it.

Yes, the play was going great. The Dagger Scene was terrific where
Duncan gets murdered offstage, and so was the part afterwards where
hysteria mounts as the crime's discovered.

But just at this point I began to catch notes I didn't like. Twice
someone was late on entrance and came on as if shot from a cannon. And
three times at least Sid had to throw someone a line when they blew
up--in the clutches Sid's better than any prompt book. It began to
look as if the play were getting out of control, maybe because the new
tempo was so hot.

* * * * *

But they got through the Murder Scene okay. As they came trooping off,
yelling "Well contented," most of them on my side for a change, I went
for Sid with a towel. He always sweats like a pig in the Murder Scene.
I mopped his neck and shoved the towel up under his doublet to catch
the dripping armpits.

Meanwhile he was fumbling around on a narrow table where they lay
props and costumes for quick changes. Suddenly he dug his fingers into
my shoulder, enough to catch my attention at this point, meaning I'd
show bruises tomorrow, and yelled at me under his breath, "And you
love me, our crows and robes. Presto!"

I was off like a flash to the costumery. There were Mr. and Mrs.
Mack's king-and-queen robes and stuff hanging and sitting just where I
knew they'd have to be.

I snatched them up, thinking, _Boy, they made a mistake when they
didn't tell about this special performance_, and I started back like
Flash Two.

As I shot out the dressing room door the theater was very quiet.
There's a short low-pitched scene on stage then, to give the audience
a breather. I heard Miss Nefer say loudly (it had to be loud to get to
me from even the front of the audience): "'Tis a good bloody play,
Eyes," and some voice I didn't recognize reply a bit grudgingly,
"There's meat in it and some poetry too, though rough-wrought." She
went on, still as loudly as if she owned the theater, "'Twill make
Master Kyd bite his nails with jealousy--ha, ha!"

_Ha-ha yourself, you scene-stealing witch_, I thought, as I helped Sid
and then Martin on with their royal outer duds. But at the same time I
knew Sid must have written those lines himself to go along with his
prologue. They had the unmistakable rough-wrought Lessingham touch.
Did he really expect the audience to make anything of that reference
to Shakespeare's predecessor Thomas Kyd of _The Spanish Tragedy_