Quality and Others | Page 4

his elder brother two little shops let into
one, in a small by-street-now no more, but then most fashionably
placed in the West End.
That tenement had a certain quiet distinction; there was no sign upon its
face that he made for any of the Royal Family--merely his own German

name of Gessler Brothers; and in the window a few pairs of boots. I
remember that it always troubled me to account for those unvarying
boots in the window, for he made only what was ordered, reaching
nothing down, and it seemed so inconceivable that what he made could
ever have failed to fit. Had he bought them to put there? That, too,
seemed inconceivable. He would never have tolerated in his house
leather on which he had not worked himself. Besides, they were too
beautiful--the pair of pumps, so inexpressibly slim, the patent leathers
with cloth tops, making water come into one's mouth, the tall brown
riding boots with marvellous sooty glow, as if, though new, they had
been worn a hundred years. Those pairs could only have been made by
one who saw before him the Soul of Boot--so truly were they
prototypes incarnating the very spirit of all foot-gear. These thoughts,
of course, came to me later, though even when I was promoted to him,
at the age of perhaps fourteen, some inkling haunted me of the dignity
of himself and brother. For to make boots--such boots as he
made--seemed to me then, and still seems to me, mysterious and
wonderful.
I remember well my shy remark, one day, while stretching out to him
my youthful foot:
"Isn't it awfully hard to do, Mr. Gessler?"
And his answer, given with a sudden smile from out of the sardonic
redness of his beard: "Id is an Ardt!"
Himself, he was a little as if made from leather, with his yellow crinkly
face, and crinkly reddish hair and beard; and neat folds slanting down
his cheeks to the corners of his mouth, and his guttural and one-toned
voice; for leather is a sardonic substance, and stiff and slow of purpose.
And that was the character of his face, save that his eyes, which were
grey-blue, had in them the simple gravity of one secretly possessed by
the Ideal. His elder brother was so very like him--though watery, paler
in every way, with a great industry--that sometimes in early days I was
not quite sure of him until the interview was over. Then I knew that it
was he, if the words, "I will ask my brudder," had not been spoken; and
that, if they had, it was his elder brother.
When one grew old and wild and ran up bills, one somehow never ran
them up with Gessler Brothers. It would not have seemed becoming to
go in there and stretch out one's foot to that blue iron-spectacled glance,

owing him for more than--say--two pairs, just the comfortable
reassurance that one was still his client.
For it was not possible to go to him very often--his boots lasted terribly,
having something beyond the temporary--some, as it were, essence of
boot stitched into them.
One went in, not as into most shops, in the mood of: "Please serve me,
and let me go!" but restfully, as one enters a church; and, sitting on the
single wooden chair, waited--for there was never anybody there. Soon,
over the top edge of that sort of well--rather dark, and smelling
soothingly of leather--which formed the shop, there would be seen his
face, or that of his elder brother, peering down. A guttural sound, and
the tip-tap of bast slippers beating the narrow wooden stairs, and he
would stand before one without coat, a little bent, in leather apron, with
sleeves turned back, blinking--as if awakened from some dream of
boots, or like an owl surprised in daylight and annoyed at this
interruption.
And I would say: "How do you do, Mr. Gessler? Could you make me a
pair of Russia leather boots?"
Without a word he would leave me, retiring whence he came, or into
the other portion of the shop, and I would, continue to rest in the
wooden chair, inhaling the incense of his trade. Soon he would come
back, holding in his thin, veined hand a piece of gold-brown leather.
With eyes fixed on it, he would remark: "What a beaudiful biece!"
When I, too, had admired it, he would speak again. "When do you
wand dem?" And I would answer: "Oh! As soon as you conveniently
can." And he would say: "To-morrow fordnighd?" Or if he were his
elder brother: "I will ask my brudder!"
Then I would murmur: "Thank you! Good-morning, Mr. Gessler."
"Goot- morning!" he would reply, still looking at the leather in his hand.
And as I moved to