al manner of a salesman of footwear as he
slipped on the shoe. "Why, it fits as if it were made for you! Now for
the other one. Yes, your feet are mates--I know a man who wears a whole
size larger on his left foot." The dazed expression remained on the boy's
face. The experience was beyond him. "That's better," said Insall, as he
finished the lacing. "Keep out of the snow, Marcus, all you can. Wet feet
aren't good for a cough, you know. And when you come in to supper a nice
doctor will be here, and we'll see if we can't get rid of the cough."

The boy nodded. He got to his feet, stared down at the shoes, and walked
slowly toward the door, where he turned.

"Thank you, Mister Insall," he said.

And Insall, still sitting on his heels, waved his hand.

"It is not to mention it," he replied. "Perhaps you may have a clothing
store of your own some day--who knows!" He looked up at Janet amusedly
and then, with a spring, stood upright, his easy, unconscious pose
betokening command of soul and body. "I ought to have kept a store," he
observed. "I missed my vocation."

"It seems to me that you missed a great many vocations," she replied.
Commonplaces alone seemed possible, adequate. "I suppose you made all
those drawers yourself."

He bowed in acknowledgment of her implied tribute. With his fine nose and
keen eyes--set at a slightly downward angle, creased at the corners
--with his thick, greying hair, despite his comparative youth he had the
look one associates with portraits of earlier, patriarchal Americans....
These calls of Janet's were never of long duration. She had fallen into
the habit of taking her lunch between one and two, and usually arrived
when the last installment of youngsters were finishing their meal;
sometimes they were filing out, stopping to form a group around Insall,
who always managed to say something amusing--something pertinent and
good-naturedly personal. For he knew most of them by name, and had
acquired a knowledge of certain individual propensities and
idiosyncrasies that delighted their companions.

"What's the trouble, Stepan--swallowed your spoon?" Stepan was known to
be greedy. Or he would suddenly seize an unusually solemn boy from behind
and tickle him until the child screamed with laughter. It was, indeed,
something of an achievement to get on terms of confidence with these
alien children of the tenements and the streets who from their earliest
years had been forced to shift for thems