Lucy. What do you want, Sir?
Shar. What's that to you, Hussy? Where's Skinflint?
Lucy. Skinflint!
Shar. Ay, Skinflint.
Lucy. There is my Master, Sir Isaac Skinflint, in that great Chair.
Shar. (Going up to him looking in his Face and laughing) A damned odd Sort of a Figure: a cursed queer old Fellow to look at. Is your name Skinflint?
Skin. It is, Sir.
Shar. Then give me you Hand, old Boy. (Shakes him by the Flannels)
Skin. Hold, hold, Sir, you'll kill me if you han't a Care.
Shar. So much the better; the sooner you die the better for me.