Sir Abel. Bread! Oh, he can't earn his bread, bless you! he's a genius.
Ash. Genius! Drabbit it, I have got a horze o' thic name, but dom' un, he'll never work—never.
Sir Abel. Egad; here comes my boy Bob!—Eh! no—it is not! no.
Enter POSTBOY, with a round hat and cane.
Why, who the devil are you?
Postb. I am the postboy, your honour, but the gem'man said I did not know how to drive, so he mounted my horse, and made me get inside—Here he is.
Enter Handy, jun. with a postboy's cap and whip.
Handy, jun. Ah, my old Dad, is that you?
Sir Abel. Certainly! the only doubt is, if that be you?
Handy, jun. Oh, I was teaching this fellow to drive—Nothing is so horrible as people pretending to do what they are unequal to—Give me my hat—That's the way to use a whip.