by Anthology
"Excuse me, forsooth, your Majesty," Droop broke in, "but would thou mind if I get up, my liege?"
"Nay, rise, rise, Master Droop!" exclaimed the Queen, smothering a laugh. "We find matter for favor in your sponsor's speech. Can you more fully state the nature of this petition?"
"Yes, ma'am--your Majesty," said Droop, rising and dusting off his knees. "I am the inventor of a couple of things, forsooth, that are away ahead of the age. Marry, yes! I call 'em a bicycle and a phonograph."
"Well, did you ever!" murmured Rebecca, amazed at this impudent claim to invention.
Messer Guido paused in his writing and began to unfold his precious American newspaper, while Droop went on, encouraged by the attentive curiosity which he had evidently excited in the Queen.
"Now, the bicycle--or the bike, fer short--is a kind of a wagon or vehycle, you wot. When you mount on it, you can trundle yerself along like all possessed----"
"Gramercy!" broke in the Queen, in a tone of irritation. "What have we here! We must have plain English, Master Droop. American idioms are unknown to us."
As Droop opened his mouth to reply, Guido stepped forward with a great rustling of paper.
"May it please your Gracious Majesty--" he panted, eagerly.
"Speak, Messer Guido."
"I would fain question this gentleman, your Majesty, touching certain things contained herein." He shook the paper at arm's length and glared at Droop, who returned the look with a calm eye.
"You may proceed, sir," said Elizabeth.
"Why, Master Droop, you that are the inventor of this same 'bicycle,' how explain you this?"
He thrust the paper under Droop's nose, pointing to an advertisement therein.
"Here," he continued, "here have we a picture bearing the legend, 'Baltimore Bicycle--Buy No Other'--" He paused, but before Copernicus could speak he went on breathlessly: "And look on this, Master Droop--see here--here! Another drawing, this time with the legend, 'Edison's Phonographs.' How comes it that you have invented these things? Can you invent on this 21st day of May, in the year of our Lord 1598, what was here set forth as early as--as--" he turned the paper back to the first page, "as early as April--" he stopped, turned pale, and choked. Droop looked mildly triumphant.
"Well--well!" cried Elizabeth, "hast lost thy voice, man?"
"My liege," murmured the bewildered savant, "the date--this document----"
"Is dated in 1898," said Droop, solemnly. "This here bike and phonograph won't be invented by anyone else for three hundred years yet."
Elizabeth frowned angrily and grasped the arms of her chair in an access of wrath which, after a pause, found vent in a torrent of words:
"Now, by God's death, my masters, you will find it ill jesting in this presence! What in the fiend's name! Think ye, Elizabeth of England may be tricked and cozened--made game of by a scurvy Italian bookworm and a witless----"
The adjectives and expletives which followed may not be reported here. As the storm of words progressed, growing more violent in its continuance, Droop stood open-mouthed, not comprehending the cause of this tirade. Of the others, but one preserved his wits at this moment of danger.
Sir Percevall, well aware that the Queen's fury, unless checked, would produce his and his client's ruin, determined to divert this flood of emotion into a new channel. With the insight of genius, the fat knight realized that only a woman's curiosity could avert a queen's rage, and with what speed he could he stumbled backward to where Droop had left his exhibits. He lifted the box containing the phonograph and, taking the instrument out, held it on the palm of his huge left hand and bent his eyes upon it in humble and resigned contemplation.
The quick roving eye of the angry Queen caught sight of this queer assemblage of cogs, levers, and cylinder, and for the first time her too-ready tongue tripped. She looked away and recovered herself to the end of the sentence. She could not resist another look, however, and this time her words came more slowly. She paused--wavered--and then fixed her gaze in silence upon the enigmatical device. There was a unanimous smothered sigh as the bystanders recognized their good fortune. Guido, frightened half to death, slipped unobserved out of a side door, and was never seen at Greenwich again. Nor has that fatal newspaper been heard from since.
"What may that be, Sir Percevall?" the Queen inquired at length, settling back in her chair as comfortably as her ruff would permit.
