Mr. C.S. Is it possible! I have come across so many people while I've been away that—but surely we have met somewhere? Why, of course, Sir JOHN JUBBER! you must pardon me, SIR JOHN—
Podb. (recognizing him). My name's PODBURY—plain PODBURY, but you're quite right. You have met me—and you've met my bootmaker too. "Lord UPPERSOLE," eh? That's where the mistake came in!
Mr. C.S. (with hauteur). I think not, Sir; I have no recollection of the circumstance. I see now your face is quite unfamiliar to me.
[He moves away; PODBURY gets a telegram form and sits down at a table in the hall opposite CULCHARD.
Culch. (reading over his telegram). "Yours just received. Am returning immediately."
Podb. (do., do.). "Letter to hand. No end sorry. Start at once." (Seeing CULCHARD.) Wiring to Florence for room, eh?
Culch. Er—no. The fact is, I've just heard from my Chief—a—a most intemperate communication, insisting on my instant return to my duties! I shall have to humour him, I suppose, and leave at once.
Podb. So shall I. No end of a shirty letter from the Governor. Wants to know how much longer I expect him to be tied to the office. Old humbug, when he only turns up twice a week for a couple of hours!
The Porter. Peg your bardons, Schendlemen, but if you haf qvide done vid ze schtamps on your ledders, I gollect bostage schtamps, yes.
Culch. (irritably flinging him the envelope). Oh, confound it all. take them. I don't want them! (He looks at his letter once more.) I say, PODBURY, it—it's worse than I thought. This thing's a week old! Must have been lying in my rooms all this time—or else in that infernal Italian post!