Bob P. Better make sure the tomb's genuine first, hadn't you? Some say it isn't.
Culch. (exasperated). I knew you'd make some matter-of-fact remark of that kind! There—it's no use! Let us go.
Miss T. Why, your sonnets seem as skeery as those lizards there! I hope Juliet won't ever know what she's missed. But likely you'll mail those verses on to her later. [She and Bob P. pass on, laughing.
Culch. (following). She only affects this vulgar flippancy to torment me. If I didn't know that—— There, I've left that infernal pot behind now! [Goes back for it, wrathfully.
In the Amphitheatre; Miss Prendergast, Podbury, and Van Boodeler, are seated on an upper tier.
Podb. (meditatively). I suppose they charged highest for the lowest seats. Wonder whether a lion ever nipped up and helped himself to some fat old buffer in the Stalls when the martyrs turned out a leaner lot than usual!
Van B. There's an ingenuous modernity about our friend's historical speculations that is highly refreshing.
Miss P. There is, indeed—though he might have spared himself and us the trouble of them if he had only remembered that the podium was invariably protected by a railing, and occasionally by euripi, or trenches, You surely learnt that at school, Mr. Podbury?
Podb. I—I dare say. Forgotten all I learnt at school, you know!
Van B. I should infer now, from that statement, that you enjoyed the advantages of a pretty liberal education?