No, no, my lad, you must find a better way than that before you'll make your fortune." The fire had burnt low again, and Mr.Sheldon sat staring gloomily at the blackening coals.

Things were very bad with him--he had not cared to confess how bad they were, when he had discussed his affairs with his brother.

Those neighbours and passers-by who admired the trim brightness of the dentist's abode had no suspicion that the master of that respectable house was in the hands of the Jews, and that the hearthstone which whitened his door-step was paid for out of Israelitish coffers.

The dentist's philosophy was all of this world, and he knew that the soldier of fortune, who would fain be a conqueror in the great battle, must needs keep his plumage undrabbled and the golden facings of his uniform untarnished, let his wounds be never so desperate.
Having found his attempt to establish a practice in Fitzgeorge-street a failure, the only course open to Mr.Sheldon, as a man of the world, was to transfer his failure to somebody else, with more or less profit to himself.

To this end he preserved the spotless purity of his muslin curtains, though the starch that stiffened them and the bleaching-powder that whitened them were bought with money for which he was to pay sixty per cent.