It's all the better for them if they can, though I suppose they never enjoy themselves except in a cold-blooded sort of way.

But there's other men that can't do that sort of thing, and it's no use talking.

They must have life and liberty and a free range.
There's some birds, and animals too, that either pine in a cage or kill themselves, and I suppose it's the same way with some men.

They can't stand the cage of what's called honest labour, which means working for some one else for twenty or thirty years, never having a day to yourself, or doing anything you like, and saving up a trifle for your old age when you can't enjoy it.

I don't wonder youngsters break traces and gallop off like a colt out of a team.
Besides, sometimes there's a good-looking girl even at a bush public, the daughter or the barmaid, and it's odd, now, what a difference that makes.