They were companions in ill-hap, the difference between them being that Cheeseman bore the buffets of the world with imperturbable good humour; but then he had neither wife nor child, kith nor kin.

He had tried his luck in all parts of England and in several other countries; casual wards had known him, and he had gained a supper by fiddling in the streets.

Many a beginning had he made, but none led to anything; he seemed, in truth, to enjoy a haphazard existence.

If Cheeseman had possessed literary skill, the story of his life from his own hand would have been invaluable; it is a misfortune that the men who are richest in 'material' are those who would never dream of using it.
They were passing a public-house; Cheeseman caught his friend by the arm and, in spite of resistance, drew him in.
'Two threes of gin hot,' was his order.

'The old drink, Hood, my boy; the drink that has saved me from despair a thousand times.