It is no use my reading these wretched rags, unless they put me in the way of a coup." "We always do," said Tinker with conviction; and he strolled away, pondering idly the question of riches.
From the end of the garden of the Refuge, Tinker scanned the country round with dissatisfied eyes.

None of the low hills was hollowed by a pirates', or brigands', or even a smugglers' cave with its buried hoard, no ruin tottered above a secret treasure-chamber.

For himself he did not mind; it was all one to him whether he hunted his prey in the Champs Elysees or the long, straggling street of Farndon-Pryze.
There were men in both places; and, though the methods of enraging them were different, they grew crimson to much the same fieriness.

He found, indeed, an angry Frenchman more entertaining than an angry Englishman, but he was no epicure in sensations: only, he liked them exciting.

But he would fain have discovered treasure for the sake of his father who, as he well knew, did not find in Farndon-Pryze the entertainment which satisfied his simpler, boyish heart.
As he scanned the unsatisfactory landscape, he heard the sound of hoofs, and looking round, saw James Alloway, a young farmer of the neighbourhood, riding along the highway.