human
Here is the wine, Mr. Metcalf, he said—
gpt
Eh? drawled Michael, always most indolent when surprised.
human
You know my name, it seems.
gpt
Well, sir, if two big, lusty gentry choose to come riding two white horses—and all the Plain o’ York ringing with news of the Riding Metcalfs—small blame to me if I guessed your quality. I’m a King’s man, too.
human
You’d best prove it quickly, said Michael, with a gentle laugh.
gpt
The business we ride on asks for sacrifice, and a fat host or two would not be missed.
human
I am asking to prove it. The way of the man, the jolly red of his face, and the eyes that were clear as honesty, did not admit of doubt.
gpt
In the little room across the passage there are three crop-headed Puritans dining—dining well, and I grudge ’em every mouthful. They’re not ashamed to take their liquor, too; and whether ’twas that, or whether they fancied I was as slow-witted as I seemed, they babbled of what was in the doing.
human
I always had the luck, said Michael impassively.
gpt
Had they the password through the ranks besieging York?
human
Ay, that; and more. They had papers with them; one was drying them at the fire, after the late storm o’ rain that had run into his pocket, and it seemed they were come with orders for the siege. I should say they were high in office with the Puritans, for they carried the three sourest faces I’ve seen since I was breeked.
gpt
The papers can wait. What was the password, host?
human
Good, laughed Michael.
gpt
To-morrow it will be Mariolatry, doubtless, and Red Rome on the next day. How these folk love a gibe at His Majesty’s sound Churchmanship! They carry papers, you say? It is all diverting, host. My brother here will not admit that luck, pure and simple, is a fine horse to ride. Kit, we must see that little room across the passage.