"This, my liege, is the phonograph," said the knight, straightening himself proudly.
"An my Greek be not at fault," said the Queen, "this name should purport a writer of sound."
Sir Percevall's face fell. He was no Greek scholar, and this query pushed him hard. Fortunately for him, Elizabeth turned to Droop as she concluded her sentence.
"Hath your invention this intent, Master Droop?" she said.
"Verily, I guess you've hit it--I wot that's right!" stammered the still frightened man.
A very audible murmur of admiration passed from one to another of the assembled courtiers and ladies-in-waiting. These expressions reached the ears of the Queen, for whom they were indeed intended, and the consciousness of her acumen restored Elizabeth entirely to good-humor.
"The conceit is very novel, is it not, my lord?" she said, turning to Baron Burleigh.
"Novel, indeed, and passing marvellous if achieved, your Majesty," was the suave reply.
"How write you sounds with this device, Master Droop?" she asked.
"Why, thusly, ma'am--your Majesty," said Droop, with renewed courage. "One speaketh, you wot--talketh-like into this hole--this aperture." He turned and pointed to the mouth-piece of the instrument, which was still in Sir Percevall's hands. "Hevin' done this, you wot, this little pin-like pricketh or scratcheth the wax, an' the next time you go over the thing, there you are!"
Conscious of the lameness of this explanation, Droop hurried on, hoping to forestall further questions.
"Let me show ye, my liege, how she works, in sooth," he said, taking the phonograph from the knight. Looking all about, he could see nothing at hand whereon to conveniently rest the device.
"Marry, you wouldn't mind ef I was to set this right here on your table, would ye, my liege?" he asked.
Permission was graciously accorded, and, depositing the phonograph, Droop hurried back to get his records. Holding a wax cylinder in one hand, he proceeded.
"Now, your Majesty can graciously gaze on this wax cylinder," he said. "On here we hev scrawled--written--a tune played by a cornet. It is 'Home, Sweet Home.' Ye've heerd it, no doubt?"
"Nay, the title is not familiar," said the Queen, looking about her. With one accord, the courtiers shook their heads in corroboration.
"Is that so? Well, well! Why, every boy and gal in America knows that tune well!" said Droop.
He adjusted the cylinder and a small brass megaphone, and, having wound the motor, pressed the starting-button. Almost at once a stentorian voice rang through the apartment:
"Home, Sweet Home--Cornet Solo--By Signor Paolo Morituri--Edison Record."
The sudden voice, issuing from the dead revolving cylinder, was so unexpected and startling that several of the ladies screamed and at least one gentleman pensioner put his hand to his sword-hilt. Elizabeth herself started bolt upright and turned pale under her rouge as she clutched the arms of her chair. Before she could express her feelings the cornet solo began, and the entire audience gradually resumed its wonted serenity before the close of the air.
"Marvellous beyond telling!" exclaimed Elizabeth, in delight. "Why, this contrivance of yours, Master Droop, shall make your name and fortune throughout our realm. Have you many such ingenious gentlemen in your kingdom, Lady Rebecca?"
"Oh, dear me, yes!" said Rebecca, somewhat contemptuously. "Copernicus Droop ain't nobody in America."
Droop glanced reproachfully at his compatriot, but concluded not to give expression to his feelings. Accordingly, he very quickly substituted another cylinder, and turned again to the Queen.
"Now
, your Majesty," said he, "here's a comic monologue. I tell you, verily, it's a side-splitter!"
"What may a side-splitter be, Master Droop?"
"Why, in sooth, somethin' almighty funny, you know--make a feller laugh, you wot."
Elizabeth nodded and, with a smile of anticipation, which was copied by all present, prepared to be amused.
Alas! The monologue was an account of how a farmer got the best of a bunco steerer in New York City, and was delivered in the esoteric dialect of the Bowery. It was not long before willing smiles gave place to long-drawn faces of comic bewilderment, and, although Copernicus set his best example by artificial grins and pretended inward laughter, he could evoke naught but silence and bored looks.
