CHAPTER XVII
CAREW'S OFFER
Next morning Carew donned his plum-colored cloak, and with Nick's handheld tightly in his own went out of the door and down the steps into adrifting fog which filled the street, the bandy-legged man with theribbon in his ear following close upon their heels.
People passed them like shadows in the mist, and all the houses were ablur until they came into a wide, open place where the wind blew freeabove a wall with many great gates.
In the middle of this open place a huge gray building stood, staring outover the housetops--a great cathedral, wonderful and old. Its walls weredark with time and smoke and damp, and the lofty tower that rose aboveit was in part but a hollow shell split by lightning and blackened byfire. But crowded between its massive buttresses were booths andchapmen's stalls; against its hoary side a small church leaned like achild against a mother's breast; and in and round about it eddied athrong of men like ants upon a busy hill.
All around the outer square were shops with gilded fronts and mostamazing signs: golden angels with outstretched wings, tiger heads,bears, brazen serpents, and silver cranes; and in and out of theshop-doors darted apprentices with new-bound books and fresh-printedslips; for this was old St. Paul's, the meeting-place of London town,and in Paul's Yard the printers and the bookmen dealt.
With a deal of elbowing the master-player came up the broad steps intothe cathedral, and down the aisle to the pillars where themerchant-tailors stood with table-books in hand, and there ordered abrand-new suit of clothes for Nick of old Roger Shearman, the bestcloth-cutter in Threadneedle street.
While they were deep in silk and silver thread, Haerlem linen, andLeyden camelot, Nick stared about him half aghast; for it was to himlittle less than monstrous to see a church so thronged with merchantsplying their trades as if the place were no more sacred than a booth inthe public square.
The long nave of the cathedral was crowded with mercers from Cheapside,drapers from Throgmorton street, stationers from Ludgate Hill, andgoldsmiths from Foster lane, hats on, loud-voiced, and using the veryfont itself for a counter. By the columns beyond, sly, foxy-facedlawyers hobnobbed; and on long benches by the wall, cast-offserving-men, varlets, grooms, pastry-bakers, and pages sat, waiting tobe hired by some new master. Besides these who came on business therewas a host of gallants in gold-laced silk and velvet promenading up anddown the aisle, with no business there at all but to show their facesand their clothes. And all about were solemn shrines and monuments andtombs, and overhead a splendid window burned like a wheel of fire in theeastern wall.
While Nick stared, speechless, a party of the Admiral's placers camestrolling by, their heads half hidden in their huge starched ruffs, andwith prodigious swords that would have dragged along the ground had theynot been cocked up behind so fiercely in the air. Seeing Master Carewand the boy, they stopped in passing to greet them gaily.
Master Heywood was there, and bowed to Nick with a kindly smile. Hiscompanion was a handsome, proud-mouthed man with a blue, smooth-shavenface and a jet-black periwig. Him Carew drew aside and spoke with in anearnest undertone. As he talked, the other began to stare at Nick as ifhe were some curious thing in a cage.
"Upon my soul," said Carew, "ye never heard the like of it. He hath avoice as sweet and clear as if Puck had burst a honey-bag inhis throat."
"No doubt," replied the other, carelessly; "and all the birds will hidetheir heads when he begins to sing. But we don't want him, Carew--not ifhe had a voice like Miriam the Jew. Henslowe has just bought little JemBristow of Will Augusten for eight pound sterling, and business is toobad to warrant any more."
"Who spoke of selling?" said Carew, sharply. "Don't flatter your chancesso, Master Alleyn. I wouldn't sell the boy for a world full of JemBristows. Why, his mouth is a mint where common words are coined intogold! Sell him? I think I see myself in Bedlam for a fool! Nay, MasterAlleyn, what I am coming at is this: I'll place him at the Rose, to dohis turn in the play with the rest of us, or out of it alone, as yechoose, for one fourth of the whole receipts over and above my old sharein the venture. Do ye take me?"
"Take you? One fourth the whole receipts! Zounds! man, do ye think wehave a spigot in El Dorado?"
"Tush! Master Alleyn, don't make a poor mouth; you're none so needy. Youand Henslowe have made a heap of money out of us all."
