LONDON TOWN 93

him jovially between the shoulders with his brawny hand;
“eome out, and go along o’ the master here,—’t is for thy
good,—and ho-ome wull keep, I trow, till thou dost come
again.”

But Nick hung back, and clung to the blacksmith’s grimy
arm, crying in despair: “I will na—oh, I will na!”

“Tut, tut!” eried Master Carew. “Come, Nicholas; I
mean thee well, I ll speak thee fair, and I ‘Il treat thee
true”—and he smiled so frankly that even Nick’s doubts
almost wavered. ‘Come, Ill swear it on my hilt,” said
he.

The smith’s brow clouded. “Nay,” said he; “we ’ll no
swearing by hilts or by holies here; the bailiff will na have
it, sir.”

“Good! then upon mine honour as an Englishman!”
eried Carew. “What, how, bullies? Upon mine honour
as an Englishman !—how is it? Here we be, all English- ©
men together!” and he clapped his hand to Will Hostler’s
shoulder, whereat Will stood up very straight and looked
around, as if all at once he were somebody instead of some-
what less than nobody at all of any consequence. “ What!
—ye are all for fair play ?—and I am for fair play, and
good Master Smith, with his beautiful shoe, here, is for
fair play! Why, sirs, my bullies, we are all for fair play ;
and what more can a man ask than good, downright Eng-
lish fair play? Nothing, say I. Fair play first, last, and
all the time!” and he waved his hand. “Hurrah for
downright English fair play !”

“Hurrah, hurrah!” bellowed the crowd, swept along