--Then reach me my breeches off the chair, said my father to _Susannah_. ----There is not a moment's time to dress you, Sir, cried _Susannah_--the child is as black in the face as my ----As your what? said my father, for like all orators, he was a dear searcher into comparisons. --Bless me, Sir, said _Susannah_, the child's in a fit. --And where's Mr. _Yorick?_ --Never where he should be, said _Susannah_, but his curate's in the dressing-room, with the child upon his arm, waiting for the name--and 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 not--and it would be a pity, in such a case, to throw away so great a name as _Trismegistus_ upon him----but he may recover.
No, no, ----said my father to _Susannah_, I'll get up ------There is no time, cried _Susannah_, the child's as black as my shoe. _Trismegistus_, said my father ------But stay--thou art a leaky vessel, _Susannah_, added my father; canst thou carry _Trismegistus_ in thy head, the length of the gallery without scattering? ------Can I? cried _Susannah_, shutting the door in a huff. ----If she can, I'll 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 it--'Tis _Tris_--something, cried _Susannah_ --There is no christian-name in the world, said the curate, beginning with _Tris_--but _Tristram_. Then 'tis _Tristram-gistus_, quoth _Susannah_.
----There is no _gistus_ to it, noodle! --'tis my own name, replied the curate, dipping his hand, as he spoke, into the bason--_Tristram!_ said he, &c. &c. &c. &c., so _Tristram_ was I called, and _Tristram_ shall I be to the day of my death.
My father followed _Susannah_, with his night-gown 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 button-hole.
----She has not forgot the name? cried my father, half opening the door. ----No, no, said the curate, with a tone of intelligence. ----And the child is better, cried _Susannah_. ----And how does your mistress? As well, said _Susannah_, as can be expected. --Pish! said my father, the button of his breeches slipping out of the button-hole --So that whether the interjection was levelled at _Susannah_, or the button-hole--whether 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 _chamber-maids_, my chapter of _pishes_, and my chapter of _button-holes_.
All the light I am able to give the reader at present is this, that the moment my father cried Pish! he whisk'd himself about--and with his breeches held up by one hand, and his night-gown thrown across the arm of the other, he turned along the gallery to bed, something slower than he came.
'Then reach me my breeches off the chair,' said my father to Susannah.
'There is no time to dress you, Sir,' cried Susannah; 'the child is as black in the face as my-'
'As your what?' said my father.
'Bless me, Sir,' said Susannah, 'the child's in a fit.'
'And where's Mr. Yorick?'
'Never where he should be,' said Susannah, 'but his curate's in the dressing-room, with the child upon his arm, waiting for the name - and my mistress bid me run as fast as I could to know, since Captain Shandy is the godfather, whether it should be called after him.'
'If one were sure,' said my father to himself, scratching his eyebrow, 'that the child was expiring, one might as well compliment my brother Toby - and it would be a pity, in that case, to throw away so great a name as Trismegistus upon him - but he may recover. No, no,' he said to Susannah. 'I'll get up.'
'There is no time,' cried Susannah, 'the child's as black as my shoe.'
'Trismegistus,' said my father. 'But stay - thou art a leaky vessel, Susannah. Canst thou carry Trismegistus in thy head, the length of the gallery without scattering it?'
'Can I?' cried Susannah, shutting the door in a huff.
'If she can, I'll be shot,' said my father, bouncing out of bed in the dark, and groping for his clothes.
Susannah ran with all speed along the gallery.
My father made all possible speed to find his breeches.
''Tis Tris - something,' cried Susannah.
'There is no christian-name in the world,' said the curate, 'beginning with Tris, but Tristram.'
'Then 'tis Tristram-gistus,' quoth Susannah.
'There is no gistus to it, noodle! - 'tis my own name,' replied the curate, dipping his hand into the basin. 'Tristram!' said he, &c. &c. &c.; so Tristram was I called, and Tristram shall I be to the day of my death.
My father followed Susannah, with nothing more than his breeches on, fastened through haste with but a single button, and that button only half in the button-hole.
'She has not forgot the name?' cried my father.
'No, no,' said the curate.
'And the child is better,' cried Susannah.
'And how does your mistress?'
'As well,' said Susannah, 'as can be expected.'
'Pish!' said my father, the button of his breeches slipping out of the button-hole. So whether that Pish was levelled at Susannah is a doubt, and must be a doubt till I have time to write the three following favourite chapters: that is, my chapter of chamber-maids, my chapter of Pishes, and my chapter of button-holes.
All I can say at present is this, that as my father cried 'Pish!' he whisked himself about - and with his breeches held up by one hand, he turned along the gallery to bed, somewhat slower than he came.
Book 4 - Chapter 14