Tom Moore Part 32

"Ready money is a nice thing," a.s.sented Moore. "Good day, Mr. Smirk."

"G-g-good d-day," began the shoemaker.

"Finish it outside," suggested Moore.

"I w-w-will, s-sir," replied Smirk, and as he proceeded slowly and unsteadily downstairs, the whisky-burdened tones of the cobbler died away in a murmur and then ceased entirely.

"Observe me, Buster," said Moore, boots in hand. "These boots are made of one style. From Mr. Smirk I have procured one for my right foot; from Mr. Slink one for my left. The two together make a pair, which is the object I set out to accomplish."

"'Ooray!" shouted Buster. "Hi sees. Hi sees."

"A trifle late, Buster, a trifle late," said Moore, pulling on his recently acquired spoils.

"But, sir," said the boy, apprehensively, "they will both be back in a little while."

"Well, I 'll take pains not to be here then."

"But they 'll watch hand ketch you sooner hor later."

"That is all the good it will do them," replied Moore, cheerfully, regarding his feet with no little amount of approval.

"Hi knows, sir, but you never breaks your word, sir, hand you promised to pay--"

"_When_ did I say I 'd pay, Buster?"

"When you tried on the other boot, sir."

"Well, that is a simple matter, lad. I _won't_ try the other boot on."

"Won't yer?"

"Not I, and they will have a nice easy time making me against my will."

"Hi sees, Mr. Moore," cried the boy, delighted at the discovery of a means of discomfiting the cobbler without breaking a promise.

Moore sighed.

"Ah, Buster," he said sadly, "when luck comes we will pay all these men.

Till then they will have to give us credit, and if they won't give it, we will take it, but for every penny I owe them now, I 'll pay them two when I can afford to settle. I can do without wine, but without boots I 'd not earn the coin to pay any of my debts. I don't like such trickery, heaven knows, but I must get on. I must get on."

"Hif they were n't crazy fools, they 'd be glad to trust us," a.s.sented Buster. "We 'll pay 'em when McDermot brings hout our book hof poems."

"That reminds me," said Moore, "it must be almost time for me to hear from that same gentleman."

"Yessir. Say, does Hi get a hautograph copy?"

"You do, Buster," replied Moore, smiling. "No one deserves it more than you, I am sure."

"A hautograph copy," repeated Buster, delightedly. "My, but that will be fine. Hand I wants yer to write your name hin the front of it?"

"Don't you know what an autograph copy is, Buster?" asked Moore, his eyes twinkling.

"That Hi does," said the boy, confidently. "Hit's one with gilt hedges hall around it. Hi knows."

_Chapter Twelve_

_IN WHICH THE POET WARBLES TO MRS. MALONE_

Rat-tat-tat!

"Are you dressed, Mister Moore?" asked Mrs. Malone, her ear against the crack of the door.

Moore winked at Buster and motioned him to admit the landlady, who entered with her accustomed independence of carriage, apparently expecting and prepared for contention.

"Ah, ha," said she, triumphantly. "You didn't thrick me this time, Tom Moore."

"On the contrary, I have been patiently waiting for your coming, Mrs.

Malone," replied the poet, politely.

The landlady looked incredulous.

"Where is the rint?" she inquired, belligerently.

"Here in my dressing gown," answered Moore, exhibiting a long tear in the garment mentioned. "A big rip it is, too. Have you your needle handy?"

"I wants no fooling, Misther Thomas Moore," declared Mrs. Malone, drawing her bushy brows low in a ferocious frown.

"Were you ever in love, Mrs. Malone?"

"Thot is none of your business."

"You forget your husband was my first instructor," said Moore, reproachfully.

"Well, I 'll be your last teacher, and I 'll give you instructions in how to get up and get out wid your pile o' kit, bag and baggage, unless I gets me rint."

"You are Irish, Mrs. Malone."

"Niver mind thot, sorr."

"Sure, I don't mind, if you don't," replied Moore, "and if Ireland don't object there will be no discussion on that point at all."

"Whot are yez going to do? Thot's whot I wants to know, Mr. Moore? Is it rint or run, me fine bucko?"

"Won't you sit down, Mrs. Malone?"