About as mean a trick as we ever heard of was perpetrated by a doctor at
Hudson last Sunday. The victim was a justice of the peace named Evans.
Mr. Evans is a man who has the alfiredest biggest feet east of St. Paul,
and when he gets a new pair of shoes it is an event that has its effect
on the leather market.
Last winter he advertised for sealed proposals to erect a pair of
shoes for him, and when the bids were opened it was found that a local
architect in leather had secured the contract, and after mortgaging his
house to a Milwaukee tannery, and borrowing some money on his diamonds
of his “uncle,” John Comstock, who keeps a pawnbrokery there, he broke
ground for the shoes.
Owing to the snow blockade and the freshets, and the trouble to get
hands who would work on the dome, there were several delays, and Judge
Evans was at one time inclined to cancel the contract, and put some
strings in box cars and wear them in place of shoes, but sympathy for
the contractor, who had his little awl invested in the material and
labor, induced him to put up with the delay.
On Saturday the shoes were completed, all except laying the floor and
putting on a couple of bay windows for corns, and conservatories for
bunions, and the judge concluded to wear them on Sunday. He put them on,
but got the right one on the left foot, and the left one on the right
foot. As he walked down town the right foot was continually getting on
the left side, and he stumbled over himself, and he felt pains in his
feet. The judge was frightened in a minute. He is afraid of paralysis,
all the boys know it, and when he told a wicked republican named Spencer
how his feet felt, that degraded man told the judge that it was one of
the surest symptoms of paralysis in the world, and advised him to hunt a
doctor.
The judge pranced off, interfering at every step, skinning his shins,
and found Dr. Hoyt. The doctor is one of the worst men in the world, and
when he saw how the shoes were put on he told the judge that his case
was hopeless unless something was done immediately. The judge turned
pale, the sweat poured out of him, and taking out his purse he gave the
doctor five dollars and asked him what he should do. The doctor felt his
pulse, looked at his tongue, listened at his heart, shook his head, and
then told the judge that he would be a dead man in less than sixty years
if he didn't change his shoes.
The judge looked down at the vast expanse of leather, both sections
pointing inwardly, and said, “Well, dam a fool,” and “changed cars” at
the junction. As he got them on the right feet, and hired a raftsman to
tie them up for him, he said he would get even with the doctor if he had
to catch the smallpox. O, we suppose they have more fun in some of these
country towns than you can shake a stick at.