“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