Part 16 (1/2)

MR. B. Pardon _me_--I was saying nothing of the sort. I was saying that I told the Manager I knew that was why he _thought_ I ordered it--a rather different thing! ”You're quite wrong,” I said. ”You may pay twopence-halfpenny a pound for it, and charge me half-a-crown, if you like, but I mean to _taste_ that tunny!” I was determined not to be done out of my tunny, Sir!

CULCH. (_breathlessly_). And what did the tunny--I mean the Manager--say to _that_?

MR. B. Oh, made more difficulties--it wasn't to be got, and so on. At last I said to him (very quietly, but he saw I was in earnest), ”Now I tell you what it _is_--I'm going to _have_ that tunny, and, if you refuse to give it me,--well, I shall just send my courier _out_ for it, that's all!” So, with _that_, they brought me some--and anything more delicious I never tasted in all my life!

CULCH. (_to himself_). If I can only keep him on at this tunny!

(_Aloud._) And--er--what _does_ it taste like exactly, now?

MR. B. (_pregnantly._) You _order_ it, Sir--_insist_ on having it. Then you'll _know_ what it tastes like! [_He devotes himself to his soup._

CULCH. (_with his eyes lowered--to himself._) I _must_ look up in another _minute_--and then! [_He s.h.i.+vers._

CHAPTER XV.

+Culchard comes out n.o.bly.+

SCENE--_The Table d'Hote at Lugano_; CULCHARD _has not yet caught_ MISS PRENDERGAST'S _eye_.

CULCHARD (_to_ MR. BELLERBY). Have you--ah--been up Monte Generoso yet?

MR. B. No. (_After reflecting._) No, I haven't. But I was greatly struck by its remarkably bold outline from below. Indeed, I dashed off a rough sketch of it on the back of one of my visiting cards. I ought to have it somewhere about me now. (_Searching himself._) Ah, I thought so!

(_Handing a vague little scrawl to_ CULCHARD, _who examines it with the deepest interest_.) I knock off quite a number of these while I'm abroad like this. Send 'em in letters to relatives at home--gives them a notion of the place. They are--ar--kind enough to value them. (CULCHARD _makes a complimentary mumble_.) Yes, I'm a very rapid sketcher. Put me with regular artists, and give us half an hour, and I--ar--venture to say I should be on terms with them. Make it _three_ hours, and--well, I dare say I shouldn't be in it.

PODBURY (_who has dropped into the chair next to_ MISS PRENDERGAST _and her brother_). Bob, old chap, I'll come in the middle, if you don't mind. I say, this _is_ ripping--no idea of coming across you so soon as this. (_Lowering his voice, to_ MISS P.) Still pegging away at my ”penance,” you see!

MISS PREND. The pleasure is more than mutual; but do I understand that Mr.----? So _tiresome_, I left my gla.s.ses up in my room!

[_She peers up and down the line of faces on her own side of the table._

MISS T. (_to_ CULCH.). I want you should notice that girl. I think she looks just as nice as she can be, don't you?

[Ill.u.s.tration: ”I KNOCK OFF QUITE A NUMBER OF THESE WHILE I'M ABROAD LIKE THIS.”]

CULCH. (_carefully looking in every other direction_).

I--er--mumble--mumble--don't exactly----

[_Here a Waiter offers him a dish containing layers of soles disguised under brown sauce_; CULCHARD _mangles it with an ineffectual spoon. The Waiter, with pitying contempt_, ”_Tut-tut-tut! Pesce, Signore--fees.h.!.+_”

CULCH. _eventually lands a sole in a very damaged condition_.

PODB. (_to_ MISS P.). No--not this side--just opposite. (_Here_ CULCH., _in fingering a siphon which is remarkably stiff on the trigger, contrives to send a spray across the table and sprinkle_ MISS PRENDERGAST, _her brother, and_ PODBURY, _with impartial liberality_).

_Now_ don't you see him? As playful as ever, isn't he! Don't try to make out it was an accident, old fellow. Miss Prendergast knows you! [_Misery of_ CULCHARD.

MISS P. (_graciously_). Pray don't apologize, Mr. Culchard; not the least harm done! You must forgive me for not recognizing you before, but you know of old how provokingly short-sighted I am, and I've forgotten my gla.s.ses.

CULCH. (_indistinctly_). I--er--not at all ... most distressed, I a.s.sure you ... really no notion----

MISS T. (_in an undertone_). Say, you _know_ her, then? And you never let on!