Guide. Yais, vary magnifique, vary grandt, and—and rom also! Dees von rebresents Napoleon in hail. De modders show him de laigs and ahums of dair sons keeled in de vars, and invide him to drink a cop of bloodt.
Podb. Ha, cheery picture that!
Guide. Cheery, oh, yais! Now com and beep troo dis 'ole. (PODBURY obeys with docility.) You see? A Mad Voman cooking her shildt in a gettle. Hier again, dey haf puried a man viz de golera pefore he is daid, he dries to purst de goffin, you see only de handt shdicking oudt.
Podb. The old Johnny seems full of pretty fancies. (He looks through another peephole.) Girl looking at skeleton. Any other domestic subjects on view? (He suddenly sees Miss TROTTER and CULCHARD with their backs to him.) Hal—lo, this is luck! I must go to the rescue, or that beggar CULCHARD will bore her to death in no time. (To Guide.) Here, hold on a minute. (Crosses to CULCHARD, followed by Guide.) How d'ye do, Miss TROTTER? Doing the Wild Wiertz Show, I see. Ah, CULCHARD, why didn't you tell me you were going—might have gone together. I say, I've got a guide here.
Culch. (drily). So we perceive—a very sensible plan, no doubt, in some cases, my dear fellow.
Podb. (to Miss T.). Do come and listen to him, most intelligent chap—great fun. Mr. CULCHARD is above that sort of thing, I dare say.
Guide. Your vriendts laike to choin, yais? Same for tree as for von. I exblain all de beecture.
Miss T. You're vurry obliging, Mr. PODBURY, but your friend is explaining it all just splendidly.
Podb. (piqued). Perhaps I had better dismiss my chap, and take on CULCHARD, too?
Miss T. No, I'd just hate to have you do that. Keep on going round. You mustn't mind us, indeed!