nder who were the defaulters, and who were getting passports for the
Continent; and he would wind up his astonishment by thinking that Grog
was exactly leading the game indolent existence, "although we have that
'grand book with the martingale,' and might be smashing the bank at
Baden every night."

That a man should have the cap of Fortunatus, and yet never try it on,
even just for the experiment's sake, was downright incredible. You might
not want money,--not that he had ever met the man in that predicament
yet,--you might, perhaps, have no very strong desire for this, that,
or t' other; yet, somehow, "the power was such a jolly thing!" The fact
that you could go in and win whenever you pleased was a marvellously
fine consideration. As for himself,--so he reasoned,--he did not exactly
know why, but he thought his present life a very happy one. He never was
less beset with cares: he had no duns; there was not a tailor in Bond
Street knew his address; the very Jews had not traced him; he was as
free as air. Like most men accustomed to eat and drink of the best, the
simple fare of an humble inn pleased him. Grog, whenever he saw him, was
good-humored and gay; and as for Lizzy, "of all the girls he had ever
met, she was the only one ever understood him."

As Annesley Beecher comprehended his own phrase, being "understood" was
no such bad thing. It meant, in the first place, a generous appreciation
of all motives for good, even though they never went beyond motives; a
hopeful trust in some unseen, unmanifested excellence of character; a
broadcast belief that, making a due allowance for temptations, human
frailties, and the doctrine of chances,--this latter most of all,--the
balance would always be found in favor of good _versus_ evil; and,
secondly, that all the imputed faults and vices of such natures as _his_
were little else than the ordinary weaknesses of "the best of us." Such
is being "understood," good reader; and, however it may chance with
others, I hope that "you and I may."

But Lizzy Davis understood him even better and deeper than all this.
She knew him, if not better than I do myself, at least, better than I
am able to depict to you. Apart, then, from the little "distractions"
I have mentioned, Beecher was very happy. It had been many a long day
since he felt himself so light-hearted and so kindly-minded to the world
at large. He neither wished any misfortune to befall Holt's "stable"
or Shipman's "three-ye