“Perhaps you will be kind enough, sir,” said the tragedian, “to pay William Shakespeare your own compliments, for here he comes staggering under the receipts of the performance.”
The playwright, his face beaming with satisfaction, came towards them.
“We had near ten pound in the yard, Dick,” he said, with a frank disregard of all things except the business in hand. “That is, unless a half-crown that a little half-faced, chapt-shot, under-hung mouse of a fellow in a furred gown put upon me is a counterfeit. And I am sore afraid it is, unless my pooh old teeth have lost their integrity. Do you try it, Dick.”
The playwright handed the dubious coin to the tragedian.
“I presume you refer to my half-crown, sir?” said the Master of Balliol College, with great dignity.
“I hope, sir, I may presume to refer to it as your half-crown,” said Mr. William Shakespeare, “if my friend Shylock here adjudges it to be one. How now, Usurer, what say you?”
“If that is a half-crown,” said the tragedian, who had already bitten the coin nearly through, “I’ll never be paid in anything but five shilling pieces as long as I live.”
“But I protest, sir,” said the Master of Balliol College, warmly, “that coin was paid to me last evening by my much-honored friend here, Mr. Francis Bacon, over a game of primero.”
“The more shame to Mr. Francis Bacon, then,” said the tragedian, “that he should use such a coin for such a purpose in such a company.”
Mr. Francis Bacon examined for himself the dubious currency.