y and chat with Lord Bacon.

"Hullo, William," said the Doctor, pocketing three balls on the break.
"How's our little Swanlet of Avon this afternoon?"

"Worn out," Shakespeare replied. "I've been hard at work on a play this
morning, and I'm tired."

"All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy," said Nero, grinning
broadly.

"You are a bright spirit," said Shakespeare, with a sigh. "I wish I had
thought to work you up into a tragedy."

"I've often wondered why you didn't," said Doctor Johnson. "He'd have
made a superb tragedy, Nero would. I don't believe there was any kind of
a crime he left uncommitted. Was there, Emperor?"

"Yes. I never wrote an English dictionary," returned the Emperor, dryly.
"I've murdered everything but English, though."

"I could have made a fine tragedy out of you," said Shakespeare. "Just
think what a dreadful climax for a tragedy it would be, Johnson, to have
Nero, as the curtain fell, playing a violin solo."

"Pretty good," returned the Doctor. "But what's the use of killing off
your audience that way? It's better business to let 'em live, I say.
Suppose Nero gave a London audience that little musicale he provided at
Queen Elizabeth's Wednesday night. How many purely mortal beings, do you
think, would have come out alive?"

"Not one," said Shakespeare. "I was mighty glad that night that we were
an immortal band. If it had been possible to kill us we'd have died then
and there."

"That's all right," said Nero, with a significant shake of his head. "As
my friend Bacon makes Ingo say, 'Beware, my lord, of jealousy.' You
never could play a garden hose, much less a fiddle."

"What do you mean my attributing those words to Bacon?" demanded
Shakespeare, getting red in the face.

"Oh, come now, William," remonstrated Nero. "It's all right to pull the
wool over the eyes of the mortals. That's what they're there for; but as
for us--we're all in the secret here. What's the use of putting on
nonsense with us?"

"We'll see in a minute what the use is," retorted the Avonian. "We'll
have Bacon down here." Here he touched an electric button, and Charon
came in answer.

"Charon, bring Doctor Johnson the usual glass of ale. Get some ice for
the Emperor, and ask Lord Bacon to step down here a minute."

"I don't want any ice," said Nero.

"Not now," retorted Shakespeare, "but you will in a few minutes. When we
have finished with you, you'll want an iceberg. I'm getting t