Alas! The monologue was an account of how a farmer got the best of a bunco steerer in New York City, and was delivered in the esoteric dialect of the Bowery. It was not long before willing smiles gave place to long-drawn faces of comic bewilderment, and, although Copernicus set his best example by artificial grins and pretended inward laughter, he could evoke naught but silence and bored looks.
"Marry, sir," said Elizabeth, when the monologue was at an end, "this needs be some speech of an American empire other than that you come from. Could you make aught of it, Lady Rebecca?"
"Nothin' on airth!" was the reply. "Only a word now an' then about a farmer—an' somethin' about hayseed."
"Now, here's a reg'lar bird!" said Droop, hastily, as he put in a new cylinder.
"Can you thus record e'en the voices of fowls?" said the Queen, with renewed interest.
Hopeless of explaining, Droop bowed and touched the starting-button. The announcement came at once.
"Liberty Bells March—Edison Record," and after a few preliminary flourishes, a large brass band could be heard in full career.
This proved far more pleasing to the Queen and her suite.
"So God mend us, a merry tune and full of harmony!" said the Queen.
"But that ain't all, your Majesty," said Droop. "Here's a blank cylinder, now." He adjusted it as he spoke and unceremoniously pushed the instrument close to the Queen. "Here," he said, "jest you talk anythin' you want to in there and you'll see suthin' funny, I'll bet ye!" He was thoroughly warmed to his work now, and the little court etiquette which he had acquired dropped from him entirely.