hall never be
mine, I promise you.

TRUEMAN. Conceited old sot! [_Exit._

HUMPHRY. He's gone at last.

LOVEYET. What brought _you_ here, pray?

HUMPHRY. Why, my legs, to be sure.--Here, old gentleman, if you'll promise
you won't get in such a passion as you did just now, I've got some news to
tell you.

LOVEYET. I in a passion? 'tis no such thing--I didn't mind anything he
said, because he's old and fretful;--but what news, eigh--what news?

HUMPHRY. Here's a letter for you. [_Gives it to LOVEYET._

LOVEYET. [_Opens the letter and reads._] I am heartily glad, 'faith!
[_Reads again._]--'Od's my life, I'm as happy as the Great Mogul, and as
good-natur'd--

HUMPHRY. That's clever; I likes to see people good-natur'd,--it makes me as
happy as the Great Pogul.

LOVEYET. I'll go tell old Trueman's daughter, Charles is coming, but not
for her--I know she'll be mortify'd, poor girl, but I can't help that. Who
gave you this letter?

HUMPHRY. Why your son, to be sure.

LOVEYET. When did you leave the _Havanna_, pray?

HUMPHRY. The _Havanna_?

LOVEYET. Yes, are you not from the West-Indies?

HUMPHRY. Who--me?--not I.

LOVEYET. Why, what the plague makes you think he was my son, then?

HUMPHRY. Because he said you was his father--that's a good reason, an't it?
But it's a wise son knows his own father, as the old saying is.

LOVEYET. How can that be, when the letter is dated in the Island of Cuba,
the twentieth day of January, and he says he don't expect to leave it till
the beginning of March, and this is only February, so it is impossible he
shou'd be here yet.

HUMPHRY. May be you an't the old gentleman, then.

LOVEYET. To be sure I an't an _old_ gentleman. Did he say I was old, eigh?

HUMPHRY. Yes, I believe he did.

LOVEYET. I believe you lie--and I'll let you know that I an't old enough to
be his father, you--

HUMPHRY. Well, if the case lies there, that settles the harsh, d' ye see;
but, for my part, I think how you look old enough and ugly enough to be his
great-grandfather, as the old saying is.

LOVEYET. Sirrah, get out of my house, or I'll break your bones for you.

HUMPHRY. I'm a going--howsomever, give me the letter again; you've got no
business with it--you an't his father.

LOVEYET. You lie! I am his father--if he was here, he wou'dn't deny it.

HUMPHRY. Why, he is here, I tell you--here in New-York. I suppose how he's
made a small mistake