COPYRIGHT, 1895, BY T. S. DENISON.
CHARACTER.
- The Cobbler, who while examining old shoes in his shop, discourses about their various owners.
Costume.
The Cobbler should make up as old man, poorly dressed, gray wig, spectacles.
THE COBBLER.
Scene—A cobbler’s shop. Shoemaker’s bench and kit, shelves, empty dry goods box, two paper shoe boxes, roll of leather leaning in corner, lasts hanging on wall, old shoes scattered about and scraps of leather on floor, old chair with one leg broken. Bench well down C. so cobbler can move round freely in shop. Cobbler with apron and make-up to suit.
Cobbler. (As curtain rises is hammering a piece of sole leather on his lap stone.) That sole’s got to be jist right, jist so thick an’ no thicker. It’s fur Lawyer Boyd and I ’low no more particklerer man lives this side o’ Jordan. Always kickin’ about something. Said the last pair o’ shoes I made him didn’t fit anywhere except on his corns. Was ashamed of ’em every time he plead a case. Felt humiliated every time he saw ’em. (Plies hammer vigorously.) Plague take it! I wouldn’t hurt a lawyer’s feelin’s fur the world, specially his feelin’s. That man is downright insultin’ in his ways. Jist because I promised him a pair o’ new shoes last Thanksgivin’ an’ didn’t git ’em ready till Christmas he stormed round like a house afire. Said I was worse ’n the tailor an’ he don’t never get anything ready on time. Some people thinks theirs is the only job in town. As if a shoemaker wasn’t human an’ consekently had to fail in his promises sometimes. That old pettifogger actooally said if I was responsible he’d cane me. I’d like to see ’im try it. It’s thirty year sence anybody tried that game on me. But he’s good pay an’ bin my customer fur thirty odd year. An’ customers aint none too plenty these days o’ factry shoes. It’s mostly patchin’ an’ people puttin’ on airs as if they was conferrin’ favors lettin’ you patch their old shoes. Old Boyd has a tongue, though, if he is a gentleman. Said I want no better’n a tramp printer, an’ a dozen o’ them want worth the price of a glass o’ beer. Durn him! Cobblin’ is a better business ’n the law any day. In my day I had the best trade in Illinois. I’ve made shoes fur judges, an’ generals, yes, an’ fur a president, too. Made one pair fur Abe Lincoln when he was up here in ’59 pleadin’ a case. He come in an’, sez he, “I want a pair o’ kip shoes, make ’em easy!” That was all the directions. When he come fur ’em they went on like grease, an’, sez he, “That’s the way I like ’em.” He didn’t pinch ’em an’ stomp round the shop an’ smell the leather an’ ask if it was split. He wasn’t that sort. He went away an’ left his old ones an’ like a fool I throwed ’em away. I’d give a thousand dollars fur ’em this minnit. No, I wouldn’t. I couldn’t afford to give one dollar fur ’em, but I ’low there are folks ’at would.
Knocking at door. Goes to door and carries on conversation with one outside. Cobbler only is heard.