Podb. (overhearing this, with horror). One minute, CULCHARD. (He draws him aside.) I say, for goodness' sake, don't let's have that old organ-grinding Johnny in the coupé with us!
Culch. Organ-grinder! you are so very insular! For anything you can tell, he may be a decayed nobleman.
Pod. (coarsely). Well, let him decay somewhere else, that's all! Just tell the Conductor to shove him in the intérieur, do, while I nip in the coupé and keep our places.
[CULCHARD, on reflection, adopts this suggestion, and the Italian Gentleman, after fluttering feebly about the coupé door, is unceremoniously bundled by the Conductor into the hinder part of the diligence.
In the Bernardino Pass, during the Ascent.
Culch. Glorious view one gets at each fresh turn of the road, PODBURY! Look at Hinter-rhein, far down below there, like a toy village, and that vast desolate valley, with the grey river rushing through it, and the green glacier at the end, and these awful snow-covered peaks all round—look, man!
Podb. I'm looking, old chap. It's all there, right enough!
Culch. (vexed). It doesn't seem to be making any particular impression on you, I must say!
Podb. It's making me deuced peckish, I know that—how about lunch, eh!