He also was young, but nothing about him suggested power, only self-indulgence.

He, too, raised his hat, or rather swung it from his head in a devil-may-care way, and overdid his salutation.

He did not speak.

The priest's face was very grave, if not a little resentful.

His salutation was reserved.
"The tyranny of gold," he murmured, "and without the mind or energy that created it.