The Panchronicon Part 56

"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 advertis.e.m.e.nt 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 doc.u.ment----"

"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 G.o.d'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 a.s.semblage 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 un.o.bserved 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 pa.s.sed from one to another of the a.s.sembled courtiers and ladies-in-waiting. These expressions reached the ears of the Queen, for whom they were indeed intended, and the consciousness of her ac.u.men 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 pa.s.sing 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 p.r.i.c.keth 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 t.i.tle 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 bra.s.s megaphone, and, having wound the motor, pressed the starting-b.u.t.ton. 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 n.o.body in America."

Droop glanced reproachfully at his compatriot, but concluded not to give expression to his feelings. Accordingly, he very quickly subst.i.tuted 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 antic.i.p.ation, 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.