And even to the skilled and experienced actors a wandering life offered potent attractions.  Apart from its liberty and adventure, its defiance of social convention and restraint, ambition had space to stir, and vanity could be abundantly indulged in the itinerant theatre.  Dekker speaks of the bad presumptuous players, who out of a desire to “wear the best jerkin,” and to “act great parts, forsake the stately and more than Roman city stages,” and join a strolling company.  By many it was held better to reign in a vagrant than to serve in an established troop—­preferable to appear as Hamlet in the provinces than to play Horatio or Guildenstern in town.  And then, in the summer months, when the larger London houses were closed, strolling became a matter of necessity with a large number of actors; they could gain a subsistence in no other way.  “The little theatre in the Haymarket,” as it was wont to be called, which opened its doors in summer, when its more important neighbours had concluded their operations, could only offer engagements to a select few of their companies.  The rest must needs wander.  Whatever their predilections, they were strollers upon compulsion.

Indeed, strolling was only feasible during summer weather.  Audiences could hardly be moved from their firesides in winter, barns were too full of grain to be available for theatrical purposes, and the players were then glad to secure such regular employment as they could, however slender might be the scale of their remuneration.  There is a story told of a veteran and a tyro actor walking in the fields early in the year, when, suddenly, the elder ran from the path, stopped abruptly, and planting his foot firmly upon the green-sward, exclaimed with ecstasy:  “Three, by heaven! That for managers!” and snapped his fingers.  His companion asked an explanation of this strange conduct.  “You’ll know before you have strutted in three more barns,” said the “old hand.”  “In winter, managers are the most impudent fellows living, because they know we don’t like to travel, don’t like to leave our nests, fear the cold, and all that.  But when I can put my foot upon three daisies—­summer’s near, and managers may whistle for me!”

The life was not dignified, perhaps, but it had certain picturesque qualities.  The stroller toiling on his own account, “padding the hoof,” as he called journeying on foot—­a small bundle under his arm, containing a few clothes and professional appliances—­wandered from place to place, stopping now at a fair, now at a tavern, now at a country-house, to deliver recitations and speeches, and to gain such reward for his labours as he might.  Generally he found it advisable, however, to join a company of his brethren and share profits with them, parting from them again upon a difference of opinion or upon the receipts diminishing too seriously, when he would again rely upon his independent exertions.  Sometimes the actor was able to hire or purchase scenes