the history of another of Mr. Sherlock Holmes' little problems shall be given to the world."
"It will always be a reflection upon Sir Nathaniel," I demurred.
"He will glory in it," prophesied Sherlock Holmes. "He will go down in bookish chronicle with Chatterton, and Ireland, and Payne Collier. Mark my words, he is not blind even now to the chance this gives him for sinister immortality. He will be the first to tell it." (And so, indeed, it proved, as this narrative suggests.)
"But why did you preserve the leaf from Hamlet?" I curiously inquired. "Why not a jewel from the binding?"
Sherlock Holmes chuckled heartily. Then he slowly unfolded the page in question, and directed a humorous finger at a spot upon the page.
"A fancy," he responded, "to preserve so accurate a characterization of either of our friends. The line is a real jewel. See, the good Polonius says: ‘That he is mad, 'tis true: 'tis true 'tis pittie; and pittie it is true.’ There is as much sense in Master Will as in Hafiz or Confucius, and a greater felicity of expression. . . Here is London, and now, my dear Watson, if we hasten we shall be just in time for Zabriski's matinee!"
