He was fiercely loyal to Shakespeare and cordially scornful of Bacon and of all the pretensions of the Baconians.

So was I--at first.

And at first he was glad that that was my attitude.

There were even indications that he admired it; indications dimmed, it is true, by the distance that lay between the lofty boss-pilotical altitude and my lowly one, yet perceptible to me; perceptible, and translatable into a compliment--compliment coming down from above the snow-line and not well thawed in the transit, and not likely to set anything afire, not even a cub-pilot's self-conceit; still a detectable compliment, and precious.
Naturally it flattered me into being more loyal to Shakespeare--if possible--than I was before, and more prejudiced against Bacon--if possible than I was before.

And so we discussed and discussed, both on the same side, and were happy.