THE MAY-DAY PLAY 58

been duly projected from the gates by Peter Hostler’s
hobnailed boot.

“Now, Nick,” said Carew, coming up all in a gale, and
throwing a sky-blue silken cloak about Nick’s shoulders,
“thou ‘It enter here”; and he led him to a hallway door
just opposite the gates. “When Master Whitelaw, as the
Duke, calls out, ‘How now, who comes?—I 11 match him
for the ale!’ be quickly in and answer to thy part; and,
marry, boy, don’t miss thy cues, or—tsst, thy head ’s not
worth a peascod!” With that he clapped his hand upon
his poniard and glared into Nick’s eyes, as if to look clear
through to the back of the boy’s wits. Nick heard his
white teeth grind, and was all at once very much afraid of
him, for he did indeed look dreadful.

So Nicholas Attwood stood by the entry door, with his
heart in his throat, waiting his turn.

He could hear the pages in the courtyard outside shout-
ing for stools for their masters, and squabbling over the
best places upon the stage. Then the gates creaked, and
there came a wild rush of feet and a great crying out
as the ’prentices and burghers trooped into the inn-yard,
pushing and crowding for places near the stage. Those
who had the money bawled aloud for farthing stools. The
rest stood jostling in a wrangling crowd upon the ground,
while up and down a girl’s shrill voice went all the time,
erying high, “ Cherry ripe, cherry ripe! Who ‘ll buy my
sweet May cherries?”

Then there was another shout, and a rattling tread of
feet along the wooden balconies that ran around the walls