"And what of that? Yesterday's butter won't smooth to-day's bread. 'Tisabsurd of you, Carew, to ask one fourth and leave all the risk on us,with the outlook as it is! Here's that fellow Langley has built a newplay-house in Paris Garden, nearer to the landing than we are, and isstealing our business most scurvily!"
Carew shrugged his shoulders.
"And what's more, the very comedy for which Ben Jonson left us, becausewe would not put it on, has been taken up by the Burbages on WillShakspere's say-so, and is running famously at the Curtain."
"I told you so, Master Alleyn, when the fellow was fresh from theNetherlands," said Carew; "but your ears were plugged with your ownconceit. Young Jonson is no flatfish, if he did lay brick; he's a plumworth anybody's picking."
"But, plague take it, Carew, those Burbages have all the plums! Sincethey weaned Will Shakspere from us everything has gone wrong. Kemp hasleft us; old John Lowin, too; and now the Lord Mayor and Privy Councilhave soured on the play again and forbidden all playing on the Bankside,outside the City or no."
Carew whistled softly to himself.
"And since my Lord Chamberlain has been patron of the Burbages he willnot so much as turn a hand to revive the old game of bull- andbear-baiting, and Phil and I have kept the Queen's bulldogs going on atwelvemonth now at our own expense--a pretty canker on our profits! Why,Carew, as Will Shakspere used to say, 'One woe doth tread the other'sheels, so fast they follow!' And what's to do?"
"What's to do?" said Carew. "Why, I've told ye what's to do. Ye've heardWill say, 'There is a tide leads on to fortune if ye take it at theflood'? Well, Master Alleyn, here's the tide, and at the flood. I haveoffered you an argosy. Will ye sail or stick in the mud? Ye'll neverhave such a chance again. Come, one fourth over my old share, and I willfill your purse so full of gold that it will gape like a stuffed toad.His is the sweetest skylark voice that ever sugared ears!"
"But, man, man, one fourth!"
"Better one fourth than lose it all," said Carew. "But, pshaw! MasterNed Alleyn, I'll not beg a man to swim that's bent on drowning! We willbe at the play-house this afternoon; mayhap thou'lt have thought betterof it by then." With a curt bow he was off through the crowd, Nick'shand in his own clenched very tight.
They had hard work getting down the steps, for two hot-headed gallantswere quarreling there as to who should come up first, and there was agreat press. But Carew scowled and showed his teeth, and clenched hisponiard-hilt so fiercely that the commoners fell away and let them down.
Nick's eyes were hungry for the printers' stalls where ballad-sheetswere sold for a penny, and where the books were piled along the shelvesuntil he wondered if all London were turned printer. He looked about tosee if he might chance upon Diccon Field; but Carew came so quicklythrough the crowd that Nick had not time to recognize Diccon if he hadbeen there. Diccon had often made Nick whistles from the pollard willowsalong the Avon below the tannery when Nick was a toddler in smocks, andthe lad thought he would like to see him before going back to Stratford.Then, too, his mother had always liked Diccon Field, and would be gladto hear from him. At thought of his mother he gave a happy little skip;and as they turned into Paternoster Bow, "Master Carew," said he, "howsoon shall I go home?"
Carew walked a little faster.
There had arisen a sound of shouting and a trampling of feet. Theconstables had taken a purse-cutting thief, and were coming up to theNewgate prison with a great rabble behind them. The fellow's head wasbroken, and his haggard face was all screwed up with pain; but thatdid not stop the boys from hooting at him, and asking in mockery how hethought he would like to be hanged and to dance on nothing atTyburn Hill.
"DICCON HAD OFTEN MADE NICK WHISTLES FROM THE WILLOWSALONG THE AVON WHEN NICK WAS A TODDLER."]
"Did ye hear me, Master Carew?" asked Nick.
The master-player stepped aside a moment into a doorway to let the mobgo by, and then strode on.
Nick tried again: "I pray thee, sir--"
"Do not pray me," said Carew, sharply; "I am no Indian idol."
"But, good Master Carew--"
"Nor call me good--I am not good."
"But, Master Carew," faltered Nick, with a sinking sensation around hisheart, "when will ye leave me go home?"
The master-player did not reply, but strode on rapidly, gnawing hismustache.