'I've no money to waste on pleasure, Will,' added Ruff.

'What pleasure is there in a burning pizzle?' Fowler's grin became rueful. 'There be three things an actor fears-plague, Puritans and pox. I never know which is worse.'

'I can tell you.'

'Which one, Sam?'

'The fourth thing,' explained Ruff.

'And what is that?'

'The greatest fear of all. Being without employ.'

There was such sadness in his voice and such despair in his eyes that the garrulous Fowler was silenced for once. Nicholas had an upsurge of sympathy for Samuel Ruff. He knew what it was to fall on hard times himself and he had a special concern for those who fell by the wayside of a necessarily cruel profession. Ruff was not only evidently in need of work. He had to be helped to believe in himself again. Nicholas showed a genuine interest.

'How long have you been a player, Samuel?'

'For more years than I care to remember,' admitted Ruff with a half-smile. 'I began with Leicester's Men, then I toured with smaller companies.'

'At home or abroad?'

'Both, sir.'

'Where have you been on your travels?'

'My calling has taken me to Germany, Holland, Belgium, Denmark, even Poland. I've been hissed at in many languages.'

'And applauded in many more,' insisted Fowler loyally. 'Sam is a fine actor, Nick. Indeed, he is almost as good as myself.'

'No recommendation could be higher,' said Nicholas, smiling.

'We are old fellows, are we not, Sam?'

'We are, Will.'

'If memory serves me aright, we first played together in The Three Sisters of Mantua at Bristol. They were happy days.'

'Not for everyone,' recalled Ruff.

'How say you?'

'Have you forgotten, Will? You fetched the trumpeter such a box on the ear that he could not play his instrument properly for a week.'