284 MASTER SKYLARK

“What? Then he ’d never tan another hide!”

“And would that serve the purpose, Ben? The cure
should better the disease—the children must be thought
about.”

“The children? Why, as for them,” said Master Jon-
son, in his blunt, outspoken way, “I ’ll think thee a
thought offhand to serve the turn. What? Why, this
tanner calls us vagabonds. Wagabonds, forsooth! Yet
vagabonds are gallows-birds, and gallows-birds are ravens.
And ravens, men say, do foster forlorn children. Take
my point? Good, then; let us ravenous vagabonds take
these two children for our own, Will,—thou one, I t’ other,
—and by praiseworthy fostering singe this fellow’s very
brain with shame.”

“Why, here, here, Ben Jonson,” spoke up Master Bur-
bage, “this is all very well for Will and thee; but, pray,
where do Hemynge, Condell, and I come in upon the bill?
Come, man, ’t is a pity if we cannot all stand together in
this real play as well as in all the make-believe.”

“That ’s my sort!” cried Master Hemynge. “ Why,
what? Here is a player’s daughter who has no father,
and a player whose father will not have him,—orphaned
by fate, and disinherited by folly,—common stock with us
all! Marry, ’t is a sort of stock I want some of. Kind
hearts are trumps, my honest Ben—make it a stock com-
pany, and let us all be in.”

“That’s no bad fancy,” added Condell, slowly, for Henry
Condell was a cold, shrewd man. ‘“There’s merit in the
lad beside his voice—that cannot keep its freshness long ;