“Ver’ well,” said the waiter sadly, flicking a dead fly off the table with one end of his napkin. “It will be a shilling, if you please.” “Pay afterwards,” said John Bradshaw sharply. The waiter shrugged his shoulders. “I am ver’ sorry, but we mos’ always ask for ze monny before we bring ze Raisonola. We haf our orders. You see we haf often had a trouble to get ze monny afterwards from ze heirs. Tree weeks ago two gemmens kom in and order ze Raisonola. They trink it, and die all over ze floor.” (An expressive shrug of shoulders came in again here.) “We sweep ’em up, and throw ’em away, and they pay us nossin--nossin at all. It is all so moch loss.” His hands were turned outward, deprecatingly. “Look here, my man,” said Menenius Agrippa quickly. “Once upon a time the members refused to work any longer for the Belly, which----” “Dry up,” thundered John Bradshaw. “We must pay,” he added. “And it so befalleth that I have not my purse, but the Spanish Ambassador----” The Ambassador explained that he had only Spanish coins with him, which would not be accepted. Socrates hastily added the information that he always took his money straight home to Xantippe, and that if he was short that night there would be unpleasantness. Menenius said that he had no money, but would be glad to continue his fable. “Let’s see. Where was I? Oh, I know--any longer for the Belly, which----” “Do drop it,” sighed the Spanish Ambassador pathetically. “Silence,” said John Bradshaw. “Charles, be a man, and pay for your own execution.” Charles offered his note-of-hand and his royal word. He nothing common did or mean Upon that memorable scene. But the waiter refused them. And the five were compelled to leave the restaurant. There was a crowd round the door. When they had got clear of the crowd, one of their number was missing. It was Charles Marius. The rest of the story is well known. Charles Marius escaped to St. Helena, and spent the rest of his life in collaborating with Dr. Gauden on a novel called “Eikon Basilike.” The failure of the execution preyed upon John Bradshaw’s mind, and in a fit of madness he wrote the time-tables which bear his name. Menenius Agrippa became a diner-out, and acquired the surname of “History,” because he always repeated himself. The Ambassador still lives in his castle in Spain. * * * * * Clio had finished. “Thank you so much,” said the other Muses. II. EUTERPE’S STORY: THE GIRL AND THE MINSTREL.