SCENE—The Tombs of the SCALIGERS at Verona. A seedy and voluble Cicerone, who has insisted upon volunteering his services, is accompanying Miss TROTTER, BOB PRENDERGAST, and CULCHARD. It is a warm afternoon, and CULCHARD, who has been intrusted with Miss T.'s recent purchases—two Italian blankets, and a huge pot of hammered copper—is not in the most amiable of moods.
The Cicerone (in polyglot). Ecco, Signore (pointing out the interlaced ladders in the wrought-iron railings), l'échelle, la scala, c'est tout flexible—(He shakes the trellis)—molto, molto curioso!
Culch. (bitterly, to the other two). I warned you how it would be! We shall have this sort of thing all the afternoon now!
Miss T. Well, I don't mind; he's real polite and obliging—and that's something, anyway!
Culch. Polite and obliging! Now I ask you—has he given us the slightest atom of valuable information yet?
Miss T. I guess he's too full of tact to wish to interfere with your special department!
The Cic. (to CULCHARD, who looks another way). Ici le tombeau di GIOVANNI DELLA SCALA, Signore. Verri grazioso molto magnifique, joli conservé! (He skins up on the pedestal, and touches a sarcophagus.) Non bronzo—verde-antique!
[Nods at CULCHARD, with a beaming smile.
Culch. (with a growl). Va bene, va bene—we know all about it!