Mrs. Croaker. Bless me! you said all this to the secretary of state, did you?
Lofty. I did not say the secretary, did I? Well, curse it, since you have found me out I will not deny it. It was to the secretary.
Mrs. Croaker. This was going to the fountain head at once; not applying to the understrappers, as Mr. Honeywood would have had us.
Lofty. Honeywood! he-he! He was, indeed, a fine solicitor. I suppose you have heard what has just happened to him?
Mrs. Croaker. Poor dear man! No accident, I hope.
Lofty. Undone, madam, that's all. His creditors have taken him into custody. A prisoner in his own house.
Mrs. Croaker. A prisoner in his own house! How! At this very time? I'm quite unhappy for him.
Lofty. Why, so am I. The man, to be sure, was immensely good-natured; but then, I could never find that he had anything in him.
Mrs. Croaker. His manner, to be sure, was excessive harmless; some, indeed, thought it a little dull. For my part I always concealed my opinion.
Lofty. It can't be concealed, madam: the man was dull, dull as the last new comedy! A poor impracticable creature! I tried once or twice to know if he was fit for business, but he had scarce talents to be groom-porter to an orange barrow.