to live."
"Then a 's a witless azzy!" blurted Hodge. "If a 's so great a man
amongst the lords and earlses, a 'd na come back to Stratford. An' I say
a 's a witless loon--so there!"
Nick whirled around in the road. "And I say, Hodge Dawson," he exclaimed
with flashing eyes, "that 'tis a shame for a lout like thee to so
miscall thy thousand-time betters. And what's more, thou shalt unsay
that, or I will make thee swallow thy words right here and now!"
"I'd loike to see thee try," Hodge began; but the words were scarcely
out of his mouth when he found himself stretched on the grass, Nick
Attwood bending over him.
"There! thou hast seen it tried. Now come, take that back, or I will
surely box thine ears for thee."
Hodge blinked and gaped, collecting his wits, which had scattered to the
four winds. "Whoy," said he, vaguely, "if 'tis all o' that to thee, I
take it back."
Nick rose, and Hodge scrambled clumsily to his feet. "I'll na go wi'
thee," said he, sulkily; "I will na go whur I be whupped."
Nick turned on his heel without a word, and started on.
"An' what's more," bawled Hodge after him, "thy Muster Wully Shaxper
be-eth an old gray goose, an' boo to he, says I!"
As he spoke he turned, dived through the thin hedge, and galloped across
the field as if an army were at his heels.
Nick started back, but quickly paused. "Thou needst na run," he called;
"I've not the time to catch thee now. But mind ye this, Hodge Dawson:
when I do come back, I'll teach thee who thy betters be--Will Shakspere
first of all!"
"Well crowed, well crowed, my jolly cockerel!" on a sudden called a
keen, high voice beyond the hedge behind him.
Nick, startled, whirled about just in time to see a stranger leap the
hedge and come striding up the road.
CHAPTER VI
THE MASTER-PLAYER
He had trim, straight legs, this stranger, and a slender, lithe body in
a tawny silken jerkin. Square-shouldered, too, was he, and over one
shoulder hung a plum-colored cloak bordered with gold braid. His long
hose were the color of his cloak, and his shoes were russet leather,
with rosettes of plum, and such high heels as Nick had never seen
before. His bonnet was of tawny velvet, with a chain twisted round it,
fastened by a jeweled brooch through which was thrust a curly
cock-feather. A fine white Holland-linen shirt peeped through his jerkin
at the throat, with a broad lace collar; and his short hair curled
crisply all over his head
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