“Oh yessss,” breathed the flattered shoeman. “There’s your shoes, Mr. Appleby. Four dollars, please. Thank you. And let me tell you, confidentially, you got the best bargain in the store. I can see with half an eye you’ve learned a lot about shoes. I suppose it’s only natural, tramping and wearing them out so fast and visiting the big burgs and all—”
“Huh! Ought to know shoes. Used to be in business. Pilkings & Son’s, little old New York. Me and old Pilky practically started the business together, as you might say.”
“Well, well, well, well!” The shoeman stared in reverent amazement. Then, as he could think of nothing further to say, he justly observed, “Well!”
“Yump. That reminds me. Make that boy of yours rearrange that counter case there. Those pink-satin evening slippers simply lose all their display value when you stick those red-kid bed-slippers right up ferninst them that way.
“Yes, yes, that’s so. I’m much obliged to you for the tip, Mr. Appleby. That’s what it is to be trained in a big burg. But I’ll have to rearrange it myself. That boy Peter is no good. I’m letting him go, come Saturday.”
“That so?” said Father; then, authoritatively: “Peter, my boy, you ought to try to make good here. Nothing I’d like better—if I had the time—than to grow up in a shoe-store in a nice, pretty village like this.”
“Yes, that’s what I’ve told him many’s the time. Do you hear what Mr. Appleby says, Peter?... Say, Mr. Appleby, does this town really strike you as having the future for the shoe business?”
“Why, sure.”
“Are you ever likely to think about going back into the shoe business again, some day? ’Course,” apologetically, “you wouldn’t ever want to touch anything in as small a burg as this, but in a way it’s kind of a pity. I was just thinking of how the youngsters here would flock to have you give ’em your expert advice as a sporting gentleman, instead of hanging around that cheap-John shoe-store that those confounded worthless Simpson boys try to run.”
Father carefully put down the bundle of his new shoes, drew a long breath, then tried to look bored again. Cautiously: “Yes, I’ve thought some of going back into business. ’Course I’d hate to give up my exploring and all, but— Progress, you know; hate to lay down the burden of big affairs after being right in the midst of them for so long.” Which was a recollection of some editorial Father had read in a stray roadside newspaper. “And you mustn’t suppose I’d be sniffy about Lipsittsville. No, no; no, indeed. Not at all. I must say I don’t know when I’ve seen a more wide-awake, pretty town—and you can imagine how many towns I must have seen. Maples and cement walks and nice houses and—uh—wide-awake town.... Well, who knows! Perhaps some day I might come back here and talk business with you. Ha, ha! Though I wouldn’t put in one cent of capital. No, sir! Not one red cent. All my money is invested with my son-in-law—you know, Harris Hartwig, the famous chemical works. Happen to know um?”