickens did he manage to – ? I see what he's after – thinks he'll cut me out – twice over – but he shan't this time, if I can help it.

Culch. (to Miss Hypatia Prendergast). No, the Modern Spirit is too earnestly intent upon solving the problems of existence to tolerate humour in its literature. Humour has served a certain purpose in its day, but that day is done, and I for one cannot pretend to regret its decay.

Miss H. P. Nor I. In fact, the only humour I ever really appreciated is that of the ancient classics. There has been no true fun since Aristophanes died. At least, I think not.

Podb. (catching the last sentence). Oh, I say, come, Miss Prendergast. Have you ever read The Jumping Frog?

Miss P. I was under the impression that all frogs jumped. But I never read – I – ah —study.

Podb. (declining to be crushed). Well, I call Mark Twain funny anyhow. But I'm going in for study now. I am – honour bright! I'm swotting up Spencer – look! [He exhibits the volume proudly.

Miss P. And are you not enchanted by the logical lucidity of that great thinker?

Podb. Um – I should be more enchanted if I ever had the faintest notion what the great thinker was driving at. Look here – here's a simple little sentence for you! (Reads.) "Let us therefore bear in mind the following: – That of the whole incident force affecting an aggregate, the effective force is that which remains after deducting the non-effective, that the temporarily effective and the permanently effective vary inversely, and that the molar and molecular changes wrought by the permanently effective force also vary inversely." (With pathos.) And that's only in an Epitome, mind you!

Miss P. Really, Mr. Podbury, I see nothing particularly incomprehensible in that.

Culch. (with his superior smile). My dear Podbury, you can hardly expect to master the Spencerian phraseology and habit of thought without at least some preliminary mental discipline!

Podb. (nettled). Oh – but you find him plain-sailing enough, I suppose?

Culch. I have certainly not encountered any insuperable difficulties in his works as yet.

Podb. Well, I'll just trouble you to explain this– wait a bit. (Opens volume again.) Ah, here we are – "And these illusive and primordial cognitions, or pseud-ideas, are homogeneous entities which may be differentiated objectively or subjectively, according as they are presented as Noumenon or Phenomenon. Or, in other words, they are only cognoscible as a colligation of incongruous coalescences." Now then – are you going to tell me you can make head or tail of all that?

Culch. (perceiving that Miss P. is awaiting his reply in manifest suspense). It's simple enough, my dear fellow, only I can't expect you to grasp it. It is merely a profound truth stated with masterly precision.

Podb. Oh, is that all, my dear fellow? (He flings up his heels in an ecstasy.) I knew I'd have you! Why, I made that up myself as I went along, and if you understand it, it's a jolly sight more than I do!

[He roars with laughter.

Miss P. (behind her handkerchief). Mr. Culchard has evidently gone through the – the "preliminary mental discipline."

Culch. (scarlet and sulky). Of course, if Mr. Podbury descends to childishness of that sort, I can't pretend to —

Podb. (wiping his eyes). But you did pretend, old chap. You said it was "profound truth" and "masterly precision"! I've got more profound truth where that came from. I say, I shall set up as an intellectual Johnny after this, and get you to write an Epitome of me. I think I pulled your leg that time, eh?

Culch. (biting his lip). When you have extracted sufficient entertainment from that very small joke, you will perhaps allow Miss Prendergast to sit down and begin her sketch. You may not be aware that you've taken her place.

[He withdraws majestically to the parapet, while Podbury makes way for Miss P. with apologies.

Podb. (as he leans over seat while she sketches). I wish your brother Bob had been here – he would have enjoyed that!

Miss P. It was really too bad of you, though. Poor Mr. Culchard!

Podb. He shouldn't try to make me out a bigger duffer than I am, then. But I say, you don't really think it was too bad? Ah, you're laughing– you don't!

Miss P. Never mind what I really think. But you have got us both into sad disgrace. Mr. Culchard is dreadfully annoyed with us – look at his shoulders!

Culch. (leaning over parapet with his back to them). That ass Podbury! To think of his taking me in with an idiotic trick like that! And before Her too! And when I had made it all right about the other evening, and was producing an excellent impression on the way up here. I wish I could hear what they are whispering about – more silly jokes at my expense, no doubt. Bah! as if it affected me!

Podb. (to Miss P.). I say, how awfully well you draw!

