"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 advertisement 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 document——"
"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 God'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.