"Well, Larry, wouldn't it do just as well if there was somebody here to
tell the truth about it?"

"Oh, there, now, Sam," said the shoemaker, rallying himself for an
instant; "they tould me that you was converted in jail, an' that sounds
a good deal like it. Now, Sam, I want to tell ye if ye want to argy on
the subject of the truth, or any other of the moral sintiments, with
any man whatsoever, ye don't want to come to a shoemaker's shop an'
find a fellow who's just had three drinks in him at somebody else's
expense. Now go 'way; come 'round here to-morrow when I'm sober, an'
I'll own up to everything you say, no matter what it is."

"That won't get Mrs. Prency her shoes," said Sam. "Go home an' go to
bed, an' let me finish that shoe in your hand, an' if she comes here
it'll be ready for her, an' if she don't you won't have anything on
your conscience,--not so far as she's concerned."

The cobbler took possession of himself with a tremendous effort, and
looked sharply from his bleared eyes for an instant as he said,--

"An' what do you know about shoemakin'?"

"As much as two years in State prison could learn me, Larry; though I
don't think you need to have asked me."

"It's all right, me boy; I take it back; an' if ever I'm sent to State
prison myself you may ask it of me ten times over; that's the Bible
rule, I belave. Now I'll go home to my wife an' family, an' if you
choose to finish that shoe an' stay here until Mrs. Judge Prency comes
in to get it, why, you're quite welcome to do the work an' keep the