The sight of Job's honest ugliness was good to him.
"He's a cur, Job!" he said strongly.

"A snake in the grass! An oily scoundrel! I don't know how I know it, but I know it! A square man would have punched me the way I talked to him." Job wagged his tail in entire approval of his master's judgment.
Ambrose turned in, feeling better for having spoken his mind.
Nevertheless, as he lay waiting for sleep it occurred to him that he had been somewhat hasty.

After all, he had nothing to go on.

And, supposing Strange were what he thought him, how foolish he, Ambrose, had been to show his band.
If he had been craftier he might have learned things of value for him to know.

Following this unsatisfactory train of thought, he fell asleep..