Now and then he would reflect what money and rank might have done for him; he would look with wishful eyes to the proud doings of others of his age; would dream of quiet joys, of a sweet wife, of a house to which might be asked friends who were neither jockeys nor drunkards; he would dream of such things in his short intervals of constrained sobriety; but the dream would only serve to make him moody.
This was the best side of his character; the worst, probably, was that which was brought into play by the fact that he was not a fool.
He would have a better chance of redemption in this world--perhaps also in another--had he been a fool.

As it was, he was no fool: he was not to be done, not he; he knew, no one better, the value of a shilling; he knew, also, how to keep his shillings, and how to spend them.

He consorted much with blacklegs and such-like, because blacklegs were to his taste.

But he boasted daily, nay, hourly to himself, and frequently to those around him, that the leeches who were stuck round him could draw but little blood from him.

He could spend his money freely; but he would so spend it that he himself might reap the gratification of the expenditure.