Part 8 (2/2)
[_The_ Pale-haired Lady _coughs in a suspicious manner._
CULCH. You don't even know if there _is_ another hotel.
PODB. I don't care. I can find a pot-house somewhere, I daresay.
THE PALE-HAIRED LADY (_in excellent English, to_ PODBURY _as he pa.s.ses out_). Pardon me, you will find close to the Bahnhof a very goot hotel--the Wurtemburger.
[PODBURY _thanks her and alights in some confusion; the_ Lady _sinks back, smiling._
CULCH. (_annoyed_). She must have understood every word we said! Are you in earnest over this? (PODBURY _nods grimly._) Well, you'll soon get tired of your own society, I warn you.
PODB. Thanks, we shall see.
[_He saunters off with his bag;_ CULCHARD _shrugs his shoulders, and goes in search of the Bayrischer-Hof Porter, to whom he entrusts his luggage tickets, and takes his seat in the omnibus alone._
CHAPTER VIII.
+Podbury finds Consolation.+
SCENE--_A Bridge over the Pegnitz, at Nuremberg. Time, afternoon. The shadows of the old gabled and balconied houses are thrown sharply on the reddish-yellow water. Above the steep speckled roofs, the spires of St.
Lorenz glitter against the blue sky._ CULCHARD _is leaning listlessly upon the parapet of the bridge._
CULCHARD (_to himself_). How mediaeval it all is, and how infinitely restful! (_He yawns._) What a blessed relief to be without that fellow Podbury! He's very careful to keep out of my way--I've scarcely seen him since I've been here. He must find it dreadfully dull. (_He sighs._) I ought to find material for a colour-sonnet here, with these subdued grey tones, those dull coppery-greens, and the glowing reds of the conical caps of those towers. I _ought_--but I don't. I fancy that half-engagement to Maud Trotter must have scared away the Muse. I wonder if Podbury has really gone yet? (_Here a thump on the back disposes of any doubt as to this._) Er--so you're still at Nuremberg? [_Awkwardly._
PODB. (_cheerfully_). Rather! Regular ripping old place this--suits me down to the ground. And how are _you_ getting on, my bonnie boy, eh?
CULCH. (_who does not quite like being addressed as a bonnie boy_).
Perfectly, thanks. My mind is being--er--stimulated here in the direction most congenial to it.
PODB. So's mine. By the way, have you got a book--I don't mean a novel, but a regular improving book--the stodgier the better--to lend a fellow?
CULCH. Well, I brought an _Epitome of Herbert Spencer's Synthetic_ _Philosophy_ away with me to dip into occasionally. It seems a very able summary, and you are welcome to it, if it's of any use to you.
PODB. Spencer, eh?--he's a stiff kind of old bird, ain't he? He'll do me to-rights, thanks.
CULCH. It strikes me, Podbury, that you must find the time rather long, to want a book of that kind. If you wish to resume our--ah--original relations, I am quite ready to overlook what I am sure was only a phase of not unnatural disappointment.
PODB. (_cheerfully_). Oh, _that's_ all right, old fellow. I've got over all that business. (_He colours slightly._) How soon did you think of moving on?
CULCH. (_briskly_). As soon as you please. We might start for Constance to-morrow, if you like.
PODB. (_hesitating_). Well, you see, it's just this: there's a fellow staying at my hotel--Prendergast, his name is--rattling good sort--and I've rather chummed up with him, and--and he's travelling with a relation of his, and--well, the fact is, they rather made a point of my going on to Constance with _them_, don't you see? But I daresay we could work it so as to go on all together. I'll see what they say about it.
CULCH. (_stiffly_). I'm exceedingly obliged--but so large a party is scarcely--however, I'll let you know whether I can join you or not this evening. Are you--er--going anywhere in particular just now?
PODB. Well, yes. I've got to meet Prendergast at the _Cafe Noris_. We're going to beat up some stables, and see if we can't hire a couple of gees for an hour or two before dinner. Do you feel inclined for a t.i.ttup?
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