THE COBBLER.COPYRIGHT, 1895, BY T. S. DENISON.
COPYRIGHT, 1895, BY T. S. DENISON.
The Cobbler should make up as old man, poorly dressed, gray wig, spectacles.
Scene—A cobbler’s shop. Shoemaker’s bench and kit, shelves, empty dry goods box, two paper shoe boxes, roll of leather leaning in corner, lasts hanging on wall, old shoes scattered about and scraps of leather on floor, old chair with one leg broken. Bench well down C. so cobbler can move round freely in shop. Cobbler with apron and make-up to suit.
Scene—A cobbler’s shop. Shoemaker’s bench and kit, shelves, empty dry goods box, two paper shoe boxes, roll of leather leaning in corner, lasts hanging on wall, old shoes scattered about and scraps of leather on floor, old chair with one leg broken. Bench well down C. so cobbler can move round freely in shop. Cobbler with apron and make-up to suit.
Cobbler.(As curtain rises is hammering a piece of sole leather on his lap stone.) That sole’s got to be jist right, jist so thick an’ no thicker. It’s fur Lawyer Boyd and I ’low no more particklerer man lives this side o’ Jordan. Always kickin’ about something. Said the last pair o’ shoes I made him didn’t fit anywhere except on his corns. Was ashamed of ’em every time he plead a case. Felt humiliated every time he saw ’em. (Plies hammer vigorously.) Plague take it! I wouldn’t hurt a lawyer’s feelin’s fur the world, speciallyhisfeelin’s. That man is downright insultin’ in his ways. Jist because I promised him a pair o’ new shoes last Thanksgivin’ an’ didn’t git ’em ready till Christmas he stormed round like a house afire. Said I was worse ’n the tailor an’hedon’t never get anything ready on time. Some people thinks theirs is the only job in town. As if a shoemaker wasn’t human an’ consekentlyhadto fail in his promisessometimes. That old pettifogger actooally said if I was responsible he’d cane me. I’d like to see ’im try it. It’s thirty year sence anybody triedthatgame on me. But he’s good pay an’ bin my customer fur thirty odd year. An’ customers aint none too plenty these days o’ factry shoes. It’s mostly patchin’ an’ people puttin’ on airs as if theywas conferrin’ favors lettin’ you patch their old shoes. Old Boyd has a tongue, though, if heisa gentleman. Said I want no better’n a tramp printer, an’ a dozen o’ them want worth the price of a glass o’ beer. Durn him! Cobblin’ is a better business ’n the law any day. In my day I had the best trade in Illinois. I’ve made shoes fur judges, an’ generals, yes, an’ fur a president,too. Made one pair fur Abe Lincoln when he was up here in ’59 pleadin’ a case. He come in an’, sez he, “I want a pair o’ kip shoes, make ’em easy!” That was all the directions. When he come fur ’em they went on like grease, an’, sez he, “That’s the wayIlike ’em.” He didn’t pinch ’em an’ stomp round the shop an’ smell the leather an’ ask if it was split. He wasn’t that sort. He went away an’ left his old ones an’ like a fool I throwed ’em away. I’d give a thousand dollars fur ’em this minnit. No, I wouldn’t. I couldn’t afford to give one dollar fur ’em, but I ’low there are folks ’at would.
Knocking at door. Goes to door and carries on conversation with one outside.Cobbleronly is heard.
Heh? Minister wants his shoes? They aint done yet. Promised yisterday. So they was, but my old woman wasn’t well yisterday afternoon and I had to stay at home with her. When’ll he git ’em? To-morrow. Sure? (Testily.) I said to-morrow. (Comes back down grumbling.) Some people thinks ye kin do everything at onct. The minister kin write sermons in his slippers, cordin’ to my tell. Where are his shoes? (Rummages.) Plague take it. I’m gittin’ forgitfuller every day. People thinks a shoemaker ought to carry everything in his mind. Next thing they’ll be wantin’ me to sleep with their old shoes. (Finds shoes.) Humph! Easy to tell they was preacher’s shoes. He’s mighty keerful of ’em. Has to be on his salary, an’ people not a payin’ up prompt. They’ve been blacked an’ blacked till they aint much left but blackin’ an’ cracks. Not wuth mendin’ nohow, but I s’pose I’ll have to doctor ’em up somehow. They ought to befoxedbut that’ud cost mor ’n they’re worth.
Throws shoes in pail of water with splash. Takes up another pair.
These are old Mrs. Green’s. Now jist see the patches! An’ she wants ’em gone over agin. Jacob’s coat aint a circumstance tohershoes. That woman is tighter ’n a swelled bung. Last time I patched them shoes it took half a day an’ I charged her fifty cents coz I knowed I couldn’t git seventy-five. She said it was an outrage and cut up like a drunken fiddler till I was ashamed of her. Said thirty-five cents was a big price an’ she wouldn’t pay a red cent more. The old skinflint! (Angrily.) I jist wont fool with them shoes any more. (Throws them aside.) I don’t care if she does own half the town. I wouldn’t be in her shoes for half the earth. I uster want to be rich, but sence I see how riches has affected old Mrs. Green I’m better satisfied to be poor. (Noise outside.) What’s all that racket?
Cobblergoes to door and looks out.
That’s the movin’ wagons. The landlord’s been sayin’ these fifteen year he’d pull down this old place and build. I got sorter used to his talk and paid no attention to the notice. (Feels in his pockets.) Where is that notice? I’m gittin’ more ’n more forgitful every day. (Sits on bench.) Thirty odd year in one place an’ then move! I hoped it wouldn’t come in my time. (Chin on hands.) I made old Judge Henry’s shoes here an’ I made Gen. Bridge’s boots here, the very pair he was killed in at Chickamaugy an’ I made Lincoln’s shoes here. They’re all dead long ago an’ I’m here yet. Thirty year in one place. It’s jist like movin’ an’ old tree. It’ll most likely dwindle an’ it takes more coddlin’ than a dozen young ones an’ then if it lives it’ll never do no great things. But there aint no use cryin’ over spilt milk. I’ll have to pack up.
