Or try a little
flour, and see if it won't feel more at home. I've hea'd of a shoe that
give that sensation of looseness by not goin' on at all."

The girls exulted joyfully together at the defeat of their companion, but
the shoeman kept a grave face, while he searched out other sorts of shoes
and slippers, and offered them, or responded to some definite demand with
something as near like as he could hope to make serve. The tumult of talk
and laughter grew till the chef put his head out of the kitchen door, and
then came sauntering across the grass to the helps' piazza. At the same
time the clerk suffered himself to be lured from his post by the
excitement. He came and stood beside the chef, who listened to the
shoeman's flow of banter with a longing to take his chances with him.

"That's a nice hawss," he said. "What'll you take for him?"

"Why, hello!" said the shoeman, with an eye that dwelt upon the chef's
official white cap and apron, "You talk English, don't you? Fust off, I
didn't know but it was one of them foreign dukes come ova he'a to marry
some oua poor millionai'es daughtas." The girls cried out for joy, and
the chef bore their mirth stoically, but not without a personal relish of
the shoeman's up-and-comingness. "Want a hawss?" asked the shoeman with
an air of business. "What'll you give?"

"I'll give you thutty-seven dollas and a half," said the chef.

"Sorry I can't take it. That hawss is sellin' at present for just one
hundred and fifty dollas."

"Well," said the chef, "I'll raise you a dolla and a quahta. Say
thutty-eight and seventy-five."

"W-ell now, you're gittin' up among the figgas where you're liable to own
a hawss. You just keep right on a raisin' me, while I sell these ladies
some shoes, and maybe you'll hit it yit, 'fo'e night."

The girls were trying on shoes on every side now, and they had dispensed
with the formality of going in-doors for the purpose. More than one put
out her foot to the clerk for his opinion of the fit, and the shoeman was
mingling with the crowd, testing with his hand, advising from his
professional knowledge, suggesting, urging, and in some cases artfully
agreeing with the reluctance shown.

"This man," said the chef, indicating Fane, "says you can tell moa lies
to the square inch than any man out o' Boston."

"Doos he?" asked the shoeman, turning with a pair of high-heeled bronze
slippers in his hand from the wagon. "Well, now, if I stood as nea' to
him as