He was beginning to feel that he had been
caught up in an episode of Telly's _Twilight Zone_. Just then, he caught
a glimpse of a portly gentleman approaching him from the front of the
plane. He assumed there was another passenger after all, one who must
have been sitting in the front seat, and too low for his head to be
visible. However, as the gentleman approached closer to where Graham was
seated, the boy became even more perplexed. The gentleman in question
was none other than William Shakespeare! Oh, there was no mistaking such
an historical figure. Graham had seen paintings and drawings of him many
times. And his clothes and features were an exact replica of those
portrayals. Not only that, but he was carrying a great big book entitled
_The Complete Works of William Shakespeare_. Suddenly Graham flushed
with embarrassment. How could he think for one moment that this was
William Shakespeare? The fellow was obviously an actor, perhaps on his
way home from making a movie and so late for his flight that he did not
have time to change his clothes or remove his makeup. At that moment the
gentleman spoke ... "Good day, my dear fellow. My name is William
Shakespeare. Do you mind if I sit here? The plane's rather crowded and I
see that you have the whole aisle to yourself."

[Illustration]

"Okay! That's it," thought Graham. "The guy's a definite nut case. Must
have escaped from the looney bin and somehow got to Oz. The plane's
crowded indeed! He and I are the only passengers! Every single seat is
empty." However, "Mr. Shakespeare" seated himself next to Graham without
waiting for a reply. "I know that you don't believe I'm who I say I am,"
he said. "But I can assure you, I am he who is often referred to as The
Bard of Avon. All I'd like you to do is to tell earth's disbelievers who
don't accept that I wrote my works that I did indeed write them."
Without waiting for Graham to respond, he then proceeded to break into
verse in a gentle, melodic voice:

"_I am he who wrote my verse,
My dramas, sonnets, quibbles, rhyme,
I'm Shakespeare still--dear England's Bard--
And shall ever be, throughout time.

I wrote, 'tis true, some sonnets, plays,
To make a living, pass the time
In merriment or jest and glee--
I turned out many a ribaled rhyme.

To set the world right,
And make snivelers agree
As to who wrote Shakespeare,
If 'twere BACON or He,

Or Marlowe or Pitt,
Or scribes ages old,
I s