XIV
вАФThen reach me my breeches off the chair, said my father to Susannah.вБ†вЄЇвБ†There is not a momentвАЩs time to dress you, Sir, cried SusannahвБ†вАФthe child is as black in the face as myвБ†вЄЇвБ†As your what? said my father, for like all orators, he was a dear searcher into comparisons.вБ†вАФBless me, Sir, said Susannah, the childвАЩs in a fit.вБ†вАФAnd whereвАЩs Mr.¬†Yorick?вБ†вАФNever where he should be, said Susannah, but his curateвАЩs in the dressing-room, with the child upon his arm, waiting for the nameвБ†вАФand my mistress bid me run as fast as I could to know, as captain Shandy is the godfather, whether it should not be called after him.
Were one sure, said my father to himself, scratching his eyebrow, that the child was expiring, one might as well compliment my brother Toby as notвБ†вАФand it would be a pity, in such a case, to throw away so great a name as Trismegistus upon himвБ†вЄЇвБ†but he may recover.
No, no,вБ†вЄЇвБ†said my father to Susannah, IвАЩll get upвБ†вЄїThere is no time, cried Susannah, the childвАЩs as black as my shoe. Trismegistus, said my fatherвБ†вЄїBut stayвБ†вАФthou art a leaky vessel, Susannah, added my father; canst thou carry Trismegistus in thy head, the length of the gallery without scattering?вБ†вЄїCan I? cried Susannah, shutting the door in a huff.вБ†вЄЇвБ†If she can, IвАЩll be shot, said my father, bouncing out of bed in the dark, and groping for his breeches.
Susannah ran with all speed along the gallery.
My father made all possible speed to find his breeches.
Susannah got the start, and kept itвБ†вАФвАЩTis TrisвБ†вАФsomething, cried SusannahвБ†вАФThere is no christian-name in the world, said the curate, beginning with TrisвБ†вАФbut Tristram. Then вАЩtis Tristram-gistus, quoth Susannah.
вЄЇвБ†There is no gistus to it, noodle!вБ†вАФвАЩtis my own name, replied the curate, dipping his hand, as he spoke, into the basonвБ†вАФTristram! said he, etc. etc. etc. etc., so Tristram was I called, and Tristram shall I be to the day of my death.
My father followed Susannah, with his nightgown across his arm, with nothing more than his breeches on, fastened through haste with but a single button, and that button through haste thrust only half into the buttonhole.
вЄЇвБ†She has not forgot the name? cried my father, half opening the door.вБ†вЄЇвБ†No, no, said the curate, with a tone of intelligence.вБ†вЄЇвБ†And the child is better, cried Susannah.вБ†вЄЇвБ†And how does your mistress? As well, said Susannah, as can be expected.вБ†вАФPish! said my father, the button of his breeches slipping out of the buttonholeвБ†вАФSo that whether the interjection was levelled at Susannah, or the buttonholeвБ†вАФwhether Pish was an interjection of contempt or an interjection of modesty, is a doubt, and must be a doubt till I shall have time to write the three following favourite chapters, that is, my chapter of chambermaids, my chapter of pishes, and my chapter of buttonholes.
All the light I am able to give the reader at present is this, that the moment my father cried Pish! he whiskвАЩd himself aboutвБ†вАФand with his breeches held up by one hand, and his nightgown thrown across the arm of the other, he turned along the gallery to bed, something slower than he came.