Rises, gets big dry goods box from corner and commences to sort the old shoes.
I ’low half this old truck might as well be burned, but what a fuss there’d be if some of these trumpery old things were lost. Old Mrs. Green would—well, I’ll jist wraphersup safe and sound. If they got injured I’dhave to make her a new pair, nothin’ short of it, an’ then likely she’d want damages for the trouble I caused her. (Finishes wrappingMrs. Green’sshoes and lays them up carefully on shelf. Picks up another pair.) Great Christopher! Here’s a pair of old Mrs. Jink’s shoes and I promised ’em to-day never thinkin’ of the movin’. There’ll be music if she don’t git ’em. She’s the only person in town I don’t dare to disappoint. Tried it once an’ it lasted me twenty year. Tongue! That woman could talk down a parrot house any day. She’s a buzz saw worked by ’lectricity. The old hyena! Why, that time she wanted to go away visitin’ her sister’s an’ her shoes wasn’t quite done—such a tongue lashin’ as I got. I don’t care much for people’s chinnin’ genally. Some I laugh at, an’ some I humor, but I stood like a stacher before her and dasn’t open my mouth. There must be sich things as special providences, fur old man Jinks is deaf as a post.
Throws some shoes into box. Takes up large pair and pauses. Looks intently at them.
Why, if them aint Col. Sawyer’s shoes. Might a known ’em by the size, biggest foot in the state I reckon. He never got any repairin’ done ’cause I had no other shoes in the shop big enough for his feet to change into. Canal boats we uster call ’em. Why, the colonel’s been gone west these ten year. An’ I’m mighty sorry the town lost him. Soul as big as his feet—his immortal soul I mean. (Laughs.) He did the town some good. Always startin’ some enterprise an’ keepin’ it a goin’, too. He didn’t set round till he took root like some people in this town. Hewasa customer. Two pairs of new shoes an’ one pair of boots a year at ten dollars a pair. An’ no patchin’, ’cause he always said life was too short to wait fur patches. An’ he never kicked either if I was a month or so late on promise. He was a gentleman an’ never tried to browbeat poor folks.
Throws shoes in box. Takes up another pair.
Farmer Snooks! (Laughs heartily.) By ginger! that was funny. (Laughs till he holds his sides.) Made thatpair for Snooks an’ agreed to take it in trade. Fust thing I knowed, one night when I went home, I found a wagon load o’ turnips in the cellar. Mariar was hot but she’s one o’ them kind ’at never says much. Says she, “Cy, what on airth did you buy so many turnips fur?” Sez I, “I vum if I know. I told Snooks I’d take trade, but I guess I clean forgot to say what kind o’ trade.” Mariar she never said no more but jist cooked turnips every day fur about two months. Of course I dasn’t say nothin’, till one day she got dreadful pained an’ sick, an’ the doctor had to come on the run. He said she was threatened with dropisy, an’ I jist fed the rest o’ them turnips to the pigs. They kin work their spoiled truck off on the minister an’ the editor, for they can’t help theirselves, but they don’t work it off on me no more.
Takes up another pair.
By jingo, there’s an old shoe of Jake Hart’s. Know it by the way he always run ’em down. I ’low they’re not any worse run down than Jake was. Poor feller, didn’t he go to the dogs after his mother left him a fortune? Want a nicer woman in town than Mrs. Hart. But she died at the right time. Poor Jake! Best hearted feller ye ever see. I made the first pair of boots he ever had when he wasn’t higher than that. (Holds hand to show height.) His mother fetched him in. He spied a piece of red morocco; he would have that fur tops in spite of her. Jake painted everything red. Races, whiskey, bad company, an’ then shootin’ that man. Guess the man needed shootin’, but Jake had to vamoose. I wonder where he is now? Nobody’ll ever know I reckon. It’s always that way in this world, we aint missed long.
Opens an old shoe box.
What’s this? (Brushes off dust, reads, “Nellie Blake.”) Well I vum! I didn’t know that any of Nellie Blake’s shoes was here yit. (Muses.) What’ll I do withthem? I can’t throwthemaway. She was the best girl that ever lived in this town. There aint many angels anywhere on earth, I ’low, but Nellie was one if there be any. I wonder if she would have changed if she’d havelived? No I guess she’d be the same to-day. Her an’ Jake Hart was good friends. Jined yards an’ played together. Jake went among the best then. People said he liked Nellie, fur after she died he seemed all broke up like, an’ went away with his mother to travel. I wonder if I ought to send them shoes to her mother? I don’t know, mebbe it would please her, seein’ Nellie was an only child. No, I guess it might do more harm than good. (With feeling.) I know what that is. I have a little pair of shoes out at the toes that I dasn’t show Mariar, though I know she has things of our little Jack hid away. (Gets out little shoes. Looks at them fondly, wipes his glasses with handkerchief.) These durn specs is gittin’ so I can’t see nothin’. Our little Jack! I kin see him now, runnin’ down the street to call me to dinner. He was the youngest and we took to him more than to tothers. I’ll lay away Nellie’s shoes and keep them along with Jack’s. They was friends, too. (Wipes glasses.) My specs seems awful dusty. (Looks fondly at shoes as he puts them away.) Jack is waitin’ fur Mariar an’ me. It wont be very long now till we’ll see him.
Curtain.