Table
d'hote has begun._ CULCHARD _is seated between_ Miss TROTTER _and a large
and conversational stranger. Opposite are three empty chairs._
_Culchard's Neighbour_. Then you're going on to Venice? Well, you take _my_
advice. When you get there, you ask for tunny. Don't forget--_tunny_!
_Culch._ (_who wants to talk to_ Miss T.) Tunny? Thank you. I--er--will
certainly remember his name, if I require a guide.
_His N._ A guide? No, no--tunny's a _fish_, Sir, a coarse red fish, with
flesh like a raw beefsteak.
_Culch._ Is that so? Then I will make a point of asking for it--if I want
raw beefsteak. [_Attempts to turn to_ Miss T.
_His N._ That's what _I_ did when I was at Venice. I sent for the Manager.
He came. I said to him. "Look here, I'm an Englishman. My name's BELLERBY.
(CULCHARD _bows in patient boredom._) I've heard of your Venetian tunny. I
wish to taste it. _Bring_ me some!"
_Culch._ (_crushingly_). A most excellent method of obtaining it, no doubt.
(_To_ Waiter.) _Numero vingt-sept, demi bouteille de Chianti, et siphon!_
_His N._ You don't wait till I've _done_, Sir! I _didn't_ obtain it--not at
first. The man made excuses. I was prepared for _that_. I told him plainly,
"I know what _you_'re thinking--it's a cheap fish, and you fancy I'm
ordering it out of economy!"
_Culch.
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