CHAPTER X

"They say you sell shoe-laces," said Martin, his eyes blinking in the

faint candlelight.

Crouched in the end of the dugout was a man with a brown skin like

wrinkled leather, and white eyebrows and moustaches. All about him were

piles of old boots, rotten with wear and mud, holding fantastically the

imprints of the toes and ankle-bones of the feet that had worn them. The

candle cast flitting shadows over them so that they seemed to move back

and forth faintly, as do the feet of wounded men laid out on the floor

of the dressing-station.

"I'm a cobbler by profession," said the man. He made a gesture with the

blade of his knife in the direction of a huge bundle of leather laces

that hung from a beam above his head. "I've done all those since

yesterday. I cut up old boots into laces."

"Helps out the five sous a bit," said Martin, laughing.

"This post is convenient for my trade," went on the cobbler, as he

picked out another boot to be cut into laces, and started hacking the

upper part off the worn sole. "At the little hut, where they pile up the

stiffs before they bury them--you know, just to the left outside the

abri--they leave lots of their boots around. I can pick up any number I

want." With a clasp-knife he was cutting the leather in a spiral, paring

off a thin lace. He contracted his bushy eyebrows as he bent over his

work. The candlelight glinted on the knife blade as he twisted it about

dexterously.

"Yes, many a good copain of mine has had his poor feet in those boots.

What of it? Some day another fellow will be making laces out of mine,

eh?" He gave a wheezy, coughing laugh.

"I guess I'll take a pair. How much are they?"

"Six sous."

"Good."

The coins glinted in the light of the candle as they clinked in the

man's leather-blackened palm.

"Good-bye," said Martin. He walked past men sleeping in the bunks on

either side as he went towards the steps.

At the end of the dugout the man crouched on his pile of old leather,

with his knife that glinted in the candlelight dexterously carving laces

out of the boots of those who no longer needed them.

One Man's Initiation—1917 · 第 10 / 11 章