Again I corresponded with him in a grin, for I guessed at what fellow he was.
"This is very well," said I, "but by your leave I would learn what warranty have I of this payment."
"You have the honour of Sir Gilbert Avory," said he.
I knew him then for what he was, the greatest Cupid in the Court, and one that stood at no hazards to boot. There were tales of this Sir Gilbert, in sooth, upon every wench's tongue. But this was no business of mine.
"Very well," said I, "if 'tis a petticoat you are after I say no more. Faith, I have been about them myself, and I know no greater zest in a pursuit. 'Slife, your worship, I blame you not, and you shall come by your own."
"That is spoken with spirit," he answered, "and now there remains to set you on your quarry. The coach has a green body, and the lady—my lady that is—is crowned with a mass of red hair."
"There was never a nut," said I, "given Dick Ryder but he cracked it i' the jaw."
"Then," says he, smiling civilly out of his broad face, "we have your leave to depart."
"Go in Heaven's name," said I, laughing, "and if I get not those hundred guineas, call me catchpole."