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Updated: May 27, 2025
And at last it was knocked down to the famous player himself for one hundred guineas in gold, and that evening he held a vast audience of thousands breathless under the spell of the music he drew from the old, dirty, blackened, despised violin. It was despised till the master-player took possession. Its worth was not known.
Nick and the master-player came down Ludgate Hill to Blackfriars landing in a stream of merrymakers, high and low, rich and poor, faring forth to London's greatest thoroughfare, the Thames; and as the river and the noble mansions along the Strand came into view, Nick's heart beat fast. It was a sight to stir the pulse.
The man who had the jackanapes played upon a pipe and a tabor; and when he said, "Dance!" the jackanapes danced, for it was sorely afraid of the man. Yet when Nick looked around and did not see the master-player anywhere in the hall, he felt exceedingly lonely all at once without him, though he both feared and hated him.
And at that the master-player threw his glove into Master Stubbes's face, and called Sir Thomas a stupid old bell-wether, and Stratford burgesses silly sheep for following wherever he chose to jump." "And so they be," sneered Hal Saddler. "How?" cried Robin, hotly. "My father is a burgess. Dost thou call him a sheep, Hal Saddler?"
Marry, what dost say to that?" "I'd like another barley-cake." "You'd what?" cried the master-player, letting the front legs of his chair come down on the floor with a thump. "I'd like another barley-cake," said Nick, quietly, helping himself to the honey. "Upon my word, and on the remnant of mine honour!" ejaculated Carew. "Tell a man his fortune's made, and he calls for barley-cakes!
He looks through a pair of rogue's eyes and sees the whole world rogue. Why, boy," cried the master-player, vehemently, "he thought to buy my tongue! Marry, if tongues were troubles he has bought himself a peck! What! Buy my silence? Nay, he'll see a deadly flash of silence when I come to my Lord the Admiral again!" It was past high noon, and they had long since left Warwick castle far behind.
And having dried him thoroughly, he rubbed him with a waxy ointment that smelled of henbane and poppies, until the aching was almost gone. So soft and so kind was he withal that Nick took heart after a little and asked timidly, "And ye will let me go home to-day, sir, will ye not?" The master-player frowned. "Please, Master Carew, let me go."
"Said!" cried the master-player, with a bitter smile; "why, Nick, I'd say ten times more in one little minute just to hear thee sing than I would stand to in a month of Easters afterward. Come, Nick, be fair. I'll feed thee full and dress thee well and treat thee true all for that song of thine." "But, sir, my mother " "Why, Carew, hath the boy a mother, too?" cried the writer of comedies.
And when Nick had ended the master-player had not a word to say, but for half a mile gnawed his mustache in nervous silence, and looked Nick all over with a long and earnest look. Then suddenly he slapped his thigh, and tossed his head back boldly. "I'll do it," he said; "I'll do it if I dance on air for it! I'll have it out of Master Stubbes and canting Stratford town, or may I never thrive!
He had always sung the plain-tunes in church without taking any particular thought about it; and he sang easily, with a clear young voice which had a full, flute-like note in it like the high, sweet song of a thrush singing in deep woods. Gaston Carew, the master-player, was sitting with his back against an oak, placidly munching the last of the cheese, when Nick began to sing.
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