Pon. I’m thinking, whether I am or not.
Charles. And what wise scheme now occupies your thoughts?
Pon. Sir, I confess the subject is beneath me (pointing to the portmanteau.)
Char. The weight of the portmanteau, I suppose, alarms you.
Pon. If that was my heaviest misfortune, sir, I could carry double with all my heart. No, sir, I was thinking that as your father, sir Rowland, sent you on a cruize, for some cause best known to himself; and as you have thought proper to return for some cause best known to yourself, the chances of war, if I may be allowed the expression, are, that the contents of that trunk will be your only inheritance, or, in other words, that your father will cut you off with a shilling—and now I’m thinking—
Char. No doubt—thinking takes up so many of your waking hours, that you seldom find time for doing. And so you have, since my departure, turned your thinking faculties to the law.
Pon. Yes, sir; when you gave me notice to quit, I found it so hard to live honestly, that lest the law should take to me, I took to the law: and so articled my self to Mr. O’Dedimus, the attorney in our town: but there is a thought unconnected with law that has occupied my head every moment since we met.
Char. Pr’ythee dismiss your thought, and get your legs in motion.
Pon. Then, sir, I have really been thinking, ever since I saw you, that you are a little—(going off to a distance) a little odd hereabouts, sir; (pointing to his head) a little damned mad, if I may be allowed the expression!
Char. Ha! ha! very probably. My sudden return, without a motive, as you suppose, has put that wise notion in your head.