As she went up the stairs one shopman winked at the other and came across with a pair of hobnailed boots in his hand.
"This'll never do," he whispered, "the boss missin' his lesson.

He'll get behind in his practice." "Wotcher givin' us ?" replied the other.

"The boss don't take lessons; it's the kid." "Of course he don't," said the other with a leer.

"He learns a lot here by lookin' on, an' she tells him the rest at Mosman in the pale moonlight.

If I won a sweep, I'd take a few lessons meself an' cut him out." He became aware that Miss Giltinan was standing behind him, and raised his voice.
"I was tellin' Harris that the price of these bluchers ought to be marked down; they're beginning to sweat," he explained, turning to Miss Giltinan and showing her some small spots like treacle on the uppers.
"Mr Jones doesn't pay you good money to talk behind his back; and if you take the trouble to look at the tag, you'll see those boots have already been marked down," she replied indignantly.
The shopman slinked away without a word.