"Marry, sir," said Elizabeth, when the monologue was at an end, "this needs be some speech of an American empire other than that you come from. Could you make aught of it, Lady Rebecca?"
"Nothin' on airth!" was the reply. "Only a word now an' then about a farmer--an' somethin' about hayseed."
"Now, here's a reg'lar bird!" said Droop, hastily, as he put in a new cylinder.
"Can you thus record e'en the voices of fowls?" said the Queen, with renewed interest.
Hopeless of explaining, Droop bowed and touched the starting-button. The announcement came at once.
"Liberty Bells March--Edison Record," and after a few preliminary flourishes, a large brass band could be heard in full career.
This proved far more pleasing to the Queen and her suite.
"So God mend us, a merry tune and full of harmony!" said the Queen.
"But that ain't all, your Majesty," said Droop. "Here's a blank cylinder, now." He adjusted it as he spoke and unceremoniously pushed the instrument close to the Queen. "Here," he said, "jest you talk anythin' you want to in there and you'll see suthin' funny, I'll bet ye!" He was thoroughly warmed to his work now, and the little court etiquette which he had acquired dropped from him entirely.
The Queen's eager interest had been so aroused that she was unconscious of his too familiar manner. Leaning over the phonograph as Droop started the motor, she looked about her and said, with a titter: "What shall we say? Weighty words should grace so great an occasion, my lords."
"Oh, say the Declaration of Independence or the 'Charge of the Light Brigade'!" Droop exclaimed. "Any o' them things in the school-books!"
Elizabeth saw that the empty cylinder was passing uselessly and wasted no time in discussion, but began to declaim some verses of Horace.
"M--m--m--" exclaimed Droop, doubtfully. "I don't know as this phonograph will work on Latin an' Greek!"
The Queen completed her quotation and, sitting back again in her chair:
"Now, Master Droop, we have done our part," she said.
Droop readjusted the repeating diaphragm and started the motor once more. There were two or three squeaks and then an affected little chuckle.
"What shall we say?" it began. "Weighty words should grace so great an occasion, my lords."
Elizabeth laughed a little hysterically to hear her unstudied phrase repeated, and then, with a look of awe, listened to the repetition of the verses she had recited.
"Can any voice be so repeated?" she asked, seriously, when this record was completed.
"Anyone ye please--any ye please!" said the delighted promoter, visions of uncounted wealth dancing in his head. "Now, here's a few words was spoken on a cylinder jest two or three weeks ago by Miss Wise," he continued, hunting through his stock of records. "Ah, here it is! It's all 'bout Mister Bacon--I daresay you know him." The Queen looked a little stern at this. "Tells all 'bout him, I believe. I ferget jest what it said, but we can soon see."
The cylinder was that before which Phoebe had read an extract from the volume on Bacon's supposed parentage and his writings while she was at the North Pole. Little did Droop conceive what a train he was unconsciously lighting as he adjusted the cylinder in place. As he said, he had forgotten the exact purport of the extract in question, but, even had he recollected it, he would probably have so little understood its terrific import that his course would have been the same. Ignorant of his danger, he pushed the starting-button and looked pleasantly at the Queen, whose dislike of anything having to do with Francis Bacon had already brought a frown to her face.
All too exactly the fateful mechanism ground out the very words and voice of Phoebe:
"It is thus made clear from the indubitable evidence of the plays themselves, that Francis Bacon wrote the immortal works falsely ascribed to William Shakespeare, and that the gigantic genius of this man was the result of the possession of royal blood. In this unacknowledged son of Elizabeth Tudor, Queen of England, was made manifest to all countries and for all centuries the glorious powers inherent in the regal blood of England."
As the fearful meaning of these words was developed by the machine, amazement gave place to consternation in those present and consternation to abject terror. Each fear-palsied courtier looked with pale face to right and left as though to seek escape. The fat knight, hitherto all complacency, listening to this brazen traducer of the Queen's virgin honor, seemed to shrink within himself, and his very clothing hung loose upon him.
