II
When my father received the letter which brought him the melancholy account of my brother BobbyвАЩs death, he was busy calculating the expense of his riding post from Calais to Paris, and so on to Lyons.
вАЩTwas a most inauspicious journey; my father having had every foot of it to travel over again, and his calculation to begin afresh, when he had almost got to the end of it, by ObadiahвАЩs opening the door to acquaint him the family was out of yeastвБ†вАФand to ask whether he might not take the great coach-horse early in the morning and ride in search of some.вБ†вАФWith all my heart, Obadiah, said my father (pursuing his journey)вБ†вАФtake the coach-horse, and welcome.вБ†вЄЇвБ†But he wants a shoe, poor creature! said Obadiah.вБ†вЄЇвБ†Poor creature! said my uncle Toby, vibrating the note back again, like a string in unison. Then ride the Scotch horse, quoth my father hastily.вБ†вАФHe cannot bear a saddle upon his back, quoth Obadiah, for the whole world.вБ†вЄЇвБ†The devilвАЩs in that horse; then take Patriot, cried my father, and shut the door.вБ†вЄЇвБ†Patriot is sold, said Obadiah. HereвАЩs for you! cried my father, making a pause, and looking in my uncle TobyвАЩs face, as if the thing had not been a matter of fact.вБ†вАФYour worship ordered me to sell him last April, said Obadiah.вБ†вАФThen go on foot for your pains, cried my fatherвБ†вЄЇвБ†I had much rather walk than ride, said Obadiah, shutting the door.
What plagues, cried my father, going on with his calculation.вБ†вЄЇвБ†But the waters are out, said Obadiah,вБ†вАФopening the door again.
Till that moment, my father, who had a map of SansonвАЩs, and a book of the post-roads before him, had kept his hand upon the head of his compasses, with one foot of them fixed upon Nevers, the last stage he had paid forвБ†вАФpurposing to go on from that point with his journey and calculation, as soon as Obadiah quitted the room: but this second attack of ObadiahвАЩs, in opening the door and laying the whole country under water, was too much.вБ†вЄЇвБ†He let go his compassesвБ†вАФor rather with a mixed motion between accident and anger, he threw them upon the table; and then there was nothing for him to do, but to return back to Calais (like many others) as wise as he had set out.
When the letter was brought into the parlour, which contained the news of my brotherвАЩs death, my father had got forwards again upon his journey to within a stride of the compasses of the very same stage of Nevers.вБ†вЄЇвБ†By your leave, Mons. Sanson, cried my father, striking the point of his compasses through Nevers into the tableвБ†вАФand nodding to my uncle Toby to see what was in the letterвБ†вАФtwice of one night, is too much for an English gentleman and his son, Mons. Sanson, to be turned back from so lousy a town as NeversвБ†вАФWhat thinkвАЩst thou, Toby? added my father in a sprightly tone.вБ†вЄЇвБ†Unless it be a garrison town, said my uncle TobyвБ†вЄЇвБ†for thenвБ†вЄЇвБ†I shall be a fool, said my father, smiling to himself, as long as I live.вБ†вАФSo giving a second nodвБ†вАФand keeping his compasses still upon Nevers with one hand, and holding his book of the post-roads in the otherвБ†вАФhalf calculating and half listening, he leaned forwards upon the table with both elbows, as my uncle Toby hummed over the letter.
вЄї вЄї вЄї вЄї вЄї вЄї вЄї вЄї вЄї вЄї вЄї вЄї вЄї вЄї вЄї вЄї вЄї вЄї вЄї вЄї вЄї вЄї вЄївБ†вАФheвАЩs gone! said my uncle Toby.вБ†вЄЇвБ†WhereвБ†вЄЇвБ†Who? cried my father.вБ†вЄЇвБ†My nephew, said my uncle Toby.вБ†вЄЇвБ†WhatвБ†вАФwithout leaveвБ†вАФwithout moneyвБ†вАФwithout governor? cried my father in amazement. No:вБ†вЄЇвБ†he is dead, my dear brother, quoth my uncle Toby.вБ†вАФWithout being ill? cried my father again.вБ†вАФI dare say not, said my uncle Toby, in a low voice, and fetching a deep sigh from the bottom of his heart, he has been ill enough, poor lad! IвАЩll answer for himвБ†вЄЇвБ†for he is dead.
When Agrippina was told of her sonвАЩs death, Tacitus informs us, that, not being able to moderate the violence of her passions, she abruptly broke off her work.вБ†вАФMy father stuck his compasses into Nevers, but so much the faster.вБ†вАФWhat contrarieties! his, indeed, was matter of calculation!вБ†вАФAgrippinaвАЩs must have been quite a different affair; who else could pretend to reason from history?
How my father went on, in my opinion, deserves a chapter to itself.вБ†вАФ