latch. "Go straight down front now as I told thee--mind thy
cues--speak boldly--sing as thou didst sing for me--and if thou wouldst
not break mine heart, do not fail me now! I have staked it all upon thee
here--and we _must_ win!"

"How now, who comes?" Nick heard a loud voice call outside--the
door-latch clicked behind him--he was out in the open air and down the
stage before he quite knew where he was.

The stage was built against the wall just opposite the gates. It was but
a temporary platform of planks laid upon trestles. One side of it was
against the wall, and around the three other sides the crowd was packed
close to the platform rail.

At the ends, upon the boards, several wealthy gallants sat on high,
three-legged stools, within arm's reach of the players acting there. The
courtyard was a sea of heads, and the balconies were filled with
gentlefolk in holiday attire, eating cakes and chaffing gaily at the
play. All was one bewildered cloud of staring eyes to Nick, and the only
thing which he was sure he saw was the painted sign that hung upon the
curtain at the rear, which in the lack of other scenery announced in
large red print: "This is a Room in Master Jonah Jackdawe's House."

And then he heard the last quick words, "I'll match him for the ale!"
and started on his lines.

It was not that he said so ill what little he had to say, but that his
voice was homelike and familiar in its sound, one of their own, with no
amazing London accent to the words--just the speech of every-day, the
sort that they all knew.

First, some one in the yard laughed out--a shock-headed ironmonger's
apprentice, "Whoy, bullies, there be hayseed in his hair. 'Tis took off
pasture over-soon. I fecks! they've plucked him green!"

There was a hoarse, exasperating laugh. Nick hesitated in his lines. The
player at his back tried to prompt him, but only made the matter worse,
and behind the green curtain at the door a hand went "clap" upon a
dagger-hilt. The play lagged, and the crowd began to jeer. Nick's heart
was full of fear and of angry shame that he had dared to try. Then all
at once there came a brief pause, in which he vaguely realized that no
one spoke. The man behind him thrust him forward, and whispering
wrathfully, "Quick, quick--sing up, thou little fool!" stepped back and
left him there alone.

[Illustration: "NICK THOUGHT OF HIS MOTHER'S SINGING ON A SUMMER'S
EVENING--DREW A DEEP BREATH AND BEGAN TO SING."]

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