Fred. I disagree with you there, uncle.

Hum.  And so do I.

Fred. You! you forward puppy!  If you were not so old, I’d knock you down.

Sir R. I’ll knock you down, if you do.  I won’t have my servants thumped into dumb flattery.

Hum.  Come, you are ruffled.  Let us go to the business of the morning.

Sir R. I hate the business of the morning.  Don’t you see we are engaged in discussion.  I tell you, I hate the business of the morning.

Hum.  No you don’t.

Sir R. Don’t I?  Why not?

Hum.  Because ’t is charity.

Sir R. Pshaw!  Well, we must not neglect the business, if there be any distress in the parish.  Read the list, Humphrey.

Hum. (Taking out a paper and reading.) “Jonathan Huggins, of Muck Mead, is put in prison for debt.”

Sir R. Why, it was only last week that Gripe, the attorney, recovered two cottages for him by law, worth sixty pounds.

Hum.  Yes, and charged a hundred for his trouble; so seized the cottages for part of his bill, and threw Jonathan into jail for the remainder.

Sir R. A harpy!  I must relieve the poor fellow’s distress.

Fred. And I must kick his attorney.

Hum. (Reading.) “The curate’s horse is dead.”

Sir R. Pshaw!  There’s no distress in that.

Hum.  Yes, there is, to a man that must go twenty miles every Sunday to preach three sermons, for thirty pounds a year.

Sir R. Why won’t the vicar give him another nag?

Hum.  Because ’t is cheaper to get another curate ready mounted.

Sir R. Well, send him the black pad which I purchased last Tuesday, and tell him to work him as long as he lives.  What else have we upon the list?

Hum.  Something out of the common; there’s one Lieutenant Worthington, a disabled officer and a widower, come to lodge at Farmer Harrowby’s, in the village; he is, it seems, very poor, and more proud than poor, and more honest than proud.

Sir R. And so he sends to me for assistance?  Hum.  He’d see you hanged first!  No, he’d sooner die than ask you or any man for a shilling!  There’s his daughter, and his wife’s aunt, and an old corporal that served in the wars with him, he keeps them all upon his half pay.

Sir R. Starves them all, I’m afraid, Humphrey.

Fred. (Going.) Good morning, uncle.

Sir R. You rogue, where are you running now?

Fred. To talk with Lieutenant Worthington.

Sir R. And what may you be going to say to him?

Fred. I can’t tell till I encounter him; and then, uncle, when I have an old gentleman by the hand, who has been disabled in his country’s service, and is struggling to support his motherless child, a poor relation, and a faithful servant, in honorable indigence, impulse will supply me with words to express my sentiments.

Sir R. Stop, you rogue; I must be before you in this business.