_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 mediævalism. _Miss T._ They're handsome tombs enough--but considerable cramped. I should have thought these old Scallywags would have looked around for a roomier burying lot. (_To CULCHARD, who shivers_.) You aren't feeling sick any? _Culch._ No--only pained by such a travesty of a noble name. "Scallywags" for SCALIGERS seems to me, if I may say so, a very cheap form of humour! _Miss T._ Well, it's more than cheap--it isn't going to cost you a cent, so I should think you'd appreciate it! _Bob P._ Haw--score for _you_, Miss TROTTER! _Culch._ I should have thought myself that mere personality is hardly enough to give point to any repartee--there is a slight difference between brilliancy and--er--_brutality_! _Bob P._ Hullo! You and I are being sat upon pretty heavily, Miss TROTTER. _Miss T._ I guess our Schoolmaster's abroad. But why Mr. CULCHARD should want to make himself a train out of my coverlets, I don't just see--he looks majestic enough without that. [_CULCHARD catches up a blanket which is trailing, and says bad words under his breath._ _AT THE TOMB OF JULIET._ _Culch._ (_who is gradually recovering his equanimity_). Think of it! the actual spot on which _Romeo_ and _Juliet_--SHAKSPEARE's _Juliet_--drew their last breath! Does it not realise the tragedy for you? _Miss T._ Well, no--it's a disappointing tomb. I reckoned it would look less like a horse-trough. I should have expected _Juliet's_ Poppa and Momma would want, considering all the facts of the case, to throw more style into her monument! _Culch._ (_languidly_). May not its very simplicity--er--attest the sincerity of their remorse? _Miss T._ Do you attach any particular meaning to that observation now? (_CULCHARD bites his lip._) I notice this tomb is full of visiting cards--my! but ain't that curious?