19. CHAPTER XIX.
MAX DREAMS OF BOOTS, AND YIELDS TO THE TEMPTER.
“What a dream I have had,” said Mr. Max Courtlandt,
waking with a laugh, two or three days after the scene
in the last chapter. “I thought I was in a universe of
boots, a chaos of all imaginable styles of boots. Certainly,”
he added, “there was some sense in dreaming about
them, since having attained all the other articles for my
dress, the coat, the cap, the feather, the waistcoat, the
`silken hose,' as the nice folks call them, and the sword
—there now remains but a single thing to find.—That
is my boots,” continued Max, thoughtfully. “Boots!
what are boots that I should be so overcome by the
dreadful idea; that I should dream of them, that they
should fill my nightly thoughts, and waking dreams?”
Max sprung up and dressed; this operation somewhat
interrupted the train of his reflections. But, standing
before the glass, contemplating the effect of the Romeo
cap, which he had placed gracefully on his head, the
subject which had tormented him in slumber, returned in
all its original strength.
“Boots are not difficult to find,” he mused, “many
persons have boots—I had a pair myself once, and only
discarded them, because, being unable to afford fair top-boots,
I would not be content to put up with ordinary
ones. Could I not buy a pair? No, I have no money.
Could I not borrow them from some one? No, why should
I, from modesty, conceal the fact, that my foot is a most
elegant, and slender foot—in fact an exceedingly aristocratic
foot: a real woman's foot, which no doubt arises
from my purity of blood. What shall I do? I can not
borrow—no one has a pair small enough. I can not buy,
for my money is all gone, and I will not ask uncle for
any more, or aunt Courtlandt either.
“Aunt Courtlandt!” soliloquized the young man, “what
idea was that which occurred to me the other day at the
convent? an improper idea, in its nature felonious and
criminal! Shall I ask for them? and be refused? No I
must not. Shall I— no that is wrong. But let me reflect.
In this singular world many persons can well do
without what they, nevertheless, set great store by, thinking
the thing wholly indispensable. Were they asked to
part with it—they would refuse: were they deprived of
it, little inconvenience would result. Let me see then.
What would be the consequence if I yielded to this temptation—to
which I foresee, I shall wholly yield? Why a
night's inconvenience—at the most.
“Shall I then?” asked Max of himself in the glass.
That individual smiled: the very cap-feather seemed to
laugh an approval.
“I'll do it!” said Max, resolutely; “faint heart never
won ought yet. Let's see for means. Oh, mischief, thou
art swift.” And murmuring these words our hero descended
to breakfast.
