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 glasses 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?
"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—feesh!" 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.