as so whimsical as to accept pay for
his work.

But he never played the mouth-organ--except to Mother!

CHAPTER XVI

They were in Indiana, now. They had saved up six dollars and twenty
cents, despite the fact that Father had overborne her caution and made
her dine at a lunch-room, now and then, or sleep at a hotel, while he
cheerfully scavenged in the neighborhood.

The shoes he had bought in West Virginia were impossible. They had been
mended and resoled, but the new soles had large concentric holes. Mother
discovered the fact, and decisively took the problem out of his hands.
He was going to take that six dollars and twenty cents, he was, and get
new shoes. It was incredible luxury.

He left Mother at a farm-house. He stood meditatively before the window
of a shoe-store in Lipsittsville, Indiana. Lawyer Vanduzen, who read the
papers, guessed who he was, and imparted the guess to the loafers in
front of the Regal Drug Store, who watched him respectfully.

Inside the shoe-store, the proprietor was excited. "Why," he exclaimed
to his assistant, "that must be Appleby, the pedestrian--fellow you read
so much about--the Indianapolis paper said just this morning that he was
some place in this part of the country--you know, the fellow who's
tramped all over Europe and Asia with his wife, and is bound for San
Francisco now." His one lone clerk, a youth with adenoids, gaped and
grunted. It was incredible to him that any one should walk without
having to.

Father was aware of the general interest, and as he was becoming used to
his role as public character, he marched into the store like the Lord
Mayor of London when he goes shopping in his gold coach with three men
and a boy in powdered wigs carrying his train.

The proprietor bowed and ventured: "Glad to see you with us, Mr.
Appleby. It is Mr. Appleby, isn't it?"

"Uh-huh," growled Father.

"Well, well! Tramping like yours is pretty hard on the footgear, and
that's a fact! Well, well! Believe me, you've come to just the right
store for sport shoes. We got a large line of smart new horsehide shoes.
Dear me! Tut, tut, tut, tut! What a pity, the way the tramping has worn
out yours--fine shoe, too, I can see that. Well, well, well, well! how
it surely does wear out the shoes, this long tramping. Peter, bring a
pair of those horsehide shoes for Mr. Appleby. Nice, small, aristocratic
foot, Mr. Appleby. If you worked in a shoe-store you'd know how
uncommon--"