My uncle Toby laid down his knife and fork, and thrust his plate from before him, as the landlord gave him the account; and Trim, without being ordered, took them away without saying one word, and in a few minutes after brought him his pipe and tobacco.

“Stay in the room a little,” says my uncle Toby.  “Trim,” said my uncle Toby, after he had lighted his pipe and smoked about a dozen whiffs.  Trim came in front of his master and made his bow; my uncle Toby smoked on and said no more.  “Corporal,” said my uncle Toby.  The corporal made his bow.  My uncle Toby proceeded no farther, but finished his pipe.  “Trim,” said my uncle Toby, “I have a project in my head, as it is a bad night, of wrapping myself up warm in my roquelaure, and paying a visit to this poor gentleman.”  “Your honor’s roquelaure,” replied the corporal, “has not been had on since the night before your honor received your wound, when we mounted guard in the trenches before the gate of St. Nicholas; and, besides, it is so cold and rainy a night, that what with the roquelaure and what with the weather, ’t will be enough to give your honor your death, and bring on your honor’s torment in your groin.”  “I fear so,” replied my uncle Toby; “but I am not at rest in my mind, Trim, since the account the landlord has given me.  I wish I had not known so much of this affair,” added my uncle Toby, “or that I had known more of it.  How shall we manage it!” “Leave it, an ’t please your honor, to me,” quoth the corporal; “I’ll take my hat and stick, and go to the house, reconnoitre, and act accordingly; and I will bring your honor a full account in an hour.”  “Thou shalt go, Trim,” said my uncle Toby, “and here’s a shilling for thee to drink with his servant.”  “I shall get it all out of him,” said the corporal, shutting the door.  My uncle Toby filled his second pipe; and, had it not been that he now and then wandered from the point, with considering whether it was not full as well to have the curtain of the tennaile a straight line as a crooked one, he might be said to have thought of nothing else but poor LeFevre and his boy the whole time he smoked it.

My uncle Toby had knocked the ashes out of his third pipe, when Trim returned and gave the following account: 

“I despaired at first,” said the corporal, “of being able to bring back your honor any kind of intelligence concerning the poor sick lieutenant.”  “Is he in the army, then?” said my uncle Toby.  “He is,” said the corporal.  “And in what regiment?” said my uncle Toby.  “I’ll tell your honor,” replied the corporal, “every thing straight forward, as I learnt it.”  “Then, Trim, I’ll fill another pipe,” said my uncle Toby, “and not interrupt thee till thou hast done; so sit down at thy ease, Trim, in the window-seat, and begin thy story again.”  The corporal made his old bow, which generally spoke as plain as a bow could speak it.  “Your honor is good,” and, having done that, he sat down as he was ordered, and began the story to my uncle Toby over again, in pretty nearly the same words.