Sir R. Very well; negatur; now prove it.
Hum. Put the case then, I am a poor man.
Sir R. You an't, you scoundrel. You know you shall never want while I have a shilling.
Hum. Bless you!
Sir R. Pshaw! Proceed.
Hum. Well, then, I am a poor—I must be a poor man now, or I never shall get on.
Sir R. Well, get on, be a poor man.
Hum. I am a poor man, and I argue with you, and convince you, you are wrong; then you call yourself a blockhead, and I am of your opinion: now, that's no flattery.
Sir R. Why, no; but when a man's of the same opinion with me, he puts an end to the argument, and that puts an end to the conversation, and so I hate him for that. But where's my nephew Frederic?
Hum. Been out these two hours.