_
_Podbury._ Do they look at all as if they meant to come in? I tell you
what, BOB, vote we row out to them and tell them they'll be late for
_table d'hote_. Eh? [_He knocks out his pipe._
_Prendergast_ (_phlegmatically_). Only be late for it ourselves if we
do. They'll come in when they want to.
_Podb._ It's not safe for your sister,--I'm hanged if it is--going
out in a boat with a duffer like CULCHARD! He'll upset her as sure as
eggs.
_Prend._ (_with fraternal serenity_). With pin-oars? Couldn't if he
tried! And they've a man with them, too. The less I see of that chap
CULCHARD the better. I did hope we'd choked him off at Nuremberg. I
hate the sight of his supercilious old mug!
_Podb._ You can't hate it more than I do--but what can I do?
(_Pathetically._) I've tried rotting him, but somehow he always
manages to get the best of it in the end. I never saw such a beggar to
hang on!
[Illustration: "Gets up and quits the room with dignity."]
_Prend._ What on earth made you ask him to come on here, after he
declared he wouldn't?
_Podb._ I! _I_ ask him? He settled it all with your sister. How could
_I_ help it?
_Prend._ I'd do _something_. Why can't you tell him right out he ain't
wanted? _I_ would--like a shot!
_Podb.
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