"Jest bend down and flick the dust off me
shoes with your wipe, like a good lad, will ye? That's the worst o'
these 'ere patent leathers; they looks well, but they sure ketches th'
dust, Joe, they ketches the dust oncommon bad. So jest give 'em a flick
over--me pore old back's too stiff t' let me reach 'em, what wi' me
rheumatiz an' a floatin' kidney or so--"
"Kidneys!" snarled Joe, drawing out a large bandanna handkerchief and
polishing the old man's natty shoes until they shone resplendent.
"What's the matter with ye blessed kidneys now?"
"Don't I tell ye--they floats, Joe, they floats!"
"Float!" growled Joe. "Float--where to?"
"'Ere, there, an' everywhere, Joe, I can feel 'em! They're always
a-gettin' theirselves all mixed up any'ow. Oh, it's an 'orrible
complaint to 'ave kidneys like mine as gets theirselves lost."
"Wish they'd lose you along with 'em!" growled Joe, shaking the dust
from his handkerchief.
"Joe," said the old man, putting on his hat and blinking up at him
beneath its jaunty brim, "Joe, sometimes I fair despise ye!"
"Well, despise away," nodded Joe, "only get up--stand up on them
doddering old pins o' yourn.
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