- Obvious typos and punctuation errors corrected.
THIS MISERY OF
BOOTS
CHAPTER I
THE WORLD AS BOOTS AND SUPERSTRUCTURE
“It does not do,” said a friend ofmine, “to think about boots.” Formy own part, I have always been particularlyinclined to look at boots, and thinkabout them. I have an odd idea thatmost general questions can be expressedin terms of foot-wear—which is perhapswhy cobblers are often such philosophicalmen. Accident it may be, gave me thispersuasion. A very considerable part ofmy childhood was spent in an undergroundkitchen; the window opened upon6a bricked-in space, surmounted by a gratingbefore my father’s shop window. Sothat, when I looked out of the window,instead of seeing—as children of a higherupbringing would do—the heads andbodies of people, I saw their under side.I got acquainted indeed with all sorts ofsocial types as boots simply, indeed, asthe soles of boots; and only subsequently,and with care, have I fitted heads, bodies,and legs to these pediments.
There would come boots and shoes (nodoubt holding people) to stare at theshop, finicking, neat little women’s boots,good sorts and bad sorts, fresh and new,worn crooked in the tread, patched orneeding patching; men’s boots, clumsyand fine, rubber shoes, tennis shoes, goloshes.Brown shoes I never beheld—itwas before that time; but I have seen pattens.Boots used to come and commune7at the window, duets that marked theiremotional development by a restlessnessor a kick.... But anyhow, that explainsmy preoccupation with boots.
But my friend did not think it did, tothink about boots.
My friend was a realistic novelist, anda man from whom hope had departed.I cannot tell you how hope had gone outof his life; some subtle disease of the soulhad robbed him at last of any enterprise,or belief in coming things; and he wastrying to live the few declining years thatlay before him in a sort of bookish comfort,among surroundings that seemedpeaceful and beautiful, by not thinkingof things that were painful and cruel.And we met a tramp who limped alongthe lane.
“Chafed heel,” I said, when we hadparted from him again; “and on these8pebbly byways no man goes barefooted.”My friend winced; and a little silencecame between us. We were both recallingthings; an