The Panchronicon Part 27

The new-comers were clad in all sorts of fantastic garbs, and many of them were masked. Phoebe and her sister were therefore not conspicuous in their long scant black skirts and cloth jackets with balloon sleeves.

Their costumes were taken for disguises, and as they were swallowed up in the mad throng they were looked on as fellow revellers.

Had Rebecca been alone, she would probably have succeeded in time in working her way out of this unwelcome crowd, but to her amazement, no sooner had they been surrounded by the young roysterers than Phoebe, breaking her long silence, seized her sister by the hand and began laughing, dancing, and running with the best of them. To crown all, what was Rebecca's surprise to hear her sister singing word for word the madcap song of the others, as though she had known these words all her life. She did not even skip those parts that made Rebecca blush.

It was incredible--monstrous--impossible! Phoebe, the sweet, modest, gentle, prudish Phoebe, singing a questionable song in a whirl of roystering Jerusalemites!

Up the broad road they danced--up to the northward, all men making way for them as, with hand-bag and umbrella flying in her left hand, she was dragged forward on an indecorous run by Phoebe, who held her tightly by the right.

On--ever on, past wayside inn and many a lane and garden, house and hedge. Over the stones and ruts, choking in clouds of dust.

Once Rebecca stumbled and a great gawky fellow caught her around the waist to prevent her falling.

"Lips pay forfeit for tripping feet, la.s.s!" he cried, and kissed her with a sounding smack.

Furious and blus.h.i.+ng, she swung her hand-bag in a circle and brought it down upon the ravisher's head.

"Take that, you everlastin' rascal, you!" she gasped.

The b.u.mpkin dodged with a laugh and disappeared in the crowd and dust, cuffing, pus.h.i.+ng, scuffling, hugging, and kissing quite heedless of small rebuffs.

When they had proceeded thus until Rebecca thought there was nothing left for it but to fall in her tracks and be trampled to death, the whole crowd came suddenly to a halt, and the young men began to erect the May-pole in the midst of a shaded green on one side of the main road.

Rebecca stood, angry and breathless, trying to flick the dust off her bag with her handkerchief, while Phoebe, at her side, her eyes bright and cheeks rosy, showed her pretty teeth in a broad smile of pleasure, the while she tried to restore some order to her hair. As for her hat, that had long ago been lost.

"I declare--I declare to goodness!" panted Rebecca, "ef anybody'd told me ez you, Phoebe Wise, would take on so--so like--like a--a----"

"Like any Zanny's light-o-love," Phoebe broke in, her bosom heaving with the violence of her exercise. "But prithee, sweet, chide me not.

From this on shall I be chaste, demure, and sober as an abbess in a play. But oh!--but oh!" she cried, stretching her arms high over her head, "'twas a goodly frolic, sis! I felt a three-centuries' fasting l.u.s.t for it, in good sooth!"

Rebecca clutched her sister by the arm and shook her.

"Phoebe Wise--Phoebe Wise!" she cried, looking anxiously into her face, "wake up now--wake up! What in the universal airth----"

A loud shout cut her short, and the two sisters turned amazed.

"The bull! The bull!"

There was an opening in the crowd as four men approached leading and driving a huge angry bull, which was secured by a ring in his nose to which ropes were attached. Another man followed, dragged forward by three fierce bull-dogs in a leash.

The bull was quickly tied to a stout post in the street, and the crowd formed a circle closely surrounding the bull-ring. It was the famous bull-ring of Blackman Street in Southwark.

A moment later the dogs were freed, and amid their hoa.r.s.e baying and growling and the deep roaring of their adversary, the baiting began--the chief sport of high and low in the merry days of good Queen Bess.

The sisters found themselves in the front of the throng surrounding the raging beasts, and, before she knew it, Rebecca saw one of the dogs caught on the horns of the bull and tossed, yelping and bleeding, into the air.

For one moment she stood aghast in the midst of the delighted crowd of shouting onlookers. Then she turned and fiercely elbowed her way outward, followed by her sister.

