Sir R. An undutiful cub! Only arrived from Russia last night, and though I told him to stay at home till I rose, he's scampering over the fields like a Calmuck Tartar.
Hum. He's a fine fellow.
Sir R. He has a touch of our family. Don't you think he is a little like me, Humphrey?
Hum. No, not a bit; you are as ugly an old man as ever I clapped my eyes on.
Sir R. Now that's plaguy impudent, but there's no flattery in it, and it keeps up the independence of argument. His father, my brother Job, is of as tame a spirit—Humphrey, you remember my brother Job?
Hum. Yes, you drove him to Russia five and twenty years ago.
Sir R. I did not drive him.
Hum. Yes, you did. You would never let him be at peace in the way of argument.
Sir R. At peace! Zounds, he would never go to war.
Hum. He had the merit to be calm.