His fine success as a salesman lay in his geniality and the thoroughly reputable standing of his house.

He bobbed about among men, a veritable bundle of enthusiasm--no power worthy the name of intellect, no thoughts worthy the adjective noble, no feelings long continued in one strain.

A Madame Sappho would have called him a pig; a Shakespeare would have said "my merry child"; old, drinking Caryoe thought him a clever, successful businessman.

In short, he was as good as his intellect conceived.
The best proof that there was something open and commendable about the man was the fact that Carrie took the money.

No deep, sinister soul with ulterior motives could have given her fifteen cents under the guise of friendship.