ay Chicago be?"

"Why it _was_ in--no! I mean it will be--oh, darn it all! Chicago's in
Illinois."

"Illinois--yes--and Illinois?" Bacon's dark eyes were turned in grave
question upon his companion.

"Why, that's in America, ye know."

"Oh!" said Bacon. Then, with a sigh of great relief: "Ah!" he exclaimed.

"Yea, verily--in sooth--or--or thereabouts," said Droop, not knowing
what to say.

"Ah, in America! A land of heathen savages--red-skinned hunters of men.
Yes--yes! 'Twere not impossible such persons might so misapprehend my
powers. 'Twould lie well within their shallow incapacities, methinks, to
impute to Francis Bacon, Barrister of Gray's Inn, Member of Parliament
for Melcombe, Reversionary Clerk of the Star Chamber, the friend of the
Earl of Essex--to impute to me, I say, these frothings of a villain
player--this Shake--eh? What?"

"Shakespeare."

"Ay."

Bacon paced placidly up and down for a few moments, while Droop followed
him apologetically with his eyes. Evidently this was a most important
personage. It behooved him to conciliate such a power as this. Who could
tell! Perhaps this friend of the Earl of Essex might be the capitalist
for whom he was in search.

For some time Master Bacon paced back and forth in silence, evidently
wrapped in his own thoughts. In the meantime Droop's hopes rose higher
and higher, and at length he could no longer contain himself.

"Why, Master Bacon," he said, "I'm clean surprised--yea, marry, am
I--that anybody could hev ben sech a fool--a--eh? Well, a
loon--what?--as to hev said you wrote Shakespeare. You're a man o'
science--that's what you are. You don't concern yourself with no
trumpery poetry. I can see that stickin' out."

Bacon was startled and examined himself hurriedly.

"What!" he exclaimed, "what is sticking out, friend?"

"Oh, I was jest sayin' it in the sense of the word!" said Droop,
apologetically. "What I mean is, it's clear that you're not a triflin'
poet, but a man of science--eh?"

"Why, no. I do claim some capacity in the diviner flights of lyric
letters, friend. You are not to despise poetry. Nay--rather contemn
those who bring scorn to the name of poet--vain writers for filthy
pence--fellows like this same Shakespeare."

"Yes--that's what I meant," said Droop, anxious to come to the point.
"But your high-water mark is science--philosophy--all that. Now, you're
somethin' of a capitalist, too, I surmise."

He paused expectant.

"A what