He took it from her unresisting fingers.
"Je-ru-sa-lem!" he cried, fluttering the twenty pages.
"Yes," she said, "that's—that's the name of it, Mr. Butters," and straightway set herself to rights again.
IV
THE SEVENTH SLICE
I
t was the editor himself who told me the story years afterwards—Butters of "The Pide Bull," as he ever afterwards called his shop, for in her gratitude Letitia had pointed out to him how natural it was that he of all men should be the patron of poets, since beyond a doubt, she averred, he was descended from that very Nathaniel Butter for whom was printed the first quarto edition of King Lear. Indeed, with the proofs of "Jerusalem" she brought him the doctor's Shakespeare, and showed him in the preface to the tragedy the record of an antique title-page bearing these very words:
"Printed for Nathaniel Butter, and are to be sold at his shop in Paul's Churchyard at the signe of the Pide Bull neere St. Austin's Gate, 1608."