292 MASTER SKYLARK

of the gentlemen from London were smiling in a very
knowing way.

He broke the seals, and loosening the thong which closed
the bag, took out two other bags, one of which was just
double its companion’s size. They also were tied with
silken cord and sealed with the two seals on red wax.
There was something printed roughly with a quill pen
upon each bag, but Master Shakspere kept that side turned
toward himself so that the others could not see.

“Come, come, Will,” broke in Master Jonson, “don’t
be all day about it!”

“The more haste the worse speed, Ben,” said Master
Shakspere, quietly. “I have a little story to tell ye all.”

So they all listened.

“When Gaston Carew, lately master-player of the Lord
High Admiral’s company, was arraigned before my Lord
Justice for the killing of that rascal, Fulk Sandells, there
was not a man of his own company had the grace to lend
him even so much as sympathy. But there were still some
in London who would not leave him totally friendless in
such straits.”

“Some?” interrupted Master Jonson, bluntly; “then
o-n-e spells ‘some.’ The names of them all were Will
Shakspere.”

“Tut, tut, Ben!” said Master Shakspere, and went on:
“But when the charge was read, and those against him
showed their hand, it was easy to see that the game was
up. No one saw this any sooner than Carew himself; yet
he carried himself like a man, and confessed the indictment