“Walk?” cried the master-player, scornfully. “Thou, with thy golden throat? Nay, Nicholas, thou shalt ride to-morrow like a very king, if I have to pay for the horse myself, twelvepence the day!” and with that he began chuckling as if it were a joke.
But Nick stood up, and, bowing, thanked him gratefully; at which the master-player went from chuckling to laughing, and leered at Nick so oddly that the boy would have thought him tipsy, save that there had been nothing yet to drink. And a queer sense of uneasiness came creeping over him as he watched the master-player’s eyes opening and shutting, opening and shutting, so that one moment he seemed to be staring and the next almost asleep; though all the while his keen, dark eyes peered out from between the lids like old dog-foxes from their holes, looking Nick over from head to foot, and from foot to head again, as if measuring him with an ellwand.
When the supper came, filling the whole table and the sideboard too, Nick arose to serve the meat as he was used at home; but, “Nay, Nicholas Skylark, my honey-throat,” cried Carew, “sit thee down! Thou wait on me—thou songster of the silver tongue? Nay, nay, sweetheart; the knave shall wait on thee, or I’ll wait on thee myself—I will, upon my word! Why, Nick, I tell thee I love thee, and dost think I’d let thee wait or walk? nay, nay, thou’lt ride to-morrow like a king, and have all Stratford wait for thee!” At this he chuckled so that he almost choked upon a mouthful of bread and meat.
“Canst ride, Nicholas?”
“Fairly, sir.”
“Fairly? Fie, modesty! I warrant thou canst ride like a very centaur. What sayest—I’ll ride a ten-mile race with thee to-morrow as we go?”
“Why,” cried Nick, “are ye going back to Stratford to play, after all?”
“To Stratford? Nay; not for a bushel of good gold Harry shovel-boards! Bah! That town is ratsbane and nightshade in my mouth! Nay, we’ll not go back to Stratford town; but we shall ride a piece with thee, Nicholas,—we shall ride a piece with thee.”
Chuckling again to himself, he fell to upon the pasty and said no more.
Nick held his peace, as he was taught to do unless first spoken to; but he could not help thinking that stage-players, and master-players in particular, were very queer folk.