Strike had been a fool: in revenge for it he laid out for himself a masterly career of consequent wisdom.

The brewer--uxorious Andrew Cogglesby--might and would have bought the commission.

Strike laughed at the idea of giving money for what could be got for nothing.

He told them to wait.
In the meantime Evan, a lad of seventeen, spent the hours not devoted to his positive profession--that of gentleman--in the offices of the brewery, toying with big books and balances, which he despised with the combined zeal of the sucking soldier and emancipated tailor.
Two years passed in attendance on the astute brother-in-law, to whom Fortune now beckoned to come to her and gather his laurels from the pig-tails.

About the same time the Countess sailed over from Lisbon on a visit to her sister Harriet (in reality, it was whispered in the Cogglesby saloons, on a diplomatic mission from the Court of Lisbon; but that could not be made ostensible).