“Yes, sir—there's some sense in that—and you, gentlemen, remember we must be all up early—and I recommend you to follow my example.”
The little man rang the bell—the bootjack and slippers were called for, and, after some delay, a very sleepy-looking gossoon entered with a bootjack under his arm, but no slippers.
“Didn't I say slippers?” said the little man.
“You did, sir.”
“Where are they, sir?”
“The masther says there isn't any, if you plaze, sir.”
“No slippers! and you call this an inn? Oh!—well, 'what can't be cured must be endured'—hold me the bootjack, sir.”
The gossoon obeyed—the little man inserted his heel in the cleft, but, on attempting to pull his foot from the boot, he nearly went heels over head backward. Murphy caught him and put him on his legs again. “Heads up, soldiers,” exclaimed Murtough; “I thought you were drinking too much.”
“Sir, I'm not intoxicated!” said the mannikin, snappishly. “It is the fault of that vile bootjack—what sort of a thing is that you have brought?” added he in a rage to the gossoon.
“It's the bootjack, sir; only one o' the horns is gone, you see,” and he held up to view a rough piece of board with an angular slit in it, but one of “the horns,” as he called it, had been broken off at the top, leaving the article useless.