--middle-aged friend Mansfield--clear out of town! Mr.
Mansfield was a _retired_ flour merchant; he was not rich, but well to
do in the world. He had no children of his own, in lieu of which,
however, he had become responsible for the "bringing up" of two orphans
of a friend. One of these children was a boy, old enough to be
_devilish_ and mightily inclined that way. The boy's name was Philip,
the foster father he called Uncle Henry, and not long after arriving in
town, and opening house at the South End, Mr. Mansfield--who was given
to quiet musings, book and newspaper reading--found that he was likely
to become a victim to the aforesaid hawkers, pedlers and old boot
collectors.

Uncle Henry stood it for a few months, with the firmness of an
experienced philosopher, laying the flattering unction to his soul that,
however harrowing--

"_Got any ole boots to-day?_"

might be to him, for the present, he could grin and bear and finally get
used to it, as other people did. But Uncle Henry possessed an irritable
and excitable temperament, that not one man in ten thousand could boast
of, and hence he grew--at length sour, then savage, and, finally, quite
meat-axish, towards every outsider who dared to ring his bell, and
proffer wooden ware and tin fixins, for rags and rubbers, or make the
never-to-be-forgotten inquiry--

"_Have you got any ole boots to-day?_"

Always at home, seated in his front parlor, and his frugal wife not
permitting the expense of a servant, Uncle Henry, or Master Philip, were
obliged to wait on the door. The old gentleman finally concluded that
the pedlers and old boot collectors, more as a matter of daily amusement
than profit or concern--gave him a call. And laboring under this
impression, Uncle Henry determined to give the nuisances, as he called
them, a reception commensurate with their impertinence and his worked up
ire.

"Now, Philly," said Uncle Henry, one morning after breakfast, "we'll fix
these--

"'_Got any ole boots?_'

"We'll give the rascals a caution, they won't neglect soon, I'll warrant
them. Bring me the hammer and nails; that's a man; now get uncle the
high chair; so, that's it; now I'll fix this shelf up over the top of
the door, on a pivot--bore this hole through here--put the string
through that way, here, umph; oh, now we'll have a trap for the
scoundrels. I'll learn them how to come pulling people's bells, clean
out by the very roots, making us drop all, to come wait o