18 MASTER SKYLARK

time to learn them at home. “Stratford Council has had
a quarrel, and there ’s to be no stage-play after all.”

“What?” cried Nick, in amazement. “No stage-play?
And why not?”

“Why,” said Robin, “it was just this way—my father
told me ofit. Sir Thomas Lucy, High Sheriff of Worces-
ter, y’ know, rode in from Charlcote yesternoon, and
with him Sir Edward Greville of Milcote. So the bur-
gesses made a feast for them at the Swan Inn. Sir
Thomas fetched a fine, fat buck, and the town stood good
for ninepence wine and twopence bread, and broached a
keg of sturgeon. And when they were all met together
there, eating, and drinking, and making merry—what?
Why, in came my Lord Admiral’s players from London
town, ruffling it like high dukes, and not caring two pops
for Sir Thomas, or Sir Edward, or for Stratford burgesses
all in a heap; but sat them down at the table straightway,
and called for ale, as if they owned the place; and not
being served as soon as they desired, they laid hands upon
Sir Thomas’s server as he came in from the buttery with
his tray full, and took both meat and drink.”

“What?” cried Nick.

“As sure as shooting, they did!” said Robin; “and
when Sir Thomas’s gentry yeomen would have seen to it
—what? Why, my Lord Admiral’s master-player clapped
his hand to his poniard-hilt, and dared them come and
take it if they could.”

“To Sir Thomas Lucy’s men?” exclaimed Nick, aghast.

“Ay, to their teeth! Sir Edward sprang up then, and