my friend Bacon makes Ingo say, 'Beware, my lord, of jealousy.' You
never could play a garden hose, much less a fiddle."

"What do you mean my attributing those words to Bacon?" demanded
Shakespeare, getting red in the face.

"Oh, come now, William," remonstrated Nero. "It's all right to pull the
wool over the eyes of the mortals. That's what they're there for; but as
for us--we're all in the secret here. What's the use of putting on
nonsense with us?"

"We'll see in a minute what the use is," retorted the Avonian. "We'll
have Bacon down here." Here he touched an electric button, and Charon
came in answer.

"Charon, bring Doctor Johnson the usual glass of ale. Get some ice for
the Emperor, and ask Lord Bacon to step down here a minute."

"I don't want any ice," said Nero.

"Not now," retorted Shakespeare, "but you will in a few minutes. When we
have finished with you, you'll want an iceberg. I'm getting tired of
this idiotic talk about not having written my own works. There's one
thing about Nero's music that I've never said, because I haven't wanted
to hurt his feelings, but since he has chosen to cast aspersions upon my
honesty I haven't any hesitation in saying it now. I believe it was one
of his fiddlings that sent Nature into convulsions and caused the
destruction of Pompeii--so there! Put that on your music rack and fiddle
it, my little Emperor."