CHAPTER XXVI

When _Trim_ came in and told my father, that Dr. _Slop_ was in the kitchen, and busy in making a bridge--my uncle _Toby_----the affair of the jack-boots having just then raised a train of military ideas in his brain----took it instantly for granted that Dr. _Slop_ was making a model of the marquis _d’Hôpital’s_ bridge. ----’Tis very obliging in him, quoth my uncle _Toby_; --pray give my humble service to Dr. _Slop_, _Trim_, and tell him I thank him heartily.

Had my uncle _Toby’s_ head been a _Savoyard’s_ box, and my father peeping in all the time at one end of it----it could not have given him a more distinct conception of the operations of my uncle _Toby’s_ imagination, than what he had; so, notwithstanding the catapulta and battering-ram, and his bitter imprecation about them, he was just beginning to triumph----

When _Trim’s_ answer, in an instant, tore the laurel from his brows, and twisted it to pieces.

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