Barnstaple. All the better. But to continue—no remittances—awkward position—explain your situation—receive credit to any amount—and compliment your countrymen.
Ansard. (writes.) Credit to any amount—pleasing idea. But I don’t exactly perceive the value of this last hint, Barnstaple.
Barnstaple. All judicious travellers make it a point, throughout the whole of their works, to flatter the nation upon its wealth, name, and reputation in foreign countries; by doing so you will be read greedily, and praised in due proportion. If ever I were to write my travels into the interior of Africa, or to the North Pole, I would make it a point to discount a bill at Timbuctoo, or get a cheque cashed by the Esquimaux, without the least hesitation in either case. I think now, that what with your invention, your plagiarism, and my hints, you ought to produce a very effective Book of Travels; and with that feeling I shall leave you to pursue your Journey, and receive, at its finale, your just reward. When we meet again, I hope to see you advertised.
Ansard. Yes, but not exposed, I trust. I am incognito, you know.
Barnstaple. To be sure, that will impart an additional interest to your narrative. All the world will be guessing who you may be. Adieu, voyageur. (Exit Barnstaple.)
Ansard. And Heaven forfend that they should find me out! But what can be done? In brief, I cannot get a brief, and thus I exercise my professional acquirements how I can, proving myself as long-winded, as prosy perhaps, and certainly as lying, as the more fortunate of my fraternity.