She agreed to make the ten into fifteen.

Rofflash swearing that he'd do his best, took his departure and left the lady, like Archibald Dorrimore, to drink herself into insensibility.
"The devil looks after his own," chuckled Rofflash as he swaggered down the Strand.

"It'll go hard if I don't squeeze fifty guineas out of that idiot Dorrimore over to-morrow night's work! He'd give that to have the pleasure of running the scribbler through the body.

Lord, if I'd breathed a word of _that_ to Sally! No fool like an old fool, they say.
Bah! The foolishest thing in Christendom is a woman when she's in love." And Captain Jeremy Rofflash plodded on, well pleased with himself.

He took the road which would lead him to Moorfields and Grub Street..