“Hullo, Nursie! it’s you turned boot-black, is it?—Nice thing for the office, Jack!” remarked Marway, who was the finest gentleman, and the lowest blackguard among the clerks.
He put his foot on the block. The boy began his task, but did no better with his boots than he had done with Clare’s.
“Soul of an ass!” cried Marway, “are you going to keep my foot there till it freezes to the block? Why don’t you do as Nursie tells you? He knows how to brush a boot! You ain’t worth your salt! You ain’t fit to black a donkey’s hoofs!”
“Give me the brushes, my boy,” said Clare.
The boy rose abashed, and obeyed. After a few of Clare’s light rapid strokes, the boots looked very different.
“Bravo, Nursie!” cried Marway. “There ain’t a flunkey of you all could do it better!”
Clare said nothing, finished the job, and stood up. Marway, turning on the other heel as he set his foot down, said, “Thank you, Nursie!” and was walking off.
“Please, Mr. Marway, give the boy his penny,” said Clare.
But Marway wanted to take a rise out of Clare.
“The fool did nothing for me!” he answered. “He made my boot worse than it was.”