THE LAST STRAW 19

said it was a shame for players to penave so outrageously
in Will Shakspere’s own home town. And at that Sir
Thomas, who, y’ know, has always misliked Will, flared
up like a bull at a red rag, and swore that all stage-play-
ers be runagate rogues, anyway, and Will Shakspere
neither more nor less than a deer-stealing scape-gallows.”

“Surely he did na say that in Stratford Council?” pro-
tested Nick.

“Ay, but he did—that very thing,” said Robin; “and
when that was out, the master-player sprang upon the
table, overturning half the ale, and cried out that Will
Shakspere was his very own true friend, and the sweetest
fellow in all England, and that whosoever gainsaid it was
a hemp-cracking rascal, and that he would prove it upon
his back with a quarter-staff whenever and wherever he
chose, be he Sir Thomas Lucy, St. George and the Dragon,
Guy of Warwick, and the great dun cow, all rolled up in
one!”

“Robin Getley, is this the very truth, or art thou cozen-
ing me?”

“Upon my word, it is the truth,” said Robin. “And
that’s not all. Sir Edward cried out ‘Fie!’ upon the
player for a saucy varlet ; but the fellow only laughed, and
bowed quite low, and said that he took no offense from
Sir Edward for saying that, since it could not honestly be
denied, but that Sir Thomas did not know the truth from
a truckle-bed in broad daylight, and was but the remnant
of a gentleman to boot.”

“The bold-faced rogue!”