Miss P. There you betray your ignorance in Art matters. Sketching with me is a pastime, not a serious pursuit. (They go on conversing in a lower tone.) No, please, Mr. Podbury. I'm quite sure he would never —

Podb. (rises; comes up to Culchard, and touches his shoulder). I say, old chappie —

Culch. (jerking away with temper). Now, look here, Podbury. I'm not in the mood for any more of your foolery —

Podb. (humbly). All right, old boy. I wouldn't bother you, only Miss Prendergast wants a figure for her foreground, and I said I'd ask you if you'd keep just as you are for a few minutes. Do you mind?

Culch. (to himself). Afraid she's gone too far – thinks she'll smooth me down! Upon my word, it would serve her right to – but no, I won't be petty. (Aloud.) Pray tell Miss Prendergast that I have no immediate intention of altering my position.

Podb. Thanks awfully, old chap. I knew you'd oblige.

Culch. (incisively). I am obliging Miss Prendergast, and her only. (Raising his voice, without turning his head.) Would you prefer me to face you, Miss Prendergast?

Miss P. (in tremulous tones). N – no, thank you. It – it's so much more n – natural, don't you know, for you to be l – looking at the view.

Culch. As you please. (To himself.) Can't meet my eye. Good! I shall go on treating her distantly for a little. I wonder if I look indifferent enough from behind? Shall I cross one foot? Better not – she may have begun sketching me. If she imagines I'm susceptible to feminine flattery of this palpable kind, she'll – how her voice shook, though, when she spoke. Poor girl, she's afraid she offended me by laughing – and I did think she had more sense than to – but I mustn't be too hard on her. I'm afraid she's already beginning to think too much of – and with my peculiar position with Miss Trotter – (Maud, that is) – not that there's anything definite at present, still – (Aloud.) Ahem, Miss Prendergast – am I standing as you wish? (To himself.) She doesn't answer – too absorbed, and I can't hear that idiot – found he hasn't scored so much after all, and gone off in a huff, I expect. So much the better! What a time she is over this, and how quiet she keeps! I wish I knew whether it was coquetry or – shall I turn round and see? No, I must be perfectly indifferent. And she did laugh at me. I distinctly saw her. Still, if she's sorry, this would be an excellent opportunity for – (Aloud.) Miss Prendergast! (No reply – louder.) May I take it that you regret having been betrayed into momentary approbation of a miserable piece of flippancy? If so, let me assure you – (Turns round – to discover that he is addressing two little flaxen haired girls in speckled pinafores, who are regarding him open-mouthed. Miss Prendergast and Podbury have disappeared.) Podbury again! He must have planned this – with her! It is too much. I have done – yes – done with the pair of them! [Strides off in bitter indignation.

CHAPTER X.

Podbury insists on an Explanation

Scene —A flight of steps by the lake in the grounds of the Insel Hôtel, 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'hôte. 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 Blätter." 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'hôte) 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.

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 homœopathic 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 "über Land und Meer," and awaits results.

CHAPTER XI.

Courtship according to Mr. Ruskin

Scene —A Balcony outside the Musik-Saal of the Insel Hotel, Constance. Miss Prendergast is seated; Culchard is leaning against the railing close by. It is about nine; the moon has risen, big and yellow, behind the mountains at the further end of the Lake; small black boats are shooting in and out of her track upon the water; the beat of the steamers' paddles is heard as they come into harbour. Culchard has just proposed.

Miss Prendergast (after a silence). I have already felt very strongly with Ruskin, that no girl should have the cruelty to refuse a proposal —

Culch. (with alacrity). Ruskin is always so right. And – er – where there is such complete sympathy in tastes and ideas, as I venture to think exists in our own case, the cruelty would —

Miss P. Pray allow me to finish! "Refuse a proposal at once" is Ruskin's expression. He also says (if my memory does not betray me), that "no lover should have the insolence to think of being accepted at once." You will find the passage somewhere in Fors.

Culch. (whose jaw has visibly fallen). I cannot say I recall it at this moment. Does he hold that a lover should expect to be accepted by – er – instalments, because, if so —

Miss P. I think I can quote his exact words. "If she simply doesn't like him, she may send him away for seven years – "

Culch. (stiffly). No doubt that course is open to her. But why seven, and where is he expected to go?

Miss P. (continuing calmly). "He vowing to live on cresses and wear sackcloth meanwhile, or the like penance."

Culch. I feel bound to state at once that, in my own case, my position at Somerset House would render anything of that sort utterly impracticable.

Miss P. Wait, please, – you are so impetuous. "If she likes him a little," – (Culchard's brow relaxes) – "or thinks she might come to like him in time, she may let him stay near her," – (Culchard makes a movement of relief and gratitude) – "putting him always on sharp trial, and requiring, figuratively, as many lion-skins or giants' heads as she thinks herself worth."