The San Francisco call., 1905-06-04

for the cobbler to finish pair OF
shoes that should have been done
long before But cobbler's procrastinate.
especially when a customer is known TO
be good-natured.
Tap! tapi tap! went his hammer
The sunlight glimmered, uneasily, half
reluctantly. I thought. through the
smudgy panes, interrupted by the form
OF each passer-by on the pavement
above, for the cobblers was the front
basement of what had once been q
dwelling house-before the overflow Of
trade had crept upon the little street ard
licked it I'D.
Tap. tap tap,
Amid the garish disorder Of the cob
bler's bench amid dismantled footwear,
tools, filings. dust and leather-shavings.
stood the French heel-cunningly fash
ioned. covered with the softest kid, Pc
tite and chic, anonymously. subtly sug-
gestive OF feminine grace and charm; of
lingerie, silk hose and a silver-buckled
slipper. Nay, more than this. as my
fancy grew-of the soft curve Of the
ankle and calf they clothed; displayed in
semi-conscious naivete and then with
drawn, hastily. under the gaze of too
ardent admirer.
A pink-clad maid, was sure had stood
upon that heel; a little maid, VINO would
have liked TO be taller-for the heel was
very Highland who spent much time in
the selection Of footdress, especially if the
salesman happened to be personable and
wore a brown mustache.
Poor little heelI I thought and fell to
musing further.
II must have been a very proud heel
before it became a castaway. It must
have loved the soft pressure of its mis-
tress' foot upon it. 1t must have trod
soft tapestries, rich rugs and skinned
about, with its companion. on glistening
ballroom floors.
1t must have stamped, ofttinies, upon
the ground. half-imperiously. haIf-pet-
tishIy. TO emphasize dlspIeasure. disap-
pointment or chagrin. 1t must have left
delicious memories in the minds of men,
and it's imprint on the hearts of more
than one. It must conceal exquisite Sc
crets. Perhaps, sometimes, it had been
flung at maid who was careless or at
a disobedient lap-dog. Perhaps
Tap! tap! tap! went the cobbler's ham
mer.
picked it up-the heel-lightly. be-
tween my index-hnger and thumb. and
held 1t aloft before me, as one might a
delicate bit Of bric-a-brac. jewel-or, in
deed q glass Of wine TO let the light
shine through.
Where did you get it?" I asked the
cobbler.
He turned slowly. When he saw what
7 held he started, and the dullness went
out OF his eyes. Something like rever-
ence came into them and made them
shine. He was an old, gray man, who
blended with the dingy shop like the
cobwebs on the walls, but his eyes could
be expressive.
That" he said, as If measuring his
words, that was my daughters"
He looked out OF the window. One could
see nothing through the window but the
weather-beaten side Of the stairway that
led TO the street above But the cob
bler's eyes seemed clairvoyant with men,
cries. The hammer lay forgotten at his
side, but his knees still gripped the shoe
he was mending and his posture remained
unchanged.
viii you tell me about it?" I ven
tured. timidly. wanted to know very
much, but was afraid of trespassing.
For a moment the old man sat silent
and motonless, like dusty statue Then
he spoke, but without turning his head.
You write stories. don't your said the
cobbler. Well don't know that mind
sellin you. There's nothin' TO hide now
eSiy I've never told anybody before
Maybe it'll do me good" he added,
1usingly. after pause. I've thought
about it all lot while I've set here
alone, and don't know why Tve never
told about it. Yes, maybe it'll do me
good
MY daughters dead now." the .cobbler
continued, "but IL seems like she was
closer 20 me than when she was alive
most of the time. She always seemed
better than me-wnen she was child,
even-and after she left me didn't see
much Of her. Her mother wasn't my
kind. exactly. She was governess be-
fore married her, but she loved me and