As soon as the play, which was Shakespeare’s _Julius Cæsar_, began, Partridge was all attention, nor did he break silence till the scene in Brutus’s orchard, when he asked Jones, “What season of the year is it, Sir?” Jones answered, “Wait but a moment and you shall hear the boy Lucius say it is the 14th of March.” To which Partridge replied with a smile, “Ay, then I understand why the boy was asleep. Had it been in apple-harvesting time I warrant you he would have been awake and busy as soon as what’s-his-name, Squire Brutus, had turned his back.” And upon the entreaties of Portia to share Brutus’s confidence he inquired if she was not a Somersetshire wench. “For Madam,” said he, “is mighty like the housewives in our county, who will plague their husbands to death rather than let ’em keep a secret.” Nor was he satisfied with Cæsar’s yielding to Calphurnia’s objections against his going to the Capitol. “Ay, anything to please your wife, you old dotard,” said he; “you might have known better than to give heed to a silly woman’s nightmares.” When they came to the Forum scene and the speeches of Brutus and Antony, Partridge sat with his eyes fixed on the orators and with his mouth open. The same passions which succeeded each other in the crowd of citizens succeeded likewise in him. He was at first all for Brutus and then all for Antony, until he learnt that Cæsar had left 75 drachmas to every Roman citizen. “How much is that in our English money?” he asked Jones, who answered that it was about two guineas. At that he looked chapfallen, bethinking him that, though a round sum, it was not enough to warrant the crowd in such extravagant rejoicing. “I begin to suspect, Sir,” said he to Jones, “this Squire Antony hath not been above hoodwinking us, but he seemed so much more concerned about the matter than the other speaker, Brutus, that I for one couldn’t help believing every word he said. Yet I believed the other one, too, when he was talking, and I was mightily pleased with what he said about liberty and Britons never being slaves.” “You mean Romans,” answered Jones, “not Britons.” “Well, well,” said Partridge, “I know it is only a play, but if I thought they were merely Romans, and not Britons at heart, I should not care a hang about ’em or what became of ’em.”