When my father received the letter which brought him the melancholy account of my brother Bobby’s death, he was busy calculating the expense of his riding post from Calais to Paris , and so on to Lyons .
’Twas 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 Obadiah’s opening the door to acquaint him the family was out of yeast—and to ask whether he might not take the great coach-horse early in the morning and ride in search of some.—With all my heart, Obadiah , said my father (pursuing his journey)—take the coach-horse, and welcome.⸺But he wants a shoe, poor creature! said Obadiah .⸺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.—He cannot bear a saddle upon his back, quoth Obadiah , for the whole world.⸺The devil’s in that horse; then take Patriot , cried my father, and shut the door.⸺ Patriot is sold, said Obadiah . Here’s for you! cried my father, making a pause, and looking in my uncle Toby’s face, as if the thing had not been a matter of fact.—Your worship ordered me to sell him last April , said Obadiah .—Then go on foot for your pains, cried my father⸺I had much rather walk than ride, said Obadiah , shutting the door.
What plagues, cried my father, going on with his calculation.⸺But the waters are out, said Obadiah ,—opening the door again.
Till that moment, my father, who had a map of Sanson’s , 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 for—purposing to go on from that point with his journey and