The little man rang the bell--the bootjack and slippers were called for,
and, after some delay, a very sleepy-looking _gossoon_ entered with a
bootjack under his arm, but no slippers.

"Didn't I say slippers?" said the little man.

"You did, sir."

"Where are they, sir?"

"The masther says there isn't any, if you plaze, sir."

"No slippers! and you call this an inn? Oh!--well, 'what can't be cured
must be endured'--hold me the bootjack, sir."

The gossoon obeyed--the little man inserted his heel in the cleft, but, on
attempting to pull his foot from the boot, he nearly went heels over head
backward. Murphy caught him and put him on his legs again. "Heads up,
soldiers," exclaimed Murtough; "I thought you were drinking too much."

"Sir, I'm not intoxicated!" said the mannikin, snappishly. "It is the
fault of that vile bootjack--what sort of a thing is that you have
brought?" added he in a rage to the _gossoon_.

"It's the bootjack, sir; only one o' the horns is gone, you see," and he
held up to view a rough piece of board with an angular slit in it, but one
of "the horns," as he called it, had been broken off at the top, leaving
the article useless.