Even to do as Harry Gay did, and pass the time in wandering between coffee houses and the play, or taking a wherry and rowing hither and thither on the great river, or walking or riding into the country--all this now seemed to him tame and tiresome.
He turned and tossed upon his bed, wondering what had come to him, and what life held in store for him.

He thirsted for adventure, for the excitements and perils which he had experienced of late.

His blood tingled at the memories he conjured up of those things he had passed through--the strife of arms, the fierce joy of battle, the breathless gallops from pursuing foes, and the hairbreadth perils they had come through.
That was life! That was what he longed after! He cared little for the gay resorts of town, save as an interlude.

The life of the streets soon palled upon him.

But there was no attraction in the thought of home and the peaceful existence there.