Earl Derr Biggers

“ I've got a job—a good job, good enough to be married on—at a cigar stand down stairs under the sidewalk. The walk up above is studded with glass, and I listen to heels all day. And say—there never was any heels anywhere could click like yours. I aint strong on poetry or music or such things—I wish I was—maybe then I could describe how I feel about your heels. I've never heard a tune was sweeter. I've been a goner for five weeks. My heart's set on—you. I want you, Butterfly Heels. ”

“ Mark Goodfellow, who knew no other home save the Porcellian, had told his large, blonde wife of Sammy's odd fascination, and frequently she paused with her husband at the cigar stand to learn how the affair progressed. The two genially advised, but their advice was useless. Mrs. Goodfellow insisted on one point—Sammy must marry the heels.
“Matrimony,” she said, making sure her transformation was in place, “that's the real thing that makes life worth the six-sheet posters. ”

“ And believe me, those heels belong to a crook.”
Again Goodfellow laughed.
“I've got a little tip for the management,” he said. “They ought to put the guy that shines shoes here for a while. Something's got to be done to remind him there's such a thing as heels. The toes he shines beautiful to see. But the heels—say, he cuts 'em completely. They aint in his set.”
He held up a shoe in proof of this. A few minutes later he strolled away. At the cigar counter he left a thoughtful young man. Could he recognize professions by the click of heels?
For several days Sammy tried. ”

“ The longest-living author of this work died in 1933, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 90 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works. ”