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!

[Illustration:  “Bellissimo scultore!”]

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 conserve! (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!

Bob P. You may; but you might give Miss TROTTER and me a chance, you know!

The Cic. Zees, Marmor di Carrara; zat, Marmor di Verona—­Verona marbre.  MARTINO PRIMO a fait batir. (Counting on his fingers for CULCHARD’s benefit.) Quattuor dichieme secolo—­fotteen!

Culch. Will you kindly understand that I am quite capable of estimating the precise period of this sculpture for myself.

The Cic. Si-si, Signore.  Scultore BONINO DA CAMPIGLIONE. (With a wriggle of deferential enthusiasm.) Bellissimo scultore!

Miss T. He’s got an idea you find him vurry instructive, Mr. CULCHARD, and I guess, if you want to disabuse him, you’d better do it in Italian.

Culch. I think my Italian is equal to conveying an impression that I can willingly dispense with his society. (To the Cic.) Andate via—­do you understand?  An-da-te via!

The Cic. (hurt, and surprised).  Ah, Signore!

    [He breaks into a fervent vindication of his value as guide,
    philosopher, and friend.

Miss T. I guess he’s endeavouring to intimate that his wounded self-respect isn’t going to be healed under haff a dollar.  And every red cent I had went on that old pot!  Mr. CULCHARD, will you give him a couple of francs for me?

Culch. I—­er—­really see no necessity.  He’s done nothing whatever to deserve it!

Bob P. (eagerly).  May I.  Miss TROTTER? (Producing a ten-lire note.) This is the smallest change I’ve got.

Miss T. No.  I guess ten francs would start him with more self-respect than he’s got any use for.  Mr. CULCHARD will give him three—­that’s one apiece—­to punish him for being so real mean!

Culch. (indignantly).  Mean? because I—! (He pays and dismisses the Cic.) Now we can examine these monuments in peace—­they are really—­er—­unique examples of the sepulchral pomp of Italian mediaevalism.