"Come 'long--come 'long, Phoebe!" she cried. "We'll soon put a stop to this! I'll find the selectmen o' this town an' see ef this cruelty to animals is agoin' on right here in open daylight. I guess the's laws o'

some kind here, ef it _is_ Bethlehem or Babylon!"

Hot with indignation, the still protesting woman reached the outskirts of the throng and looked about her. Close at hand a tall, swaggering fellow was loafing about. He was dressed in yellow from head to foot, save where his doublet and hose were slashed with dirty red at elbows, shoulders, and hips. A dirty ruff was around his neck, and on his head he wore a great shapeless hat peaked up in front.

"Hey, mister!" cried Rebecca, addressing this worthy. "Can you tell me where I can find one o' the selectmen?"

The stranger paused in his walk and glanced first at Rebecca and then, with evidently increased interest, at Phoebe.

"Selectmen?" he asked. "Who hath selected them, dame?"

He gazed quizzically at the excited woman.

"Now you needn't be funny 'bout it," Rebecca cried, "fer I'm not goin'

to take any impidence. You know who I mean by the selectmen jest's well as I do. I'd be obliged to ye ef ye'd tell me the way--an' drop that Bible talk--good every-day English is good enough fer me!"

"In good sooth, dame," he replied, "'tis not every day I hear such English as yours."

He paused a moment in thought. This was May-day--a season of revelry and good-natured practical joking. This woman was evidently quizzing him, so it behooved him to repay her in kind.

"But a truce to quips and quillets, say I," he continued. "'Twill do me much pleasure an your ladys.h.i.+p will follow me to the selectman. As it happens, his honor is even now holding court near London Bridge."

"London Bridge!" gasped Rebecca. "Why, London ain't a Bible country, is it?"

Deigning no notice to a query which he did not understand, the young fellow set off to northward, followed closely by the two women.

"Keep close to him, Phoebe," said Rebecca, warningly. "Ef we should lose the man in all this rabble o' folks we would not find him in a hurry."

"Thou seest, sweet sister," Phoebe replied, "'tis indeed our beloved city of London. Did I not tell thee yon village was Newington, and here we be now in Southwark, close to London Bridge."

Rebecca had forgotten her sister's ailment in the fierce indignation which the bull-baiting had aroused. But now she was brought back to her own personal fears and aims with a rude shock by the strange language Phoebe held.

She leaped forward eagerly and touched their guide's shoulder.

"Hey, mister!" she exclaimed, "I'd be obliged to ye if ye'd show us the house o' the nearest doctor before we see the selectman."

The man stopped short in the middle of the street, with a cunning leer on his face. The change of purpose supported his belief that a May-day jest was forward.

"Call me plain Jock Dean, mistress," he said. "And now tell me further, wilt have a doctor of laws, of divinity, or of physic. We be in a merry mood and a generous to-day, and will fetch forth bachelors, masters, doctors, proctors, and all degrees from Oxford, Cambridge, or London at a wink's notice. So say your will."

Rebecca would have returned a sharp reply to this banter, but she was very anxious to find a physician for Phoebe, and so thought it best to take a coaxing course.

"What I want's a doctor," she said. "I think my sister's got the shakes or suthin', an' I must take her to the doctor. Now look here--you look like a nice kind of a young man. I know it's some kind of antiques and horribles day 'round here, an' all the folks hes on funny clothes and does nothin' on'y joke a body. But let's drop comical talk jest fer a minute an' get down to sense, eh?"

She spoke pleadingly, and for a moment Jock looked puzzled. He only understood a portion of what she was saying, but he realized that she was in some sort of trouble.

"Why bait the man with silly questions, Rebecca," Phoebe broke in. "A truce to this silly talk of apothecaries. I have no need of surgeons, I.

My good fellow," she continued, addressing Jock with an air of condescension that dumfounded her sister, "is not yonder the Southwark pillory?"

"Ay, mistress," he replied, with a grin. "It's there you may see the selectman your serving-maid inquired for."