is visitor.

"My name's Droop--Copernicus Droop," he said. "An' you----"

"My name is Francis Bacon, Master Droop--your servitor," he bowed
slightly.

Droop started up stiff and straight in his chair.

"Francis Bacon!" he exclaimed. "What! Not the one as wrote Shakespeare?"

"Shakespeare--Shakespeare!" said the stranger, in a slow, puzzled tone.
"I do admit having made some humble essays in writing--certain
modest commentaries upon human motives and relations--but, in good
sooth, the title you have named, Master Droop, is unknown to me.
Shakespeare--Shakespeare. Pray, sir, is it a homily or an essay?"

"Why, ye see, et's--as fur's I know it's a man--a sorter poet or genius
or play-writin' man," said Droop, somewhat confused.

"A man--a poet--a genius?" Bacon repeated, gravely. "Then, prithee,
friend, how meant you in saying you thought me him who had written
Shakespeare? Can a man--a poet--be written?"

"Nay--verily--in good sooth--marry, no!" stuttered Droop. "What they
mean is thet 'twas you wrote the things Shakespeare put his name
to--you did, didn't you?"

"Ahem!" said the stranger, with dubious slowness. "A poet--a genius, you
say? And I understand that I am reputed to have been the true author
of--eh?"

"Yes, indeed--yea--la!" exclaimed Droop, now sadly confused.

"Might I ask the name of some work imputed to me, and which this--this
Shake--eh----"

"Shakespeare."

"Ay, this Shakespeare hath impudently claimed for his own credit and
reputation?"

"Well--why--suffer me--jest wait a minute," said Droop. He clutched the
book he had been reading and opened it at random. "Here," he said.
"'Love's Labor's Lost,' for instance."

"What!" exclaimed Bacon, starting indignantly to his feet. "'Tis but a
sennight I saw this same dull nonsense played by the Lord Chamberlain's
players. 'Love's Labor's--" he broke off and repressed his choler with
some effort. Then in a slow, grave voice he continued: "Why, sir, you
have been sadly abused. Surely the few essays I have made in the field
of letters may stand my warrant that I should not so demean myself as is
implied in this repute of me. Pray tell me, sir, who are they that so
besmirch my reputation as to impute to my poor authority the pitiful
lines of this rascal player?"

"Why, in very truth--marry, it's in that book. It was printed in
Chicago."

Bacon glanced contemptuously at the volume without deigning to open it.

"And prithee, Master Droop, where m