Steward. Your father's house is burned down to the ground.
Mr. G. My father's house burnt down! and how came it to be on fire?
Steward. I think, Sir, it must have been the torches.
Mr. G. Torches! what torches?
Steward. At your mother's funeral.
Mr. G. My mother dead?
Steward. Ay, poor lady, she never looked up after it.
Mr. G. After what?
Steward. The loss of your father.
Mr. G. My father gone too?
Steward. Yes, poor gentleman, he took to his bed as soon as he heard of it.
Mr. G. Heard of what?
Steward. The bad news, an' it please your honour.
Mr. G. What? more miseries, more bad news!
Steward. Yes, Sir, your bank has failed, your credit is lost and you're not worth a shilling in the world. I made bold, Sir, to come and wait on you about it; for I thought you would like to hear the news.
