Podb. (with an heroic attempt at cheeriness). We—we're awfully disappointed to have missed them, Mr. Trotter. Afraid we can't stop now! Good-bye!
[Culchard pulls his hat-brim over his eyes and makes a sign to the gondoliers to get on quickly; Mr. Trotter comments with audible astonishment on their departure to Bob, who preserves a discreet silence.
CHAPTER XXVI.
Podbury Kisses the Rod.
Scene—On the Lagoons. Culchard and Podbury's gondola is nearing Venice. The apricot-tinted diaper on the façade of the Ducal Palace is already distinguishable, and behind its battlements the pearl-grey domes of St. Mark's shimmer in the warm air. Culchard and Podbury have hardly exchanged a sentence as yet. The former has just left off lugubriously whistling as much as he can remember of "Che faro," the latter is still humming "The Dead March in Saul," although in a livelier manner than at first.
Culch. Well, my dear Podbury, our—er—expedition has turned out rather disastrously!
Podb. (suspending the "Dead March," chokily). Not much mistake about that—but there, it's no good talking about it. Jolly that brown and yellow sail looks on the fruit barge there. See?
Culch. (sardonically). Isn't it a little late in the day to be cultivating an eye for colour? I was about to say that those two girls have treated us infamously. I say deliberately, my dear Podbury, infamously!
Podb. Now drop it, Culchard, do you hear? I won't hear a word against either of them. It serves us jolly well right for not knowing our own minds better—though I no more dreamed that old Bob would——Oh, hang it, I can't talk about it yet!