Crime -- England -- London; Police -- England -- London; Poor -- England -- London
My shopman told me that he had been in a difficulty; he could not find a
pair of boots large enough for one young widow. He searched his store,
and found a pair--size eleven--that he had had by him for some years;
but, alas! size eleven was not big enough. He offered to procure a last
of sufficient proportion and make a pair of boots for her, kindly saying
that he would not charge anything extra for size. I told him to get a
proper last made for the young woman, who took "twelves." This he did,
so now a poor blouse-maker, who keeps an aged and invalid mother, has
her boots made to order, and built upon her own "special last." When I
had made this arrangement, I was puzzled to know in what way she had
previously obtained boots, so I asked him: "What boots was she wearing
when she came to your shop?" He laughed, and said: "A very old pair of
men's tennis-shoes--of large size, too." I had known her for many years,
and had admired her cleanliness and neatness. I had known, too, how
miserable her earnings were, and how many demands her aged mother made
upon her. She was upright in carriage, and of good appearance;
self-respecting, and eminently respectable, she carried her secret
nobly, though the dual burden of size twelves and men's tennis-shoes
must have been very trying. I told her of our arrangement about the
last, but, of course, made no reference to the dimensions of her feet;
but I often wonder how she felt when she put on her new boots.
CHAPTER XIII
JONATHAN PINCHBECK, THE SLUM AUTOLYCUS
It was application time in a London police-court. All sorts of people,
with all sorts of difficulties, had stepped, one after another, into the
witness-box, and had put all sorts of questions to the patient
magistrate. They had gone away more or less satisfied with the various
answers the experience of the magistrate suggested, when, last of all,
there stepped in front of him a quaint-looking elderly man. Below the
average size, with a body somewhat bent, grey hair, and a bristly white
moustache, together with a complexion of almost terra-cotta hue, he was
bound to attract attention. When looked at more closely, other
characteristics could be noted: his lips were full and tremulous, his
eyes were strained, and there was a look of pathetic expectancy over his
face.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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