Evening star., 1925-05-20
One of a series OF the
years best short
stories.
WEBSTER.

oozed into the room, filmed the fine
polish of the floors as with visible
wetness. a low, wide bed. a broad
use-blackened table. two stools, a
carved chest made black hulks in this
rose-argent sea. Shakspere stood In
the center Of the room, a little dazed.
staring about him. He was conscious
alternately Of a sense Of fatigue .
relief release fatigue
something like peace -. fatigue +.
"Thou'rt tired. lad" Mistress Mont
joy commented compassionately Yet,
how comest thou worn with that sun
blackened face? Thine eyes are lack
luster too"
1t was true that though country
tan had turned his olive coloring al
most black. Shakspere's eyes we're
hollow. The faint lumiposity that lay in
their hazel depths seemed TO come.
not from within but from without
as though the force back Of them had
died down, leaving them to reflect
mere light. Nevertheless. his mus
tached lips were firm and full: they
produced a smile whose quick CLINT
gave TO his face all the candid pleas
antness which had distinguished its
old-time mirth. The flash Of smile
lasted but an instant. The look which
was normal to him-of a quiet, re-
serve almost eniGmatic, and touched
now with weariness-blanked II COM
pletely.
Mechanically Shakspere sat down;
extended his feet for the boy TO pull
his boots off. Mechanically he
watched Mistress Montjoy rummags
in his saddle bags until she found his
shoes: as mechanically he watched the
boy draw them on. Tired he re-
peated. Tired. Aye. Ny body's
tired. I've ridden four days. But
that's not the whole tale. My minds
tired. In truth, I'm stalled by country
thought. The quiet the damned.
dead. dull quiet And maybe by
age l know not" He laughed
out again mirthlessly. by Lady,
thou'll not believe 1t, mistress, but /,
VIII Shakspere, the industrious ap-
prentice 'Tis weeks since I have
writ line. Hours I've sat. my bead
in my hands, my brain stewing' fes.
tering. Then five days agone. onto
my horse I leaped: turned his nose
Londonward-and here am. How |
came, or by what roads, or what de-
grees, ! know not. One night at OK
ford at ST. Georges Inn comes clear:
beside that naught but long days OF
dust and rain"
played gleam OF blue obliqueness
upon him. And Mistress Davensnt,
she asked in even tones, how goes It
, with her? And thy godchild?" She
removed his cape; took his hat from
his unresisting fingers.
We'll, well; both we'll" Shakspere
| answered. His tone was absent. And
when the two maids entered-Nan
blue-eyed and fiaxen-curled with the
full hips of the country; Joan. dark
and waxy, shapely. too, though only a
slim bit Of cockney fiesh-he con-
sidered their movements cnt absently.
Nan placed candles on the table; took
Shakspere's cape and hat; diSap-
peared. Joan put pewter ever and
basin on the stand, wiped up slop
of water; disappeared. Nan returned
! with a slender sheaf of paper.
pewter inkstand, a quill; Joan with
linen. All the time. Shakspere was
answering Mistress Montjoy's in
quiries about his family.
Yes, Anne was well. And Sukey
and Judy were well. Joan was well.
And her three boys, VIII and Tom and
Michael. wer well. sukey's little Bet
jaded face cleaned brilliantly as he
talked of his only granddaughter
bloomed fairly. Yes, Betty was a great
girl for her age, gay. winsome, love-
| some child. the pet Of the family. Out
wardly Mistress Montjoy seemed to
take note OF the perfunctory quality
in Shakspere's answers, but she
finally interrupted the flow of her own
interrogations with orders to the two
! maids for supper: Fish to be fried
a. meat pie. a gooseberry tart,
Joan. And plenty OF ale, Nan, and
| cakes. Now hurry. wenches!"
And on the instant of their departure
had VIII heard OF the new theater,
the Hope? The town was full Of the
talk OF 1t. II was to be an addition to
the Paris Gardens. Henslowe and
Meade-Surely VIII remembered
Meade. the great roaring. hairy bear
OF a waterman!--were building it.