That though their Thoughts are ever turn'd upon appearing Aimiable, yet every Feature of their Faces and every Part of their Dress is fill'd with Snares and Allurements.
The miser, a-seeking lost gelt,
The doughboy, awaiting the battle,
May possibly know how I felt
While the long years dragged by as the dealer
As slow as the slowest of dubs,
Stuck out the last helping of tickets
'Till I lifted—the Bullet of Clubs!
The pupil, thus affectionately invoked, at length came stumbling into the room; a queer, shambling, ill-made urchin, who, by his stunted growth, seemed about twelve or thirteen years old, though he was probably, in reality, a year or two older, with a carroty pate in huge disorder, a freckled, sunburnt visage, with a snub nose, a long chin, and two peery grey eyes, which had a droll obliquity of vision, approaching to a squint, though perhaps not a decided one.
