PENNILESS COMPANIONS.
"I walk in great danger of small debts. I owe money to several
hostesses."--_The Puritan._
The next day, after dinner, finding the four dupes as much puffed up
with imagined valour as he had hoped, Ravenshaw put forward the matter
of a fit reward. That they might more freely consider, he left them for
half an hour, taking Holyday with him.
"Troth," began Master Hawes, when the four were alone, "I think we
have bestowed somewhat already upon these two. If they are pressed for
money, why don't they pawn some of the clothes we've given 'em?"
"They consider they must be well clad to go in our company," said
Clarington.
"If it comes to that," said Maylands, "we can dispense with 'em. We
roared down this Cutting Tom and his Turnbull rangers, why should we be
still beholden to this captain?"
"And we've learned as much of t'other one's travels as we're like to
remember," added Dauncey.
"Let them go hang for any more gifts!" said Maylands.
"Will you tell them so?" queried Hawes.
"Faith, yes! An we can roar down four Turnbull rangers, can we not roar
down this one captain? He has taught us all he knows himself."
"Yet I would not have him think us stingy," said Hawes, who, as he was
stingy, was sensitive as to being thought so.
"Why, look you," replied Maylands. "When they come back, I'll say
we'll satisfy 'em, touching a gift of money, ere the day be done.
Then, presently, we'll find some occasion in their talk for a quarrel.
Thereupon, we'll roar 'em down, and so break with 'em."
The occasion arrived when Master Holyday was in the midst of a
wonderfully imagined tale of travel. He told how he had escaped from
Barbary pirates in the Mediterranean, and swum ashore to the harbour
of--Fez!
"What, man?" broke in Master Clarington. "Fez is not on the seacoast."
"Most certainly it is," said the scholar, imperturbably.
"'Tis not. I had an uncle, a merchant adventurer, was there once. He
had to journey far inland."
"Oh, ay," said Holyday, a little staggered; "the city of Fez is
inland, but the country borders on the sea. 'Twas that I meant."
"Nay, you spoke of the harbour; you must have meant the city."
"Tush, tush!" put in Ravenshaw, anxious to keep up the scholar's
credit. "He meant the country; a fool could see that."
"Ay, truly," said Master Maylands, "a fool; but none else."
"I'll thank you for better manners," said Ravenshaw, sharply.
"Manners, thou braggart!" cried Maylands, seizing his opportunity.
"Thou sponge, thou receptacle of cast clothing! Talk you of manners?"
"What!--what!--what!--what!" was all the answer the amazed captain
could make for the moment.
"Ay, manners, thou base, scurvy knave; thou houseless parasite, thou
resuscitated starveling!--thou and thy hungry scholar!" put in Master
Hawes.
"Oho! 'Tis thus? Ye think to try my swaggering lessons against me?"
said the captain, springing to his feet.
"Pish! You are no better than Cutting Tom," retorted Maylands.
Ravenshaw's wrath knew no bounds. The four rebellious pupils and
providers were on their feet, defiant and impudent.
"You'd raise your weak breath against me, would ye? And you'd finger
your sword-hilts, would ye?" he roared. "By this hand, ye shall draw
them, too! Draw, and fend your numbskulls 'gainst the whacks I'll give
'em! Draw, and save your puny shoulders! I scorn to use good steel
against ye, dunces, lispers, puppies! I'll rout ye with a spit!"
They had drawn swords at his word, thinking he would wield his rapier
against them. But, as it was, they had an ill time enough to defend
themselves against the spit he had seized from the fireplace. Nimbly he
knocked aside their blades, violently he charged among them, swiftly he
laid about him on pates and bodies; so that in small time they fled,
appalled and panic-stricken, not only from the room, but down the
stairs. The captain did not take the trouble to follow them beyond the
doorsill of the room.
"Hang them, bubbles!" quoth he. "They shall come on their knees and
lick my shoes, ere I'll take 'em back to favour again."
But the scholar philosophically shrugged his shoulders.
To make matters worse, as the two were about to leave the tavern, they
were called upon to pay the score. Ravenshaw said the young gentlemen
would pay, as usual.
"Nay," said the hostess, "they went away cursing my tavern, and saying
they would never come near it again. 'Twas you ordered, and I look to
you to pay. 'Tis bad enough an you drive good customers from my house,
and give it a bad name with your swaggering."
