There could hardly have been a more miserable wretch than Sir Felix wandering about the streets of London that night. Though he was nearly drunk, he was not drunk enough to forget the condition of his affairs. There is an intoxication that makes merry in the midst of affliction;--and there is an intoxication that banishes affliction by producing oblivion. But again there is an intoxication which is conscious of itself though it makes the feet unsteady, and the voice thick, and the brain foolish; and which brings neither mirth nor oblivion. Sir Felix trying to make his way to Welbeck Street and losing it at every turn, feeling himself to be an object of ridicule to every wanderer, and of dangerous suspicion to every policeman, got no good at all out of his intoxication. What had he better do with himself? He fumbled in his pocket, and managed to get hold of his ticket for New York. Should he still make the journey? Then he thought of his luggage, and could not remember where it was. At last, as he steadied himself against a letter-post, he was able to call to mind that his portmanteaus were at the club. 
There could hardly have been a more miserable wretch than Sir Felix wandering about the streets that night. He was not drunk enough to forget the condition of his affairs. He felt himself to be an object of ridicule to every wanderer, and of dangerous suspicion to every policeman. What had he better do?
He fumbled in his pocket for his ticket to New York. Should he still make the journey? Then he thought of his luggage, and could not remember where it was. At last he remembered that it was at the club