128 MASTER SKYLARK

formed the letters: he was no expert penman, this Phil
Henslowe, the stager of plays.

He looked up as they came to the step.

“A poor trip, Carew,” said he, running his finger down
the column of figures he was adding. “The play was
hardly worth the candle—cleared but five pound ; and then,
after I had paid the carman three shilling fip to bring the
stuff down from the City, ’t was lost in the river from the
barge at Paul’s wharf! <A good two pound.”

“Hard luck!” said Carew.

“Hard? Adamantine, I say! Why, ’t is very stones
for luck, and the whole road rocky! Here ’s Burbage,
Condell, and Will Shakspere ha’ rebuilt Blackfriars play-
house in famous shape; and, marry, where are we?”

Nick started. An idea came creeping into his head.
Will Shakspere had married his mother’s own cousin, Anne
Hathaway of Shottery ; and he had often heard his mother
say that Master Shakspere had ever been her own good
friend when they were young.

“He and Jonson be thick as thieves,” said Henslowe;
“and Chettle says that Will hath near done the book of a
new play for the autumn—a master fine thing !—‘ Romulus
and Juliana, or something of that Italian sort, to follow
Ben Jonson’s comedy. Ned Alleyn played a sweet fool
about Ben’s comedy. Called it monstrous bad; and now
it has taken the money out of our mouths to the tune of
nine pound six the day—and here, while ye were gone, I
ha’ played my Lord of Pembroke’s men in your ‘Robin
Hood,’ Heywood, to scant twelve shilling in the house!”