34 MASTER SKYLARK

“What! How now?” he cried sharply. “Dost like or
like me not?”

“Why, sir?’ stammered Nick, utterly lost for anything
to say—“why, sir,—” and knowing nothing else to do, he
took off his cap and bowed.

“Come, come,” snapped the stranger, stamping his foot,
“T am a swashing, ruffling, desperate Dick, and not to be
made a common jest for Stratford dolts to giggle at
What! These legs, that have put on the very gentleman
in proud Verona’s streets, laid in Stratford’s common
stocks, like a silly apprentice’s slouching heels? Nay,
nay ; some one should taste old Bless-his-heart here first !”
and with that he clapped his hand upon the hilt of his
poniard, with a wonderful swaggering tilt of his shoulders.
“Dost take me, boy ?”

“Why, sir)’ hesitated Nick, no little awed by the
stranger’s wild words and imperious way, “ye surely are
the master-player.”

“There!” cried the stranger, whirling about, as if defy-
ing some one in the hedge. “Who said I could not act?
Why, see, he took me at a touch! Say, boy,” he laughed,
and turned to Nick, “thou art no fool. Why, boy, I say
I love thee now for this, since what hath passed in Strat-
ford. A murrain on the town! Dost hear me, boy ?—a
black murrain on the town!” And all at once he made
such a fierce stride toward Nick, gritting his white teeth,
and clapping his hand upon his poniard, that Nick drew
back afraid of him.

“But nay,” hissed the stranger, and spat with scorn;