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Updated: June 8, 2025
"Lo'd no!" said the shoeman, and he caught up the slack of his reins to drive on, as if he thought this amusing maniac might also be dangerous. Gregory stopped him with another question. "And shall will you think it necessary to speak of of this transaction? I leave you free!" "Well," said the shoeman.
"Three dollas," said the shoeman in a surprise which he could not conceal at Clementina's courage. She laughed, and stooped to untie the slippers. "That's too much for me." "Let me untie 'em, Clem," said the big girl. "It's a shame for you eva to take 'em off." "That's right, lady," said the shoeman. "And you don't eva need to," he added, to Clementina, "unless you object to sleepin' in 'em.
A groan of dismay went up from the whole circle, and some who had pressed forward for a sight of the slippers, shrank back again. "Did I hea' just now," asked the shoeman, with a soft insinuation in his voice, and in the glance he suddenly turned upon Clementina, "a party addressed as Boss?"
Atwell wants to see you a moment, Mr. Fane," she said to the clerk. "All right, Miss Claxon," Fane answered, with the sorrowful respect which he always showed Clementina, now, "I'll be right there." But he waited a moment, either in expression of his personal independence, or from curiosity to know what the shoeman was going to say of the bronze slippers.
He was beginning to have another idea, a better idea, which he pondered as he came to shoe-stores in small towns.... They weren't very well window-dressed; the signs were feeble.... Maybe some day he'd get back into the shoe business in some town, and he'd show them only, how could he talk business to a shoeman when he was shabby and winter-tanned and none too extravagant in the care of his reddening hands?
He learned of an old Englishman who, although his store was in an out of the way town, did a large business. The shoeman wrote half a dozen letters to himself care of the old Englishman, addressing them as "Lord" So and So.
"This man," said the chef, indicating Fane, "says you can tell moa lies to the square inch than any man out o' Boston." "Doos he?" asked the shoeman, turning with a pair of high-heeled bronze slippers in his hand from the wagon. "Well, now, if I stood as nea' to him as you do, I believe I sh'd hit him."
When he reached the town the Englishman most graciously handed him the letters, and to all questions of the shoeman, who commanded a good British accent, answered, "Yes, my lord," or "No, my lord." The shoe man explained that, like the merchant, he had hated to leave the old country, but that America sad to state was a more thrifty country and he had invested in a large shoe factory in Boston.
"Oh, don't go!" they chorused in an equally histrionic alarm, and the shoeman got down from his perch to show his wares. "Now, the'a, ladies," he said, pulling out one of the drawers, and dangling a pair of shoes from it by the string that joined their heels, "the'e's a shoe that looks as good as any Sat'd'y-night shoe you eva see.
"Why my foot feels puffectly lost in this one." "All right," the shoeman shouted back. "Call it a numba one shoe and then see if you can't find that lost foot in it, some'eres. Or try a little flour, and see if it won't feel more at home. I've hea'd of a shoe that give that sensation of looseness by not goin' on at all."
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