′Dinner-time, eh!′ repeated Toby, using his right-hand muffler like an infantine boxing-glove, and punishing his chest for being cold. ′Ah-h-h-h!′
He took a silent trot, after that, for a minute or two.
′There′s nothing,′ said Toby, breaking forth afresh—but here he stopped short in his trot, and with a face of great interest and some alarm, felt his nose carefully all the way up. It was but a little way (not being much of a nose) and he had soon finished.
′I thought it was gone,′ said Toby, trotting off again. ′It′s all right, however. I am sure I couldn′t blame it if it was to go. It has a precious hard service of it in the bitter weather, and precious little to look forward to; for I don′t take snuff myself. It′s a good deal tried, poor creetur, at the best of times; for when it DOES get hold of a pleasant whiff or so (which an′t too often) it′s generally from somebody else′s dinner, a-coming home from the baker′s.′
The reflection reminded him of that other reflection, which he had left unfinished.
′There′s nothing,′ said Toby, ′more regular in its coming round than dinner-time, and nothing less regular in its coming round than dinner. That′s the great difference between ′em. It′s took me a long time to find it out. I wonder whether it would be worth any gentleman′s while, now, to buy that obserwation for the Papers; or the Parliament!′
Toby was only joking, for he gravely shook his head in self- depreciation.
′Why! Lord!′ said Toby. ′The Papers is full of obserwations as it is; and so′s the Parliament. Here′s last week′s paper, now;′ taking a very dirty one from his pocket, and holding it from him at arm′s length; ′full of obserwations! Full of obserwations! I like to know the news as well as any man,′ said Toby, slowly; folding it a little smaller, and putting it in his pocket again: ′but it almost goes against the grain with me to read a paper now. It frightens me almost. I don′t know what we poor people are coming to. Lord send we may be coming to something better in the New Year nigh upon us!′
′Why, father, father!′ said a pleasant voice, hard by.
But Toby, not hearing it, continued to trot backwards and forwards: musing as he went, and talking to himself.
′It seems as if we can′t go right, or do right, or be righted,′ said Toby. ′I hadn′t much schooling, myself, when I was young; and I can′t make out whether we have any business on the face of the earth, or not. Sometimes I think we must have—a little; and sometimes I think we must be intruding. I get so puzzled sometimes that I am not even able to make up my mind whether there is any good at all in us, or whether we are born bad. We seem to be dreadful things; we seem to give a deal of trouble; we are always being complained of and guarded against. One way or other, we fill the papers. Talk of a New Year!′ said Toby, mournfully. ′I can bear up as well as another man at most times; better than a good many, for I am as strong as a lion, and all men an′t; but supposing it should really be that we have no right to a New Year—supposing we really ARE intruding—′
′Why, father, father!′ said the pleasant voice again.
© e-libr.com
feedback