T. Well, I don't see how I should ever strike that fair for myself, and I guess if there's anything to be seen we're bound to see it, so me and my darter—allow me to introduce my darter to you—Maud, this gentleman is Mr.—I don't think I've caught your name, Sir—Podbury?—Mr. Podbury, who's kindly volunteered to conduct us round.

Miss T. I should have thought you'd want to leave the gentleman some say in the matter, father—not to mention me!

Podb. (eagerly). But won't you come? Do. I shall be awfully glad if you will!

Miss T. If it makes you so glad as all that, I believe I'll come. Though what you could say different, after Poppa had put it up so steep on you, I don't know. I'll just go and fix myself first. [She goes.

Mr. T. (to Podbury). My only darter, Sir, and a real good girl. We come over from the States, crossed a month ago to-day, and seen a heap already. Been runnin' all over Scotland and England, and kind of looked round Ireland and Wales, and now what we've got to do is to see as much as we can of Germany and Switzerland and It'ly, and get some idea of France before we start home this fall. I guess we're both of us gettin' pretty considerable homesick already. My darter was sayin' to me on'y this evening at table d'hôte, "Father," she sez, "the vurry first thing we'll do when we get home is to go and hev a good square meal of creamed oysters and clams with buckwheat cakes and maple syrup." Don't seem as if we could git along without maple syrup much longer. (Miss Trotter returns.) You never mean going out without your gums?

"WANTED TO KNOW IF YOU WERE MY TUTOR!"

[He roars.

Miss T. I guess it's not damp here—any. (To Podbury.) Now you're going to be Mary, and father and I have got to be the little lambs and follow you around.

[They go out, leaving Culchard annoyed with himself and everybody else, and utterly unable to settle down to his sonnet again.

IN AN UPPER CORRIDOR TWO HOURS LATER.

Culch. (coming upon Podbury). So you've got rid of your Americans at last, eh?

Podb. I was in no hurry, I can tell you. She's a ripping little girl—tremendous fun. What do you think she asked me about you?

Culch. (stiff, but flattered). I wasn't aware she had honoured me by her notice. What was it?

Podb. Said you had a sort of schoolmaster look, and wanted to know if you were my tutor. My tutor! [He roars.

Culch. I hope you—ah—undeceived her?

Podb. Rather! Told her it was t'other way round, and I was looking after you. Said you were suffering from melancholia, but were not absolutely dangerous.

Culch. If that's your idea of a joke, all I can say is——

[He chokes with rage.

Podb. (innocently). Why, my dear chap, I thought you wanted 'em kept out of your way!

[Culchard slams his bedroom door with temper, leaving Podbury outside, still chuckling.

CHAPTER III.

Culchard comes out of his Shell.

Scene—On the Coach from Braine l'Alleud to Waterloo. The vehicle has a Belgian driver, but the conductor is a true-born Briton. Mr. Cyrus K. Trotter and his daughter are behind with Podbury. Culchard, who is not as yet sufficiently on speaking terms with his friend to ask for an introduction, is on the box-seat in front.

Mr. Trotter. How are you getting along, Maud? Your seat pretty comfortable?

Miss Trotter. Well, I guess it would be about as luxurious if it hadn't got a chunk of wood nailed down the middle—it's not going to have any one confusing it with a bed of roses just yet. (To Podb.) Your friend mad about anything? He don't seem to open his head more'n he's obliged to. I presume he don't approve of your taking up with me and father—he keeps away from us considerable, I notice.

Podb. (awkwardly). Oh—er—I wouldn't say that, but he's a queer kind of chap rather, takes prejudices into his head and all that. I wouldn't trouble about him if I were you—not worth it, y' know.

Miss T. Thanks—but it isn't going to shorten my existence any.

[Culch. overhears all this, with feelings that may be imagined.

Belgian Driver (to his horses). Pullep! Allez vîte! Bom-bom-bom! Alright!

Conductor (to Culchard). 'E's very proud of 'is English, 'e is. 'Ere, Jewls, ole feller, show the gen'lm'n 'ow yer can do a swear. (Belgian Driver utters a string of English imprecations with the utmost fluency and good-nature.) 'Ark at 'im now! Bust my frogs! (Admiringly, and not without a sense of the appropriateness of the phrase.) But he's a caution, Sir, ain't he? I taught him most o' what he knows!

A French Passenger (to Conductor). Dis donc, mon ami, est-ce qu'on peut voir d'ici le champ de bataille?

Cond. (with proper pride). It ain't no use your torkin to me, Mossoo; I don't speak no French myself. (To Culchard.) See that field there, Sir?

Culch. (interested). On the right? Yes; what happened there?

Cond. Fine lot o' rabbits inside o' there—big fat 'uns. (To another Passenger.) No, Sir, that ain't Belly Lions as you see from 'ere; that's Mon Sin Jeean, and over there Oogymong, and Challyroy to the left.

ON THE TOP OF THE MOUND.

Culchard, who has purchased a map in the Waterloo Museum as a means of approaching Miss Trotter, is pounced upon by an elderly Belgian Guide in a blue blouse, from whom he finds it difficult to escape.

The Guide (fixing Culchard with a pair of rheumy eyes and a gnarled forefinger). You see vere is dat schmall voodt near de vite 'ouse? not dere, along my shdeek—so. Dat is vare Peecton vas kill, Inglis Officer, Peecton. Two days pefore he was voundet in de ahum. 'E say to his sairvan', "You dell ennipoddies, I keel you!" He vandt to pe