Droop and Rebecca, ignorant of the true bearing of the spoken words, gazed in amazement from one to another until, glancing at the Queen, their eyes remained fixed and fascinated.
The unthinkable insult implied in the words repeated was trebled in force by being spoken thus publicly and in calm accents to her very face. She--the daughter of Henry the Eighth; she--Elizabeth of England--the Virgin Queen--to be thus coolly proclaimed the mother of this upstart barrister!
As a cyclone approaches, silent and terrific, visible only in the swift swirling changes of a livid and blackened sky, so the fatal passion in that imperial bosom was known at first only in the gleaming of her black eyes beneath contorted brows and the spasmodic changes that swept over the pale red-painted face.
The danger thus portended was clear even to the bewildered Droop, and, before the instrument had said its say, he began to slip very quietly toward the door.
As the speech ended, Elizabeth emitted a growl that grew into a shriek of fury, and, with her hair actually rising on her head, she threw herself bodily upon the offending phonograph.
In her two hands she raised the instrument above her, and with a maniac's force hurled it full at the head of Copernicus Droop.
Instinctively he dodged, and the mass of wood and steel crashed against the door of the chamber, bursting it open and causing the two guards without to fall back.
Droop saw his chance and took it. Turning, with a yell he dashed past the guards and across the antechamber to the main entrance-hall. The Queen, choked with passion, could only gasp and point her hand frantically after the fleeing man, but at once her gentlemen, drawing their swords, rushed in a body from the room with cries of "Treason--treason! Stop him! Catch him!"
Down the main hallway and out into the silent court-yard Droop fled on the wings of fear, pursued by a shouting throng, growing every moment larger.
As he emerged into the yard a sentry tried to stop him, but, with a single side spring, the Yankee eluded this danger and flung himself upon his bicycle, which he found leaning against the palace wall.
"Close the gates! Trap him!" was the cry, and the ponderous iron gates swung together with a clang. But just one second before they closed, the narrow bicycle, with its terror-stricken burden, slipped through into the street beyond and turned sharply to the west, gaining speed every instant. Droop had escaped for the moment, and now bent every effort upon reaching the Panchronicon in safety.
Then, as the tumult of futile chase faded into silence behind the straining fugitive, there might have been seen whirling through the ancient streets of London a weird and wondrous vision.
Perched on a whirl of spokes gleaming in the moonlight, a lean black figure in rumpled hose, with flying cloak, slipped ghostlike through the narrow streets at incredible speed. Many a footpad or bel
ated townsman, warned by the mystic tinkle of a spectral bell, had turned with a start, to faint or run at sight of this uncanny traveller.
His hat was gone and his close-cropped head bent low over the handle-bars. The skin-tight stockings had split from thigh to heel, mud flew from the tires, beplastering the luckless figure from nape to waist, and still, without pause, he pushed onward, ever onward, for London Bridge, for Southwark, and for safety. The way was tortuous, dark and unfamiliar, but it was for life or death, and Copernicus Droop was game.
CHAPTER XV
HOW REBECCA RETURNED TO NEWINGTON
Within the palace all was confusion and dismay. Only a very few knew the cause of this riot which had burst so suddenly upon the wonted peace of the place, and those few never in all their lives gave utterance to what they had learned.
Within the presence chamber Elizabeth lay on the floor in a swoon, surrounded by her women only. Among these was Rebecca, whose one thought was now to devise some plan for overtaking Droop. From the window she had witnessed his flight, and she had guessed his destination. She felt sure that if Droop reached the Panchronicon alone, he would depart alone, and then what was to become of Phoebe and herself?
Just as the Queen's eyes were opening and her face began to show a return of her passion with recollection of its cause, Rebecca had an inspiration, and with the promptitude of a desperate resolution, she acted upon it.
"Look a-here, your Majesty!" she said, vigorously, "let me speak alone with you a minute and I'll save you a lot of trouble. I know where that man keeps more of them machines."
This was a new idea to Elizabeth, who had destroyed, as she supposed, the only existing specimen of the malignant instrument.