The Panchronicon Part 48

"Nay, then, why so choleric!" pleaded the knight, leaning anxiously across the table. "What terms do ye offer, Master Droop? Come, man, give a show of reason now--name your terms."

It was to this point that Copernicus had counted upon bringing the helpless knight, who was far from a match for a Yankee. He had driven his own bargain with Bacon, and he now resolved that Bacon's friend should fare no better. In pursuit of this plan, he moved from his seat with a sour face.

"I don't feel much like takin' up with a man who tries to do me," he grumbled, shaking his head and beckoning again to the drawer.

"Do thee, man--do thee!" cried the knight. "Why, an I do thee good, what cause for grief?" Spreading forth his two fat hands, he continued: "Spake I not fairly? An my offer be not to thy taste--say thine own say.

What the devil, man; must we quarrel perforce?"

Droop scratched his head and seemed to hesitate. Finally he slapped the table with his open hand and cried with a burst of generosity:

"I'll tell ye what I _will_ do. I've got two quart bottles of that same ripe whiskey, and I'll give 'em both to ye the day the Queen gives me my patents!"

"Nay--nay!" said the knight, straightening himself with dignity. "'Twere a mere fool's prank at such terms!"

"Oh, all right!" cried Droop, turning away.

"Hold--hold! Not so fast!" cried Sir Percevall. But Copernicus merely slapped his hat on his head and started toward the door.

Sir Percevall leaned over the table in flushed desperation.

"Listen, friend!" he cried. "Wilt make a jolly night of it in the bargain?"

Droop stopped and turned to his companion.

"D'ye mean right now?"

A nod was the reply.

"And you'll take my offer if I do?"

The knight sat upright and slapped the table.

"On my honor!" he cried.

"Then it's a go!" said Droop.

CHAPTER XII

HOW SHAKESPEARE WROTE HIS PLAYS

As Francis Bacon returned to London from the Peac.o.c.k, Phoebe had stood at the foot of the steps leading into the courtyard and watched him depart. She little foresaw the strange adventure into which he was destined to lead her sister. Indeed, her thoughts were too fully occupied with another to give admittance to Rebecca's image.

Her lover was in danger--danger to his life and honor. She knew he was to be saved, yet was not free from anxiety, for she felt that it was to be her task to save him. To this end she had sent Bacon with his message to Copernicus. She believed now that a retreat was ready for young Fenton. How would her confidence have been shaken could she have known that Copernicus had already left the Panchronicon and that Bacon had been sent in vain!

In ignorance of this, she stood now at the foot of the stairs and let her thoughts wander back to the day before, dwelling with tenderness upon the memory of her lover's patient attendance upon her in that group of rustic groundlings. With a self-reproachful ache at the heart she pictured herself as she had sat far up in the gallery gazing downward with every faculty centred upon the stage, while he, thinking only of her----

She started and looked quickly to right and left. Why, it was here, almost upon these very stones, that he had stood. Here she had seen him for one moment at the last as she was leaving her seat. He was leaning upon a rude wooden post. She sought it with her eyes and soon caught sight of it not ten feet away.

Then she noticed for the first time that she was not alone. A young fellow in the garb of a hostler stood almost where Guy had been the day before. He paid no attention to Phoebe, for he was apparently deeply preoccupied in carving some device upon the very post against which Guy had leaned.

Already occupied with her own tenderness, she was quick to conclude that here, too, was a lover, busy with some emblem of affection. Had not Orlando cut Rosalind's name into the bark of many a helpless tree?

Clasping her hands behind her, she smiled at the lad with head thrown back.

"A wager, lad!" she cried. "Two s.h.i.+llings to a groat thou art cutting a love-token!"

The fellow looked up and tried to hide his knife. Then, grinning, he replied:

"I'll no take your challenge, mistress. Yet, i' good faith, 'tis but to crown another's work."

Then, pointing with his blade:

"See where he hath carved letters four," he continued. "Wi' love-links, too. A watched un yestre'en, whiles the play was forward. A do but carve a heart wi' an arrow in't."

She blushed suddenly, wondering if it were Guy who had done this.

Stepping to the side of the stable-boy, she examined the post.

The letters were in pairs. They were M. B. and G. F.

Her feeling bubbled over in a little half-stifled laugh.

"Silly!" she exclaimed. Then to the boy: "Know you him who cut the letters?" she asked, with affected indifference.

"Nay, mistress," he replied, falling again to his work, "but he be a rare un wi' the bottle."

"The bottle!" Phoebe exclaimed, in amazement. Then quite sternly: "Thou beliest him, knave! No more sober--" She checked herself, suddenly conscious of her indiscretion.

"Why, how knowest his habits?" she asked, more quietly.

"A saw un, mistress, sitting in the kitchen wi' two bottles o' Spanish wine. Ask the player else."

"The player! What player?"

"Him as was drinking wi' him. Each cracked his bottle, and 'twas nip and tuck which should call first for the second."

So Guy had spent the evening--those hours when she was tenderly dreaming of him with love renewed--drinking and carousing with some dissolute actor!

Within her Phoebe Wise and Mary Burton struggled for mastery of her opinion.

What more natural than that a poor lad, tired with waiting on his feet for hours for one look from the mistress who disdained him, should seek to forget his troubles quaffing good wine in the company of some witty player? This was Mary's view.

What! To leave the presence of his sweetheart--the girl to whom he had just written that penitent letter--to go fresh from the inspiration of all that should uplift a lover, and befuddle his brains with "rum,"

gossiping with some coa.r.s.e-grained barn-stormer! So Phoebe railed.

"Who was the player?" she asked, sharply.