THE TRAVELLING COMPANIONS.

NO. VIII.

SCENE--_A Bridge over the Pegnitz, at Nuremberg. Time,
afternoon. The shadows of the old gabled and balconied houses
are thrown sharply on the reddish-yellow water. Above the
steep speckled roofs, the spires of St. Lorenz glitter against
the blue sky. CULCHARD is leaning listlessly upon the
parapet of the bridge_.

_Culchard_ (_to himself_). How mediæval it all is, and how infinitely
restful! (_He yawns._) What a blessed relief to be without that fellow
PODBURY! He's very careful to keep out of my way--I've scarcely
seen him since I've been here. He must find it dreadfully dull. (_He
sighs._) I ought to find material for a colour-sonnet here, with these
subdued grey tones, those dull coppery-greens, and the glowing reds of
the conical caps of those towers. I _ought_--but I don't. I fancy that
half-engagement to MAUD TROTTER must have, scared away the Muse. I
wonder if PODBURY has really gone yet? (_Here a thump on the back
disposes of any doubt as to this._) Er--so you're still at Nuremberg?
[Awkwardly.

[Illustration: "Er--I have brought you the philosophical work I
mentioned."]

_Podbury_ (_cheerfully_). Rather! Regular ripping old place
this--suits me down to the ground. And how are _you_ getting on?

_Culch._ Perfectly, thanks. My mind is being--er--stimulated here in