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The other day my friend George came to see me and brought a small book with him. It was a guide to English conversation for the use of foreign travellers. George said: “My idea is to go to London early on Wednesday morning and spend an hour or two going about and shopping with the help of this book. I want one or two little things — a hat and a pair of bedroom slippers.”

On Wednesday we arrived at Waterloo station and went to a small boot shop. Boxes of boots filled the shelves. Black and brown boots hung about its doors and windows. The man, when we entered, was opening with a hammer a new case full of boots. George raised his hat, and said “Good morning.”

The man did not even turn round. He said something which was perhaps “Good morning” and went on with his work. George said: “I have been recommended to your shop by my friend, Mr. X.”

The answer to this in the book was “Mr. X. is a worthy gentleman; it will give me the greatest pleasure to serve a friend of his.”

What the man said was: “Don’t know him; never heard of him.”

This was not the answer we expected. The book gave three or four methods of buying boots; George had selected the most polite of them centred round “Mr. X.” You talked with the shop keeper about this “Mr. X.” and then you began to speak about your desire to buy boots, “cheap and good.” But it was necessary to come to business with brutal directness. George left “Mr. X,” and turning back to a previous page, took another sentence. It was not a good selection; it was useless to make such a speech to any bootmaker, and especially in a bootshop full of boots.

George said: “One has told me that you have here boots for sale.”

For the first time the man put down his hammer, and looked at us. He spoke slowly. He said: “What do you think I keep boots for — to smell them?”

He was one of those men that begin quietly and get more angry as they go on.

“What do you think I am,” he continued, “a boot collector?

What do you think I’m keeping this shop for — my health? Do you think I love the boots, and can’t part with a pair? Do you think I hang them about here to look at them? Where do you think you are — in an international exhibition of boots? What do you think these boots are — a historical collection? Did you ever hear of a man keeping a boot shop and not selling boots?

Do you think I decorate the shop with them? What do you think I am — a prize idiot?”

I have always said that these conversation books are practically useless. We could not find the right answer in the book from beginning to end. I must say that George chose the best sentence that was there and used it. He said: “I shall come again, when, perhaps, you have more boots to show me. Till then, goodbye.”

With that we went out. George wanted to stop at another boot shop and try the experiment once more; he said he really wanted a pair of bedroom slippers. But we advised him to buy them another time.

(After Jerome K. Jerome)​
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