Chapter 14

THE FATE OF SIR PERCEVALL'S SUIT

In the inner chamber, Elizabeth was seated at a small table, at the opposite end of which sat Rebecca. Burleigh, Nottingham, and two or three other great lords stood near at hand, while one dish after another was brought in from the outer room by maids of honor.

Standing to the right of the Queen's chair was a dark man of foreign aspect, wearing the robes of a Doctor of Laws. In his hand was Rebecca's copy of the New York _World_, which he was perusing with an expression of the utmost perplexity.

"Well, Master Guido," said the Queen, "what make you of it?"

"Maesta eccellentissima--" the scholar began.

"Nay--nay. Speak good plain English, man," said the Queen. "The Lady Rebecca hath no Italian."

Messer Guido bowed and began again, speaking with a scarcely perceptible accent.

"Most Excellent Majesty, I have but begun perusal of this document. It promiseth matter for ten good years' research in the comparison of parts, interpretation of phrases, identifying customs, manners, dress, and the like."

"Nay, then," said the Queen, "with the help of the Lady Rebecca, 'twill be no weighty task, methinks. My lady, why partake you not of the pasty?" she said, turning to Rebecca. "Hath it not a very proper savor?"

"My, yes," Rebecca replied; "it's mighty good pie! Somehow, though, pie don't lay very good with me these days. Ye don't happen to have any tea, do ye?"

"Tea!"

"If I may venture--" said Guido, eagerly.

"Speak, Messer Guido."

"Why, it would appear, your Majesty, that tea is a sort of stuff for dresses--silk, belike."

"Stuff for dresses!" said Rebecca. "Stuff and nonsense! Why, tea's a drink!"

"A beverage! Then how explain you this?" the Italian cried, triumphantly. Lifting the newspaper, he read from it the following passage: "The illustration shows a charming tea-gown, a creation of Mme. Decollete."

"You see, Maesta--your Majesty--it is clear. A 'tea-gown' is shown in the drawing--a gown made of tea."

Rebecca had opened her mouth to overwhelm the poor savant with the truth when a page entered and stood before the Queen.

"Well, sirrah," said Elizabeth, "what is your message?"

"Sir Percevall Hart craves an audience, your Majesty, for himself and his American friend and client."

"Another American!" exclaimed the Queen.

"Copernicus Droop!" cried Rebecca.

"Know you Sir Percevall's friend, Lady Rebecca?" asked Elizabeth.

"Why, yes, your Majesty. He and I came over together from Peltonville. I believe he's after a patent."

"A patent? What mean you? Doth he ask for a patent of nobility--a title? Can this be the suit of the fat knight?"

"I don't know," said Rebecca. "'Tain't nothin' 'bout nobility, I'm sure, though. It's a patent on a phonograph, I b'lieve."

"Know you aught of this, my lord?" said Elizabeth, turning to Burleigh.

"Why, yes, your Majesty. I have to-day received from Sir Percevall Hart a letter written by my nephew, Francis Bacon----"

"Bacon! What! Ay--methinks we know somewhat of this same Francis," said the Queen, grimly. "A member of Parliament, is he not?"

"Even so, your Majesty," said Burleigh, somewhat crestfallen. "From this