Sacramento daily record-union. [volume] (Sacramento [Calif.]) 1875-1891, 1884-06-07

| good shoemaker, and that is always soma
capital. l had little money II my pocket
and went TO San Francisco. l knew my
| old master would take me back and he did
so. | resumed my old place. There was
an auctioneer among his customers Win
| the tenderest feet l ever saw, ana, as am q
shoemaker; that explains all my good luck
| This auctioneer had been grumollng ever
| since left San Francisco. When he saw
me he was delighted. "At least now" he
said II am out of my great misery. l
| shall limp no longer At once made
him a pair of shoes and he was much de-
One dav he said to me: 81 had an auc-
non YESTERDAY, and put up without get
| ting a single bidder lot of very fine French
| boots. They won't sell because there is a
glut of boots on the market. They We're
| imported year ago, but the shape is out of
fashion now-it was square toe then, now
| it is a round one. Do you buy them ?"
" How much?H L asked. Make your own
| price" But l have no money That
makes no difference; you may have them
on credit; pay me when you can
| went to look at those cases of boots.
They were of the finest quality and excel
| lent as to make. Some of them were cav
| airy boots, but such. as only dandy horse
men and General officers wear. Remem-
| Der, am good shoemaker and know my
| trade | bought those boots at 81 pair.
| The leather alone was worth twice that.
| At night | used to work on them. made
! the square toes pointed-for | am good
shoemaker. Some of them | cut down into
| bootees Oh / worked night after night
on them after hours. Then ! hired small
shop and hung up a few pairs IN the VIM
| dow.
low \
| Ten dollars He took the boots Then
| a miner passed. How much2" FIT
teen dollars" Then gentleman on
| fine horse came up and looked from his
horse at the boots, and he tied up his horse
and asked " How much ?" Twenty dol
| lars" He put double eagle down. l must
| have made s., 800 clear on those boots.
Then | found more of them-a mine of
| these boots, and put in my pocket $4,000
] in three weeks. | worked on for year
| and made money in my trade steadily, for
| | am good shoemaker. Then got mar
| ried in San Francisco to woman l loved,
| and my married life has been happy
one. 1t was pang when said 10 my wife,
81 must leave you, my love, for short
time-only long enough to pay my dear
old daddy a visit" l left my business in
her charge. 1t was voyage of business
| and pleasure, for l went to Paris to buy
goods.
Poor old daddy There was the same
magpie in the wicker-work basket and he
saluted me, for he remembered me. When
| was little boy | stuck tail of false
feathers on him with some cobbler's wax.
He never forgot me, and rufhed his feath
erS at me as soon as he saw me, as if my
insult TO him had been of recent date.
There was hardly change in the room.
There hung fathers old watch, rs big as 4
saucer, ticking away, with a spray of box
wood over it for luck. Then there was ON
the shelf the same old earthenware jug.
The handle broke one unfortunate day,
and piece of leather was bound round it,
and it hung on nail by thong. He had
the same awl in his hand-at least il was
the same handle, for once | came near get
ting Il thrashing for having whitfield it.
Even an old almanac of year long gone
past was there, tackled TO the wall with
shoe braidS. He had on the same apron,
only it was worn thinner.
The dear old father was bending over his
work pounding slowly at some bit of leather
on a last You could count one, two,
three. four between the hammerings. In
my time it was rat-tat-tat, like drum
beating, with no. interval between the
strokes | strobe in and the old gentleman
had At a glance, for he was the king of
shoemakers, he could take in all the differ
ences between your foot and the feet of the
rest of the world. He looked and looked
again. He must have recognized family
foot for | saw his hand tremble, then he
pushed up his great steel-rimmed specta-
cles, and the teays ran down his checks as
he rose and tottered and then fell into my
arms. How we kissed one another. My
son, my son, you never would have sue
ceeded had you not been a good ShOema-
ker you never scamped anything you did
the best you could all the time" was what
he said, when told him of my good luck.
Like my dear old daddy did before me"
| added Then l kicked over his work
bench and said No more work for you,
old pappy, for am rich. l have a wife |
have baby-a boy baby named after you
and you are to take the cars-tirSt class
tomorrow or the day afterward and come
post-haste out of the old country to Califor-
MIA, so that grandchild shall sit on your
knee and YOU shall teach him to be honest
and pious, and TO love you" And may
not make him good shoemaker he
asked. 81 But you go too fast. Let me
think over it. You ask me to leave this old
Luxembourg where was born. | should
never see again the grave where your
last thirty odd years. don't know am
very old ! should be in the way l love
my old trade. Do they wear shoes in Cali
fornia? May | cobbe there? | assure
you, though the hog-brist!es bother me
Just q little at times, and my hammer
moves just trifle slower still can turn
out very decent job. | wonder i'll cannot
beat you now. Come let us try
To please the old man l took up bit Of
work and commenced on it. " Ii is well
done" said father admiringly % see you
have not forgotten my lessons Perhaps
that one stitch there is not quite-quite as
worry you? Still" and he held in his
shaky hands the old boot near his eye, I" it
will pass muster"
AT last the blessed old man consented to
go with me. Next day We had a feast in
the village All the cronies were invited,
the Cooper the matchmaker, the butcher
the drover, the tailor and the tax-collector.
The Cure gave the party his blessing Oh,
what good time We had The old man
was radiant | was introduced to every
one as NJ, the American shoemaker,
who had learned his trade in Luxembourg"
We kept itup all that afternoon and late
into the evening. 1t was feast such as
that sleepy old town Will remember for
/
that the old man weakened when some
ancient chum took him by the hand to bid
him good-by. Then | would say: Dear
daddy, it's your grandchild that claims
you How the deuce do you expect he
will ever be a good shoemaker without
your teaching him. That was an all
powerful argument. The blessed old man
made the trip with me across the ocean
without much fatigue. How glad my wife
was to see her husband and father, and as
To the baby, he went at once into his grand
papa's arms.
Of course, father was too old to work
but still he insisted on having his bench.
As he grew feebler the stitches became
more uneven and we were often alarmed
about the awl which might have pricked
him. He lived though, happily with US
for many years. He grew more unsteady
day by day and wandered little, but still