"Peace, peace, sweetheart. We have no money to pay; there's not a groat
between us."
"Then you have clothes to pawn. I'll have my money, or I'll enter an
action. So look to't, or, by this light, ye'll find yourselves in
prison, I swear to ye!"
The two unfortunates fled from her tongue, down the Old Jewry. It rains
not but it pours; and when they reached their lodgings in St. Lawrence
Lane they were confronted by the woman of the house, whose distrust had
been brought to a head by their absence the previous night. She must
have her money; let them go less bravely clad, and pay their honest
debts, else they had best beware of sheriff's officers.
When they were alone in their room, Holyday was for selling their fine
clothes.
"Never, never!" said Ravenshaw. "If we cannot make our fortunes in fine
clothes, how shall we do it in rags? Though we go penniless, while we
look gallant we shall be relied upon. Some enterprise will fall our
way."
The next morning they rose before their hostess, and took leave of her
house without troubling her with farewells. They found new quarters in
a shoemaker's house in St. Martin's-le-Grand, and avoided their old
haunts for fear of arrest.
The question of meals now grew difficult. Ravenshaw had become so well
known that possible adversaries at the gaming-tables shunned him.
What little credit he could still compass at ordinaries and taverns
soon prepared the way for new threats of arrest. Sometimes the two
companions contrived to eat once a day, sometimes once in two days.
After a time, the captain agreed that Holyday might barter his clothes.
The scholar speedily appeared in a suit of modest black, as if he were
his gallant companion's secretary; and for awhile the two feasted
daily. But anon they were penniless again, and went hungry. The captain
swore he would not part with his fine raiment; though he should starve,
it would be as a swaggering gallant still.
No Lent was ever better kept than was the latter part of that year's
Lent (though to no profit of the fishmongers) by those two undone men.
Their cheeks became hollow, their bellies sank inward, they could feel
their ribs when they passed their hands over their chests. They went
feverish and gaunt, with parched mouths and griped stomachs. As hunger
gnawed him, and the fear of sheriff's officers beset him at every
corner, and hope grew feeble within him, the captain became subject to
alternations of grim resignation and futile rage. The scholar starved
with serenity, as became a master of the liberal arts, being visited
in his sleep by dreams of glorious banquets, upon which in his waking
hours he made sonnets.
In May the patience of the shoemaker in St. Martin's-le-Grand was
exhausted, and the two penniless men had other lodgings to seek.
They spent much of their time now in St. Paul's Church. Here employment
was like to offer, and here was comparative safety from arrest, certain
parts of the church being held sanctuary for debtors. To St. Paul's,
therefore, they went on the morning that found them again roofless;
keeping a lookout on the way thither for any sheriff's men who might
with warrant be in quest of them. It was fortunate that none waylaid
them, for the captain was in such mood that he would have gone near
slaying any that had. Neither he nor Holyday had eaten for two days.
They took their station against a pillar in the middle aisle of the
great church, and watched with sharp eyes the many-coloured crowd of
men, of every grade from silken gallants to burden-bearing porters,
that passed up and down before them, making a ceaseless noise of
footfalls and voices, and sometimes giving the pair scant room for
their famished bodies.
The St. Paul's of that time was larger than the present cathedral. It
covered three and a half acres, and was proportionately lofty. Thanks
to its great doors and wide aisles, it afforded a short way through
for those foot-goers in whose route it lay,--porters, labourers, and
citizens going about their business. But its wide aisles served better
still as a covered lounging-place for those on whose hands time hung
heavy,--gentlemen of fashion, men who lived by their wits, fellows who
sought service, and the like. These were the true "Paul's walkers."
It was a meeting-place, too, for those who had miscellaneous business
to transact; a great resort for the exchange of news, in a day when
newspapers did not exist. Certain of the huge pillars supporting the
groined arches of the roof were used to post advertising bills upon.
The services, in which a very fine organ and other instruments were
employed, were usually held in the choir only, and the crowd in the
nave and transepts did not much disturb itself on account of them. The
time of most resort was the hour before the midday dinner; and it was
then that Ravenshaw and Holyday took their stand before the pillar on
this May morning.
