"
We sat us down upon the doorstep with a tankard of sack between
us, and Master Pory drank, and drank, and drank again.
"How's the crop?" he asked. "Martin reports it poorer in quality
than ever, but Sir George will have it that it is very Varinas."
"It's every whit as good as the Spanish," I answered. "You may tell
my Lord Warwick so, when next you write."
He laughed. If he was a timeserver and leagued with my Lord
Warwick's faction in the Company, he was a jovial sinner. Traveler
and student, much of a philosopher, more of a wit, and boon
companion to any beggar with a pottle of ale, - while the drink
lasted, - we might look askance at his dealings, but we liked his
company passing well. If he took half a poor rustic's crop for his
fee, he was ready enough to toss him sixpence for drink money;
and if he made the tenants of the lands allotted to his office leave
their tobacco uncared for whilst they rowed him on his
innumerable roving expeditions up creeks and rivers, he at least
lightened their labors with most side-splitting tales, and with bottle
songs learned in a thousand taverns.
"After to-morrow there'll be more interesting news to write," he
announced. "You're a bold man, Captain Percy."
He looked at me out of the corners of his little twinkling eyes. I sat
and smoked in silence.
"The King begins to dote upon him," he said; "leans on his arm,
plays with his hand, touches his cheek.
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