For five minutes or so everything would go well; he looked as dejected as possible; but as he fell he was succeeding he became so self-satisfied that he began to strut.

A pleased expression crossed his face, and instead of allowing his head to hang dismally, he put it well back.

Sometimes, when we wanted to please him, we said he looked as glum as a mute at a funeral.
Even that, however, defeated his object, for it flattered him so much that he smiled with gratification.
[Illustration] Gilray made one great sacrifice by giving up smoking, though not indeed such a sacrifice as mine, for up to this time he did not know the Arcadia Mixture.

Perhaps the only time he really did look as miserable as he wished was late at night when we men sat up for a second last pipe before turning in.

He looked wistfully at us from a corner.