He knew us some way like a crow knows carrion, and he used us cleverly.' And Irons cursed him.
'He's a hard master, like his own,' said Irons; 'his wages come to nothing, and his services is hell itself.

He could sing, and talk, and drink, and keep things stirring, and the gentlemen liked him; and he was, 'twas said, a wonderful fine player at whist, and piquet, and ombre, and all sorts of card-playing.

So you see he could afford to play fair.

The first time he came down, he fought three duels about a tipsy quarrel over a pool of Pope Joan.

There was no slur on his credit, though; 'twas just a bit of temper.