[He produces an elaborate outline.
Podb. (easily). Oh, that's all right! I don't care where I go! All I want is, to see as much as we can in the time—leave all the rest to you. I'll sit here while you get the tickets.
An Old Lady (to Clerk, as Culchard is waiting at the counter). Oh, I beg your pardon, but could you inform me if the 1·55 train from Calais to Basle stops long enough for refreshments anywhere, and where they examine the luggage, and if I can leave my hand-bag in the carriage, and whether there is an English service at Yodeldorf, and is it held in the hotel, and Evangelical, or High Church, and are the sittings free, and what Hymn-book they use?
[The Clerk sets her mind free on as many of these points as he can, and then attends to Culchard.
Culch. (returning to Podbury with two cases bulging with books of coloured coupons). Here are yours. I should like you to run your eye over them, and see that they are correct, if you don't mind.
Podb. (stuffing them in his pocket). Can't be bothered now. Take your word for it.
Culch. No—but considering that we start the first thing to-morrow morning, wouldn't it be as well to have some idea of where you're going? And, by the way, excuse me, but is it altogether prudent to keep your tickets in an outside pocket like that? I always keep mine, with my money, in a special case in an inner pocket, with a buttoned flap—then I know I can't lose them.
Podb. Anything for a quiet life! (He examines his coupons.) Dover to Ostend? Never been there—like to see what Ostend's like. But why didn't you go by Calais?—shorter, you know.
Culch. Because I thought we'd see Bruges and Ghent on our way to Brussels.
Podb. Bruges, eh? Capital! Anything particular going on there? No? It don't matter. And Ghent—let's see, wasn't that where they brought the good news from? Yes, we'll stop at Ghent—if we've time. Then—Brussels? Good deal of work to be done there, I suppose, sightseeing, and that? I like a place where you can moon about without being bothered myself; now, at Brussels—never mind, I was only thinking.
Culch. It's the best place to get to Cologne and up the Rhine from. Then, you see, we go rather out of our way to Nuremberg——
Podb. Where they make toys? I know—pretty festive there, eh?
Culch. I don't know about festive—but it is—er—a quaint, and highly interesting old place. Then I thought we'd dip down to Constance, and strike across the Alps to the Italian Lakes.
Podb. Italian Lakes? First-rate! Yes, they're worth seeing, I suppose. Think they're better than the Swiss ones, though?
Culch. (tolerantly). I can get the coupons changed for Switzerland if you prefer it. The Swiss Lakes may be the more picturesque.
Podb. Yes, we'll do Switzerland—and run back by Paris, eh? Not much to do in Switzerland, though, after all!
Culch. (with a faintly superior smile). There are one or two mountains, I believe. But, personally, I should prefer Italy.
Podb. So should I. No fun in mountains—unless you go up 'em. What do you think of choosing some quiet place, where nobody ever goes—say in France or Germany—and, sticking to that. More of a rest, wouldn't it be? such a bore having to know a lot of people!
Culch. I don't see how we can change all the tickets, really. If you like, we could stop a week at St. Goarshausen.
Podb. What's St. Goarshausen like—cheery?
Culch. I understood the idea was to keep away from our fellow countrymen, and as far as I can remember St. Goarshausen, it is not overrun with tourists—we should be quiet enough there.
Podb. That's the place for me, then. Or could we push on to Vienna? Never seen Vienna.
Culch. If you like to give up Italy altogether.
Podb. What do you say to beginning with Italy and working back? Too hot, eh? Well, then, we'll let things be as they are—I dare say it will do well enough. So that's settled!
Culch. (to himself on parting, after final arrangements concluded). I wish Rose had warned me that Podbury's habit of mind was so painfully desultory. (He sighs.) However——
Podb. (to himself). Wonder how long I shall take to get over Culchard's manner. (He sighs.) I wish old Hughie was coming—he'd give me a leg over! [He walks on thoughtfully.
CHAPTER II.
Podbury picks up Acquaintances.
Scene—Courtyard of the "Grand Hôtel du Lion Belgique et d'Albion," at Brussels. It is just after table d'hôte; Podbury and Culchard are sitting on a covered terrace, with coffee.
Podbury (producing a pipe). Not such a bad dinner! Expect they'll rook us a lot for it, though. Rather fun, seeing the waiters all troop in with a fresh course, when the proprietor rang his bell. Like a ballet at the Empire—eh?
Culchard (selecting a cigarette). I'm not in a position to say. I don't affect those places of entertainment myself.
Podb. Oh! Where do you turn in when you want to kick up your heels a bit? Madame Tussaud's? I say, why on earth didn't you talk to that old Johnny next to you at dinner? He was trying all he knew to be friendly.
Culch. Was he? I dare say. But I rather understood we came out with the idea of keeping out of all that.
Podb. Of course. I'm not keen about getting to know people. He had no end of a pretty daughter, though. Mean to say you didn't spot her?
Culch. If by "spotting" you mean—was I aware of the existence of a very exuberant young person, with a most distressing American accent?—I can only say that she made her presence sufficiently evident. I confess she did not interest me to the point of speculating upon her relationship to anybody else.
Podb. Well—if you come to that, I don't know that I—still, she was uncommonly——(Happens to glance round, and lowers his voice.) Jove! she's in the Reading-room, just behind us. (Hums, with elaborate carelessness.) La di deedle-lumpty—loodle-oodle-loo——
Culch. (who detests humming). By the way, I wish you hadn't been in such a hurry to come straight on. I particularly wished to stop at Bruges, and see the Memlings.
Podb. I do like that! For a fellow who means to keep out of people's way! They'd have wanted you to stay to lunch and dinner, most likely.
Culch. (raising his eyebrows). Hardly, my dear fellow—they're pictures, as it happens.
Podb. (unabashed). Oh, are they? Any way, you've fetched up your average here. Weren't there enough in the Museum for you?
Culch. (pityingly). You surely wouldn't call the collection here exactly representative of the best period of Flemish Art?
Podb. If you ask me, I should call it a simply footling show—but you were long enough over it. (Culchard shudders slightly, and presently pats his pockets.) What's up now? Nothing gone wrong with the works, eh?
Culch. (with dignity).