Then again, Sir Roger had a sort of rough eloquence, and was able to address the men of Barchester in language that would come home to their hearts, in words that would endear him to one party while they made him offensively odious to the other; but Mr Moffat could make neither friends nor enemies by his eloquence.

The Barchester roughs called him a dumb dog that could not bark, and sometimes sarcastically added that neither could he bite.
The de Courcy interest, however, was at his back, and he had also the advantage of possession.

Sir Roger, therefore, knew that the battle was not to be won without a struggle.
Dr Thorne got safely back from Silverbridge that evening, and found Mary waiting to give him his tea.

He had been called there to a consultation with Dr Century, that amiable old gentleman having so far fallen away from the high Fillgrave tenets as to consent to the occasional endurance of such degradation.
The next morning he breakfasted early, and, having mounted his strong iron-grey cob, started for Boxall Hill.

Not only had he there to negotiate the squire's further loan, but also to exercise his medical skill.