"There walks a poet that hath found a patron," said the scholar. "Yet
'tis ten to one the verses he is showing are no better than these
sonnets in my breeches pocket here."
"If you had a capon's leg or two in your breeches pocket it were more
to the purpose," replied the captain.
"'Troth, my sonnets are full of capon's legs and all other things good
to eat," sighed Holyday. "I've conceived rare dishes lately; I have
writ of nothing else."
"If we could but eat the dishes out of thy sonnets!" muttered
Ravenshaw. "How can you write sonnets while you are hungry?"
"Why, your born poet finds discomfort a spur. There was the prophet
Jonas writ a sonnet in the whale's belly."
"Faith, I'd rather undertake to write one with a whale in my belly! I
feel room for a whale there. Who the devil comes here?"
It was none other than Master Maylands, and following him were
Clarington, Dauncey, and Hawes, the four being attended by a footman
and a page. These gallants, in coming down the aisle, had espied the
captain before he had seen them. They had stopped and held a brief
colloquy.
"Pish! who's afeard?" Maylands had said. "He won't fight in the church."
"And if he will," said Clarington, "we can 'scape in the crowd."
"Hang him, hedgehog!" said Dauncey. "I think the spirit has gone out of
him, by his looks."
"It makes me boil," said Hawes, "to see the dog dressed out like a
gentleman in clothes of our giving."
The gallants advanced, therefore, looking as supercilious and impudent
as they could.
"God save you, dog of war!" said Maylands.
"God lose you, pup of peace!" replied the captain.
"Faith, I had thought 'twas a warm day," said Maylands, "but for seeing
you wear a heavy cloak. Or is it that you durs'n't leave it home, lest
it be seized in pawn for debt?"
"You are merry," quoth the captain, briefly; for the gallant had
mentioned the true reason.
"It shows your regard for us," put in Hawes, "that you always wear our
clothes, to avoid their being seized."
"A finger-snap for your clothes!" said the captain, his ire engendered
by their daring to make so free of speech with him.
"Nay, you value 'em more than that," said Clarington. "They're all you
have."
"Is it so?" said the captain.
"Ay," said Maylands, "you must needs wear our livery still, whether you
will or no."
"Your livery, curse ye!" cried Ravenshaw, observing that some in
the crowd had halted to see what game of banter was going on. "Why,
monkeys, I've worn these clothes about the town in hope of meeting
ye, that I might give 'em back. Since I did ye the honour to take your
gifts, I've heard things of ye that make it a shame to have known
ye. I've sought ye everywhere; but the fear of a beating has kept ye
indoors. Now that I meet ye, for God's sake take back your gifts,
and clear me of all beholding to such vermin! Your cloak, say you?
Yes, lap-dog, there's for you. I thank God I'm free of it!" Acting on
the impulse which had come with the inspiration for his retort, and
wrought up beyond all thought of expediency, he had flung the cloak in
the astonished gallant's face. "This bonnet will better fit an empty
head," and he tossed his cap to Clarington. "Here's a doublet, too;
I've long ached to be rid of it," he cried, divesting himself of that
garment as fast as he could, to hurl it at the head of Master Hawes.
"This ruff has choked me of late; I pray you, hang yourself with it;
there'll be an ass the less. The shoes are yours, coney; take 'em, and
walk to hell in 'em!" He threw them one after another at their former
owner, and began drawing off his stockings. "I'll be more careful in
accepting gifts hereafter; a gift is a tie, and a man should make no
tie with those he may come to hear foul reports of. Your stockings,
sir! The breeches,--nay, I must take them off at home, and send 'em to
you later; them and the shirt, and sundry linen and such, that are with
the laundress. Take these gloves, though, and this handkerchief; and
you your hanger and scabbard, and the rest. Take 'em, I bid ye, or--And
now, whelps, you've got what's yours. Thank God, the sword and dagger
are my own! My weapons may go naked while my body does. Vanish, with
your gifts! I scorn ye!"
His voice and looks were such that the four gentlemen thought best to
obey. Hastily entrusting the captain's cast raiment to the footman and
page, who closely followed them, they pushed through the grinning crowd
that had witnessed the scene; and the captain was left in his shirt and
breeches, with his sword and dagger in his hands, to the amused gaze of
the assembly, and the somewhat rueful contemplation of Master Holyday.