_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.” Or Iago: “This is the night, That either makes me, or fordoes me quite.” Or Ophelia, with whose beautiful aphorism I closed my leading editorial, in the first number of the _Herald_: “Lord, we know that we are, But know not what we may be.” But darm the rhyme. We want bread and butter. I have been starving on truth and poetry, and I intend to lie, and cheat, and black mail, during the residue of my days. Do you understand me? _John_—Yes, sir, but I can’t lie. I had rather be poor, and tell the truth, than lie, and cheat, and wrong my fellow creatures, and be loathed by my parents, and be despised by myself, and by others, and have sleepless nights, and be in constant fear of death, and be in danger of a prison or the scaffold. So, you had better get another boy. _Bennett_—I am sorry to part with you, dear Johnny, because you have been so true and kind to me. _John_—I would like to remain, but I must leave, if you require me to lie. And yet I dread to inform my poor father and mother that I have left you, and have no means to aid them. But I had rather go hungry than tell lies, and I hope and believe that my parents will forgive me for leaving you. _Bennett_—I fear you are too conscientious to be my associate in the reckless and unscrupulous career of journalism before me, and therefore I shall advertise for another boy to-morrow. _John_—Very well, sir. (John takes his hat to go.) _Bennett_—Don’t go until I get another boy. _John_—I must go now, because you have proclaimed yourself a dishonest man, and I should be unhappy if I remained longer in your presence. _Bennett_—How much do I owe you? _John_—Nothing. _Bennett_—Yes I do. _John_—You can have it, because I fear you did not get it honestly, and I do not want it. (John goes.)