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I was laughing heartily at this when I observed that a strange procession was passing by the cobbler’s door. First there was a man who was burdened with a great tinsel box hung with velvet, in which were six plush chairs. After him came another who was smothered with rugs and pictures. A third carried upon his back his wife, a great fat creature, who glittered with jewels. Behind him he dragged a dozen trunks, from which dangled brocades and laces. This was all so absurd that in my mirth I missed what followed, but it seemed to be a long line of weary persons, each of whom staggered under the burden of an unworthy vanity.

As I laughed the night came on–a dull hot night of summer. And in the shop I saw the cobbler on his bench, an old and wrinkled man like a dwarf in a fairy tale. There was a sign now above his door. “Boots for Runaways,” it read. About its margin were pictures of many kinds of boots–a shoe of a child who runs to seek adventure, Atalanta’s sandals, and sturdy boots that a man might wear.

And now I saw a man coming in the dark with tired and drooping head. In both hands he clutched silver pieces that he had gathered in the day. When he was opposite the cobbler’s shop, the great sign caught his eye. He wagged his head as one who comes upon the place he seeks. “Have you boots for me?” he asked, with his head thrust in the door.

“For everyone who needs them,” was the cobbler’s answer.

“My body is tired,” the man replied, “and my soul is tired.”

“For what journey do you prepare?” the cobbler asked.

The man looked ruefully at his hands which were still tightly clenched with silver pieces.

“Getting and spending,” said the cobbler slowly.

“It has been my life.” As the man spoke he banged with his elbow on his pocket and it rattled dully with metal.

“Do you want boots because you are a coward?” the cobbler asked. “If so, I have none to sell.”

“A coward?” the man answered, and he spoke deliberately as one in deep thought. “All my life I have been a coward, fearing that I might not keep even with my neighbors. Now, for the first time, I am brave.”

He kicked off his shoe and stretched out his foot. The cobbler took down from its nail his tape line and measured him. And the twilight deepened and the room grew dark.

And the man went off cheerily. And with great strides he went into the windy North. But to the South in a slow procession, I saw those others who bore the weary burden of their wealth, staggering beneath their load of dull possessions–their opera boxes, their money-chests and stables, their glittering houses, their trunks of silks and laces, and on their backs their fat wives shining in the night with jewels.