Humphry. Because he said you was his father—that's a good reason, an't it? But it's a wise son knows his own father, as the old saying is.
Loveyet. How can that be, when the letter is dated in the Island of Cuba, the twentieth day of January, and he says he don't expect to leave it till the beginning of March, and this is only February, so it is impossible he shou'd be here yet.
Humphry. May be you an't the old gentleman, then.
Loveyet. To be sure I an't an old gentleman. Did he say I was old, eigh?
Humphry. Yes, I believe he did.
Loveyet. I believe you lie—and I'll let you know that I an't old enough to be his father, you—
Humphry. Well, if the case lies there, that settles the harsh, d' ye see; but, for my part, I think how you look old enough and ugly enough to be his great-grandfather, as the old saying is.
Loveyet. Sirrah, get out of my house, or I'll break your bones for you.
Humphry. I'm a going—howsomever, give me the letter again; you've got no business with it—you an't his father.
Loveyet. You lie! I am his father—if he was here, he wou'dn't deny it.