Hump. Ay, say you so? Then you can inform me in some things concerning myself—Pray, sir, what estate am I heir to?
Pounce. To fifteen hundred pounds a year, an entailed estate.
Hump. I am glad to hear it with all my heart; and can you satisfy me in another question—Pray how old am I at present?
Pounce. Three-and-twenty last March.
Hump. Why, as sure as you are there, they have kept me back. I have been told by some of the neighbourhood that I was born the very year the pigeon-house was built, and everybody knows the pigeon-house is three-and-twenty. Why! I find there have been tricks played me. I have obeyed him all along, as if I had been obliged to it.
Pounce. Not at all, sir; your father can't cut you out of one acre of fifteen hundred pounds a year.
Hump. What a fool have I been to give him his head so long!
Pounce. A man of your beauty and fortune may find out ladies enough that are not akin to you.
Hump. Look ye, Mr. what d'ye call—as to my beauty, I don't know but they may take a liking to that. But, sir, mayn't I crave your name?