Bennett—John, why did you say y-e-s, s-i-r? This is no time to drawl your words. And I saw your lips quiver, and your eyes and arms directed to Heaven, as though you were engaged in silent prayer. This won’t do, sir. My case is desperate. Can’t you lie, in matters of business, without invoking the celestial pardon? If you can’t, you will soon ruin me. What say you, John?
John—My parents will not let me tell lies. They would kill me, if they caught me in the two lies I have told for you to-day. They are extremely indigent, but they are as honest as poor Burns, the great poet of your native land, who said:
“The honest man, tho’ e’er sae poor,
Is king o’ men for a’ that.”
And who also said:
“O, wad some Pow’r the giftie gie us
To see oursels as ithers see us!”
Bennett (stamping the floor)—Darm it, boy, this is no time for poetry. Hang Burns, who was an old fool, and lived on air, like all the poets. I prefer Richard, who said:
“I have set my life upon a cast,
And I will stand the hazard of the die.”