Sir Percevall, well aware that the Queen's fury, unless checked, would produce his and his client's ruin, determined to divert this flood of emotion into a new channel. With the insight of genius, the fat knight realized that only a woman's curiosity could avert a queen's rage, and with what speed he could he stumbled backward to where Droop had left his exhibits. He lifted the box containing the phonograph and, taking the instrument out, held it on the palm of his huge left hand and bent his eyes upon it in humble and resigned contemplation.
The quick roving eye of the angry Queen caught sight of this queer assemblage of cogs, levers, and cylinder, and for the first time her too-ready tongue tripped. She looked away and recovered herself to the end of the sentence. She could not resist another look, however, and this time her words came more slowly. She paused—wavered—and then fixed her gaze in silence upon the enigmatical device. There was a unanimous smothered sigh as the bystanders recognized their good fortune. Guido, frightened half to death, slipped unobserved out of a side door, and was never seen at Greenwich again. Nor has that fatal newspaper been heard from since.
"What may that be, Sir Percevall?" the Queen inquired at length, settling back in her chair as comfortably as her ruff would permit.
"This, my liege, is the phonograph," said the knight, straightening himself proudly.
"An my Greek be not at fault," said the Queen, "this name should purport a writer of sound."
Sir Percevall's face fell. He was no Greek scholar, and this query pushed him hard. Fortunately for him, Elizabeth turned to Droop as she concluded her sentence.
"Hath your invention this intent, Master Droop?" she said.
"Verily, I guess you've hit it—I wot that's right!" stammered the still frightened man.
A very audible murmur of admiration passed from one to another of the assembled courtiers and ladies-in-waiting. These expressions reached the ears of the Queen, for whom they were indeed intended, and the consciousness of her acumen restored Elizabeth entirely to good-humor.
"The conceit is very novel, is it not, my lord?" she said, turning to Baron Burleigh.