Jack. Positively, my dear, I never dreamed of such a thing!
Kathryn (pouting). Of course, I never could have allowed you to. You might have upset us all, and I'm not going to be drowned for love or any other nonsense.
Jack. But, my dear, if I upset the ship, it would be your duty to get drowned. Any old captain will tell you that. They know absolutely nothing. It's like any other walk of life. A man wears whiskers, or white hair, or something, and you fancy he's learned. But he's not, and never will be. Sea-captains dress as they do, and wear peculiar caps, not that they should look like sea-captains, but that young innocent persons like yourself should be deceived into thinking them philosophers, or good men, or bad men, or some kind of men at least. That explains the old and venerable expression of thinking through your cap. But it's all wrong. They never think at all.
Kathryn. I've often gone fishing, Jack, and I've never yet caught a fish. Do you think there are any fishes in the sea, or is it just a myth like mermaids and the millennium?
Jack. That is purely a piscatorial problem. My father is doubtless a proper authority. I know he drinks like a fish, and he eats like a race horse. (Dill has been left entirely to his own reflections.)
Gloria. What are you two over there saying about running away?
Jack (advancing solemnly). Miss Gibbs, I have something to tell you. (Sits down and with knees crossed nonchalantly lights cigarette.) I have no money, of course. Nobody has these days. The philanthropists have stolen it all.
Kathryn (handing him money bag). Of course not, Jack, how absurd! But this will surely pay off some of your debts.
Jack. Very few, my dear. You don't know what debts are. Debts are a man's constant reminder that even when he's very, very rich, one-half the money in his pocket, and all the money in his bank, belongs positively to somebody else.
Gloria. I seriously object to your morals, Jack.