CULCH. (_to himself, as he stops to pant_). _More_ climbing! I thought this line was supposed to go to the top! But that's Italian all over--hem--as Podbury would say! Wonder, by the way, if he expected to be asked to come with me. I've no reason for sacrificing myself like that any longer! (_He sighs._) Ah, Hypatia, if you could know what a dreary disenchanted blank you have made of my life! And I who believed you capable of appreciating such devotion as mine! A VOICE BEHIND. My! If I don't know that back I'll just give up! How've _you_ been getting along all this time, Mr. Culchard? CULCH. (_turning_). Miss Trotter! A most delightful and--er--unexpected meeting, indeed! MISS TROTTER. Well, we came up on the cars in front of yours. We've taken rooms at the hotel up here. Poppa reckoned the air would be kind of fresher on the top of this mountain, and I don't believe but what he's right either. I guess I shall want another hairpin through _my_ hat. And are you still going around with Mr. Podbury? As inseparable as ever, I presume? CULCH. Er--_about_ as inseparable. That is, we are still travelling together--only, on this particular afternoon---- MISS T. He went and got mislaid? I see. He used to stray considerable over in Germany, didn't he? Well, I'm real pleased to see _you_ anyway. And how's the poetry been panning out? I hope you've had a pretty good yield of sonnets? CULCH. (_to himself_). She's really grown distinctly prettier. She might show a little more _feeling_, though, considering we were almost, if not quite----(_Aloud._) So you remember my poor poems? I'm afraid I have not been very--er--prolific of late. MISS T. You don't say! I should think you'd have had one to show for every day, with the date to it, like a new-laid egg. CULCH. Birds don't lay--er--I mean they don't _sing_, in the dark. My light has been--er--lacking of late. MISS T. If that's intended for me, you ought to begin chirping right away. But you're not going to tell me you've been "lounjun round en sufferin'" like--wasn't it _Uncle Remus's_ Brer Terrapin? (_Catching_ C.'S _look of bewilderment._) What, don't you know _Uncle Remus?_ CULCH. (_politely_). Mr. Trotter is the only relation of yours I have had the pleasure of meeting, as yet. MISS T. Why, I reckoned _Uncle Remus_ was pretty most everybody's relation by now. He's a book. But likely you've no use for our national humorous literature? CULCH. I--er--must confess I seldom waste time over the humorous literature of _any_ nation. MISS T. I guess that accounts for your gaiety! There, don't you mind _me_, Mr. Culchard. But suppose we hurry along and inspect this panorama they talk so much of; it isn't going to be any side-show. It's just a real representative mass-meeting of Swiss mountains, with every prominent peak in the country on the platform, and a deputation down below from the leading Italian lakes. It's ever so elegant,--and there's Poppa around on the top too.