“No doubt, sir,” said the Master of Balliol College, with an air of pained dignity. “But, pray, convey my compliments to your Johannes Factotum, and inform him that if he will give his days and nights diligently to the study of Aristotle, he may, by the time he is a very old man, be able to produce a passable play without doing grave violence to the dramatic unities.” “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. “It cannot be the one I gave you, Master,” he said, as soon as he was able to assure himself that the coin was false. “Certainly it is, Francis,” said the Master of Balliol College, with a pained air. “I cannot believe it, Master. However--” Mr. Francis put the coin in his pocket with the quiet dignity of one who realizes the force of the old adage, _noblesse oblige_: which, in plain English, may be taken to mean that it ill becomes gentlemen to argue among themselves in the presence of the commonalty. “However, as I was saying, Master, to return to Aristotle, that much-overrated sciolist, I do most cordially approve your critical acumen when you say that if our friend Master Shakescene----” “Master Shakespeare,” interposed the tragedian, solemnly.