"Splendid wine," remarked Mr. Slink, rather thickly for, if the truth be known, he had treated himself twice at the ale-house across the street before mounting to the attic, and this unwonted indulgence in addition to the hospitality of the poet made an aggregate amount of intoxicants quite a little more than he could comfortably contain.
"You 're a judge of liquor, Mr. Moore, a gentleman and a scholar in the bargain. I 've always told Matilda so, I assure you."
"I am delighted to hear you say so, Mr. Slink. Now if you will take this shoe that is tight back to the shop and have it stretched, I 'll pay you for the pair if the one that pinches suits as well as this I have on, when I try it on again."
"Just so, sir," replied the cobbler, cheerfully, meanwhile getting down on his knees to remove the unsatisfactory boot. "I 'll not be long, sir. You can rely on my return, sir, within the hour."
"That will be soon enough," said Moore. "Here is your paper, Mr. Slink."
"Thank you, sir," said the now thoroughly exhilarated shoemaker, wrapping up the boot, as Moore resumed the well-worn slippers he had temporarily discarded for the test of Mr. Slink's handiwork.
"Good day, Mr. Slink."
"Good day, Mr. Moore."
"Oh, my best respects to Mrs. Slink."
"Matilda will be delighted, sir," replied the cobbler, moving out into the hall with a step decidedly uncertain.