In the devious paths of a pavement-ridden man there are a hundred byways: there is the long, long lane of many turnings called Compromise.
Loo Barebone had turned into this lane one night at the Hotel Gemosac, in the Ruelle St.Jacob, and had wandered there ever since.

Captain Clubbe had taught him the two ways of seamanship effectively enough.

But the education fell short of the necessities of this crisis.

Moreover, Barebone had in his veins blood of a race which had fallen to low estate through Compromise and Delay.
Let those throw the first stone at him who have seen the right way gaping before their feet with a hundred pitfalls and barriers, apparently insurmountable, and have resolutely taken that road.

For the devious path of Compromise has this merit--that the obstacles are round the corner.
Barebone, absorbed in thought, hardly noticed that the driver of his carriage descended from the box and lounged toward the archway, where the hum of traffic and the passage of many people would serve to beguile a long wait.