nothing happened. Then, in a voice so shrill that it fairly set one's teeth on edge, piped Jerry—
"It is the tailor makes the man—
And man that makes the tailor—
Just as the canvas makes the sail—
And sailing makes the sailor."
Before they had recovered enough to close their mouths which had fallen open at such temerity in a tailor—Jerry rose and swept them a deep bow. "Good evening, Simpletons!" said Jerry, and turning his back upon them went into his shop and sat down.
"Well given, by my iron hammer!" roared a brawny blacksmith in the crowd. "That lad's no spineless stitcher." There was such laughing and joking among the common folks that the cloaked gentleman took himself off in a huff. As for Jerry he got out some work and sang more gaily than ever—
"Thimbles and shears—
Beeswax and thread—
Oh a tailor's a failure
Who can't make his bread!"
But scarce had he started the second verse before three figures stole into the shop. They whispered together for a minute, then the shortest and crookedest shuffled forward. "Sing ho for a tailor—sing ho for his trade! Ha—ha! good joke!" he wheezed scornfully.
"Best take thaself back from where tha came from!" croaked the second stepping forward. "Rob us of the bread we eat, would ye? With your fine shop and pert ways! We heard—we heard all about you!"
"A nice mess you've made of it!" choked the third thrusting his head close to Jerry. "Like as not we'll all go to prison for your impudence—like as not!" Whew, how they scolded, these crooked little men, their voices growing
