I wounder if any of these would fit; one might just try them, but I wouldn’t lift up the lid if they did.  Oh no, what should I be the richer for knowing? (All this time he tries the keys one by one.) What’s his name to me? a thousand names begin with an H. I hate people that are always prying, poking and prying into things,—­thrusting their finger into one place—­a mighty little hole this—­and their keys into another.  Oh Lord! little rusty fits it! but what is that to me?  I wouldn’t go to—­no no—­but it is odd little rusty should just happen. (While he is turning up the lid of the box, MR. H. enters behing him unperceived.)

MR. H.
What are you about, you dog?

LANDLORD
Oh Lord, Sir! pardon; no thief as I hope to be saved.  Little Pry was
always honest.

MR. H.
What else could move you to open that box!

LANDLORD Sir, don’t kill me, and I will confess the whole truth.  This box happened to be lying—­that is, I happened to be carrying this box, and I happened to have my keys out, and so—­little rusty happened to fit—­

MR. H. So little rusty happened to fit!—­and would not a rope fit that rogue’s neck?  I see the papers have not been moved:  all is safe, but it was as well to frighten him a little (aside).

Come, Landlord, as I think you honest, and suspect you only intended to gratify a little foolish curiosity—­

LANDLORD
That was all, Sir, upon my veracity.

MR. H.
For this time I will pass it over.  Your name is Pry, I think.

LANDLORD
Yes, Sir, Jeremiah Pry, at your service.

MR. H.
An apt name, you have a prying temper.  I mean, some little curiosity, a
sort of inquisitiveness about you.

LANDLORD A natural thirst after knowledge you may call it, Sir.  When a boy I was never easy, but when I was thrusting up the lids of some of my school-fellows’ boxes,—­not to steal any thing, upon my honour, Sir,—­only to see what was in them; have had pens stuck in my eyes for peeping through key-holes after knowledge; could never see a cold pie with the legs dangling out at top, but my fingers were for lifting up the crust,—­just to try if it were pigeon or partridge,—­for no other reason in the world.  Surely I think my passion for nuts was owing to the pleasure of cracking the shell to get at something concealed, more than to any delight I took in eating the kernel.  In short, Sir, this appetite has grown with my growth.

MR. H.
You will certainly be hanged some day for peeping into some bureau or
other, just to see what is in it.

LANDLORD That is my fear, Sir.  The thumps and kicks I have had for peering into parcels, and turning of letters inside out,—­just for curiosity.  The blankets I have been made to dance in for searching parish-registers for old ladies’ ages,—­just for curiosity!  Once I was dragged through a horse-pond, only for peeping into a closet that had glass doors to it, while my Lady Bluegarters was undressing,—­just for curiosity!