Otis, James, 1848-1912 / 2008-07-07 00:00:00
He curled himself up on one corner of the
seat, and tried very hard to go to sleep; but just as his eyes began
to grow heavy the wagon would jolt over some rock or sink deep in
some rut, till Toby, the breath very nearly shaken out of his body,
and his neck almost dislocated, would sit bolt upright, clinging
to the seat with both hands, as if he expected each moment to be
pitched out into the mud.
The driver watched him closely, and each time that he saw him shaken
up and awakened so thoroughly he would indulge in one of his silent
laughing spells, until Toby would wonder whether he would ever
recover from it. Several times had Toby been awakened, and each time
he had seen the amusement his sufferings caused, until he finally
resolved to put an end to the sport by keeping awake.
"What is your name?" he asked of the driver, thinking a conversation
would be the best way to rouse himself into wakefulness.
"Waal," said the driver, as he gathered the reins carefully in one
hand, and seemed to be debating in his mind how he should answer
the question, "I don't know as I know myself, it's been so long
since I've heard it."
Toby was wide enough awake now, as this rather singular problem
was forced upon his mind. He revolved the matter silently for some
moments, and at last he asked, "What do folks call you when they
want to speak to you?"
"They always call me Old Ben, an' I've got so used to the name that
I don't need any other.
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