"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, n