Mad: A Story of Dust and AshesFenn, George Manville
General
Mad: A Story of Dust and Ashes
Fenn, George Manville
Fiction
"Nonsense!" cried Mrs Lower angrily; "he was a friend of mine;" and
then the doubting dame carefully examined the room, looking in the most
impossible of corners for the missing visitor, and only stopping as she
was about to peer up the chimney by seeing a half-concealed grin upon
the face of Charles.
"I'll ask Boots if he's seen him, mem," said Charles, to get out of his
difficulty.
But that gentleman had neither seen Septimus Hardon nor the articles of
clothing after which he was named; so that it seemed evident that the
visitor had taken his unbrushed boots and departed.
"So very strange!" muttered Mrs Lower to herself.
"The seediest pair of boots we've ever had in the place," said Charles
in confidence to the chambermaid; and then, after due cogitation, he
came to the conclusion that if many of the visitors to the County Arms
were like the unknown of the past night, his situation would not be
worth the energy he displayed for the comfort of all who sought there
rest and refreshment.
Volume One, Chapter XVII.
"NOTHING LIKE LEATHER."
The very morning upon which waiter Charles of the County Arms, Somesham,
spoke so disparagingly of Septimus Hardon's boots, the maker, or rather
re-maker, of the said boots sat, as soon as it was broad daylight--not
an extremely early hour in his home--industriously plying his craft,
till, after divers muttered anathemas, a voice growled:
"Confound it, Ike, I wish that old lapstone was at the bottom of the
Thames. Who's to sleep?"
"Get up, then," said the lapstone-smiter slowly and heavily.
"Get up!" growled the voice, "get up!"
"What, in the middle of the night! Ain't six yet, is it?"
"Just struck," said the lapstone-man, following the example of the
clock, and hammering vigorously at a scrap of leather about to be used
in the repair of an old boot before him; while from sundry smothered
growls coming from the room behind the shop where the shoemaker was at
work, it was evident that the idler had buried a portion, if not the
whole of his face, beneath the blankets, and again offered sacrifice to
the sleepy god.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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