_Hosea._ New p-p-p-postmaster! well, that's the old threat. Oh, the villain! This comes of meddling with public affairs. When I was a private citizen, I was gay and happy, with such a flow of humor, punning from morning till night. I never pun now; I can't; it's sure to turn into a lie. I'm a miserable old rascal, that's ashamed to look an honest man in the face. I'm a swindler, a cheat, a liar, and a coward. I can't help it. I sold my birthright for a mess of pottage; no, potash, for it's all lie. O Jenks! when you parted with honesty, you knocked down a rich estate at an awful sacrifice. I'm in daily dread of these infernal detectives. In my office, at home, at my table, in bed, I feel the hand of justice on my shoulder, and the voice of outraged Uncle Sam thunders in my ear. _Hiram._ The colonel wants his money, dad. _Hosea_ (_starts to his feet_). Yes, yes. I'm a-going for it, I'm a-going for it. (_Starts up stage._) _Hiram._ Halt! 'bout face! hold up your head, turn out your toes. (HOSEA _obeys_.) Now, dad, you will do no such thing! _Hosea._ Hey! what do you mean, boy? _Hiram._ Come, dad, straighten up; drop that. I've changed that name with you. You are the boy,—a weak, silly, foolish boy. _Hosea._ Do you want to insult my gray hairs? _Hiram._ Insult them? Tell me, dad, have _you_ respected them as you should? _Hosea._ Eh! wh-what do you mean? _Hiram._ Why does that man order you to find money for him? Why does he treat you with such cool contempt? _Hosea_ (_nervously_). Eh? oh! ha, ha, ha! it's only his way, you know. We are great friends,—great friends. He got me my office; and, you know, if I can do him a favor, why, I ought; certainty I oughter be proud to—to do him a favor: see? (_Aside._) How he looks at me! he knows it's a lie. I can't help it: it will pop out. _Hiram._ That won't do, dad. You're afraid of him: you're a coward. _Hosea._ Coward, boy! this to me? _Hiram._ Yes, and more. You have sold yourself to this man; you are accomplices in crime. You have made yourself liable to a long imprisonment, for you have robbed the mail. _Hosea_ (_alarmed_). Hush! don't speak so loud, boy! Who told you this? Do you want to see me hung? do you want—O Hiram, Hiram! pity me, pity me! I'm a poor old sinner, a poor old sinner! (_Wrings his hands, falls on his knees, and hides his face._)