Quality
Tekst Storyboardowy
- Mr.Gessler ask's the author Whether he want any boots
- Do you wand any boods?ld’s a beaudiful biece.*
- He had left a man of sixty; he came back to one of seventy-five, pinched and worn, who genuinely, this time, did not at first know him .
- Do you wand any boods?I can make dem quickly; id is a zlack dime.*
- Please, please! I want boots all around—every kind.
- Dead! But I only received these boots fromhim last Wednesday week.
- A week later, passing the little street, He thought I would go in and tell him how splendidly the new boots fitted. But when I came to where his shop had been, his name was gone. I went in very much disturbed. In the shop,there was a young man with an English face.
- Yes. yes, but Mr.Gessler?
- Mr.Gessler in?
- Oh! dead.
- Ah!
- No, sir, No, but we can attend to anything with pleasure. We’ve taken the shop over.
- *Do you want any boots? It’s a beautiful piece.He ordered several pairs. It was very long before they came—but they were better than ever. One simply could not wear them out. And soon after that I went abroad. It was over a year before he was again in London. And the first shop he went to was his old friend’s.
- poor old man starved himself. Slow starvation, the doctor called it! You see he went to work in such a way! Would keep the shop on; wouldn’t have a soul touch his boots except himself. When he got an order, it took him such a time. People won’t wait. He lost everybody. And there he’d sit, going on and on. I will say that for him—not a man in London made a better boot. But look at the competition! He never advertised! Would have the best leather too, and do it all himself. Well, there it is. What could you expect with his ideas?
- But starvation!
- *I can make them quickly; it is a slack time.He had given those boots up when one evening they came. One by one he tried them on. In shape and fit, in finish and quality of leather they were the best Mr.Gessler had ever made. He flew downstairs, wrote a cheque and posted it at once with his own hand.
- Yes, he made good boots.
- That may be a bit flowery, as the saying is—but I know myself he was sitting over his boots day and night, to the very last you see, I used to watch him. Never gave himself time to eat; never had a penny in the house. All went in rent and leather. How he lived so long I don’t know. He regularly let his fire go out. He was a character. But he made good boots.
- JOHN GALSWORTHY[simplified and abridged]
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