IN THE WARWICK ROAD 29

“Why art going to Coventry, Nick?” inquired Roger.
suddenly, startled by a thought coming into his wits like
a child by a bat in the room.

“To see the stage-play that the burgesses would na allow
in Stratford.”

“Wull I see, too?”

“Tf thou hast eyes—the Mayor's show is free.”

“Oh, feckins, wun’t it be fine?” gaped Hodge. “Be it
a tailors’ show, Nick, wi? Herod the King, and a rope for
to hang Judas? An’ wull they set the world afire wi’ a
torch, an’ make the earth quake fearful wi’ a barrel full
o’ stones? Or wullit be Sin in a motley gown a-thumping
the Black Man over the pate wi’ a bladder full 0’ peasen—
aw’ angels wi’ silver wingses, an’ saints wi’ goolden hair?
Or wull it be a giant nine yards high, clad in the beards
o’ murdered kings, like granny saith she used to see?”

“Pshaw! no,” said Nick; “none of those old-fashioned
things. These be players from London town, and I hope
they ll play a right good English history-play, like ‘The
Famous Victories of Henry Fift, to turn a fellow’s legs
all goose-flesh ! ”

Hodge stopped short in the road. “La!” said he, “1711
go no furder if they turn me to a goose. I wunnof be
turned goose, Nick Attwood—an’ a plague on all witches,
says I!”

“Oh, pshaw!” laughed Nick; “come on. No witch in
the world could turn thee bigger goose than thou art now.
Come along wi’ thee; there be no witches there at all.”

“ Art sure thou ’rt not bedaffing me?” hesitated Hodge