He waved his hand for silence.

“Thanks for these kind plaudits, gentle friends,” said he, with a mocking air; “I have returned.”

“Yes; we see that ye have, Gaston,” they all shouted, and laughed again.

“Ay,” said he, thrusting his hand into his pouch, “ye fled, and left me to be spoiled by the spoiler, but ye see I have left the spoiler spoiled.”

Lifting his hand triumphantly, he shook in their faces the golden chain that the burgesses of Stratford had given him, and then, laying his hand upon Nick’s shoulder, bowed to them all, and to him with courtly grace, and said:  “Be known, be known, all!  Gentlemen, my Lord Admiral’s Players, Master Nicholas Skylark, the sweetest singer in all the kingdom of England!”

Nick’s cheeks flushed hotly, and his eyes fell; for they all stared curiously, first at him, and then at Carew standing up behind him, and several grinned mockingly and winked in a knowing way.  He stole a look at Carew; but the master-player’s face was frank and quite unmoved, so that Nick felt reassured.

“Why, sirs,” said Carew, as some began to laugh and to speak to one another covertly, “it is no jest.  He hath a sweeter voice than Cyril Davy’s, the best woman’s-voice in all London town.  Upon my word, it is the sweetest voice a body ever heard—­outside of heaven and the holy angels!” He lowered his tone and bowed his head a little.  “I’ll stake mine honour on it!”

“Hast any, Gaston?” called a jeering voice, whereat the whole room roared.

But Carew cried again in a high voice that would be heard above the noise:  “Now, hark ’e; what I say is so.  It is, upon my word, and on the remnant of mine honour!  And to-morrow ye shall see, for Master Skylark is to sing and play with us.”

When he had said that, nothing would do but Nick must sit down and eat with them; so they made a place for him and for Master Carew.

Nick bent his head and said a grace, at which some of them laughed, until Carew shook his head with a stern frown; and before he ate he bowed politely to them all, as his mother had taught him to do.  They all bowed mockingly, and hilariously offered him wine, which, when he refused, they pressed upon him, until Carew stopped them, saying that he would have no more of that.  As he spoke he clapped his hand upon his poniard and scowled blackly.  They all laughed, but offered Nick no more wine; instead, they picked him choice morsels, and made a great deal of him, until his silly young head was quite turned, and he sat up and gave himself a few airs—­not many, for Stratford was no great place in which to pick up airs.

When they had eaten they wanted Nick to sing; but again Carew interposed.  “Nay,” said he; “he hath just eaten his fill, so he cannot sing.  Moreover, he is no jackdaw to screech in such a cage as this.  He shall not sing until to-morrow in the play.”

At this some of the leading players who held shares in the venture demurred, doubting if Nick could sing at all; but—­“Hark ’e,” said Master Carew, shortly, clapping his hand upon his poniard, “I say that he can.  Do ye take me?”