"The Law may very well 'be an ass', but a man can travel a mighty long way on an ass."
"Hello! Ferdinand Lyle at your service, just arrived from New Orleans with accommodations at the hotel presently." Ferdy announced.
"Oh, how super!" said one of the twins.
"I am rather looking for a Mister Pettigrew, whom I believe I may know from Louisiana."
"Why, you want the Drapers next door" said Tweedle Dum.
"Yes, Mr Pettigrew caters to the ladies of this good burgh" said Tweedle Dee.
He looked around the business, taking in every aspect, "I see that you gentlemen are tailors by trade, as am I, with references from clientele throughout the south as well as parts of the north, though not as many."
One of the twins gave a strangulated little scream and the other gasped "Oh no, Forde... competition!"
Lewis Reeve, standing there halfway through getting measured, felt some unease as he saw one of the odd young men reach for a large pair of pinking shears.
"I'm afraid, Mr Lyle, that there really isn't enough business in town for two tailoring business" said the one called Pat, making a snipping sound with the shears.
"Yes, we find the idea of another tailor moving in on our patch quite distressing!" agreed the one called Forde, starting to wind the ends of his tape measure around his hands, as though intending to use it as a garrotte on the unfortunate Mr Lyle.
Reeve at first thought the situation almost laughable, but the two fellows whom he had dismissed as a harmless pair of pansies actually looked rather dangerous right now.
"Hey fellers, come on. Mr Lyle might just be here on a visit... right, Mister Lyle?" he suggested, looking at the rotund figure and hoping the man would at least pretend that was the case. He didn't fancy trying to disarm an hysterical Patrick Patterson Forde of a very sharp looking pair of giant scissors.
"The suit, they say, makes the man; I say the man gives the suit life."
Weathering the landslide of words from these brothers, Ferdy stood in amazement. First, none of the men was the Pettigrew fellow he was looking for, second, he had said nothing about opening a shop; who were they to say that this wide spot in the road wasn't big enough for another tailor? And finally, why would he want to work with them at anything? He had just arrived in town and was looking for a man he might or might not even know.
"Gentlemen, gentlemen. We seem to be quite a ways ahead of ourselves here." Ferdy said, offering a smile as he spoke. "What I said was, I was looking for this Pettirtew fellow, whom I may or may not know. As far as business? I just arrived here and have not even had my supper as yet, and yes, I am a tailor of both men's and women's apparel. And I am a hand at making fine footwear. A cordwainer. However, I am not looking to employ my talents at this time, and no, I am not here on a visit." He chose not to go into any further detail.
Oh dear, we're all of a flutter!
"Gentlemen, gentlemen. We seem to be quite a ways ahead of ourselves here." Ferdy said, offering a smile as he spoke. "What I said was, I was looking for this Pettigrew fellow, whom I may or may not know. As far as business? I just arrived here and have not even had my supper as yet, and yes, I am a tailor of both men's and women's apparel."
The two fuming young men took a step closer to the odd ginger man and Reeve felt in necessary to interpose himself.
"Now listen fellers... I'm a lawyer, and you could get in awful trouble if you lay hands on this gentleman!" he tried to reason with them.
But then the rotund Mr Lyle added something which turned the whole situation on its head.
"... And I am a hand at making fine footwear. A cordwainer. However, I am not looking to employ my talents at this time, and no, I am not here on a visit."
The angry faces of the Messers. Paterson Forde transformed immediately.
"He mends shoes, brother!" one beamed, laying down his pinking shears.
"He makes shoes, brother!" the other added, and both of them rushed forwards past Reeve to throw their arms around Ferdinand and draw him further into the shop, as if terrified he might escape their suddenly warm embrace.
"We must tell Mother!"
"I will tell Mother!"
"Mother! Oh Mother!!" their voices quavered in unison.
A door opened and a short middle aged woman entered, looked about and finally settled her beady gaze on Ferdy.
"And who the Dickens are you?" she asked in interrogative tones.
"Mister Lyle is a Cobbler!" Reeve explained rapidly. This woman looked the type who'd shoot to kill if the word tailor was brought up again.
"The suit, they say, makes the man; I say the man gives the suit life."
"Yes, I am Ferdinand Lyle, and I am no such thing! I can repair footwear, true, but I am NOT a cobbler, Madam! I am a cordwainer!" Ferdy replied, a bit indignant at the term. "I seem to have stepped into the wrong shop, as I was looking for Mister Pettigrew from next door. I may know him from New Orleans, Louisiana, where I had my shop before traveling here. These two fellows seem to believe that I am in search of employment, which I assure you I am not. At least not today, I am not."
He doubted that he had cleared the air at all from the looks of the woman's sons, meanwhile, this lawyer fellow stood like a scarecrow, his arms outstretched to be measured. This was quite the introduction to these people, and an odd way of getting to know someone, he thought, thinking he should flee the premises!
Oh dear, we're all of a flutter!
"Yes, I am Ferdinand Lyle, and I am no such thing! I can repair footwear, true, but I am NOT a cobbler, Madam! I am a cordwainer!"
Indeed, thought Mrs Patterson Forde, and a cordwainer could also cobble, but the man was obviously touchy on the subject of nomenclature!
"I seem to have stepped into the wrong shop, as I was looking for Mister Pettigrew from next door. I may know him from New Orleans, Louisiana, where I had my shop before traveling here. These two fellows seem to believe that I am in search of employment, which I assure you I am not. At least not today, I am not."
"Please excuse my boys" Mrs Patterson Forde said soothingly "They're a little highly strung. Please follow me and I shall take you to Mr Pettigrew." she said, motioning him to the door that she had entered through.
"Nice to meet you, Mr Lyle" Reeve said as the man passed, holding out his hand.
The woman led Ferdy through a well-appointed, but empty, bootmaker's workshop, to a door that she opened with a key and which led, almost miraculously, into the workroom of the drapers next door. A rather bovine, piggy eyed girl with dark hair looked up from her sewing machine.
"Oh Jemima, would you be a dear and go fetch Mister Pettigrew? A friend of his from New Orleans has arrived to visit with him" she asked the girl politely and the creature obeyed.
"The door was Mister Pettigrew's idea" she explained to Mr Lyle "When we send someone next door to the drapers, or Worcester sends someone next door to us, there's a good chance they'll change their mind and wander off without coming in to purchase: this way we can deliver them right on the spot: all under the excuse of their convenience" she confided.
"The suit, they say, makes the man; I say the man gives the suit life."
This was a family affair, it appeared, with some sort of an agreement with this Pettigrew gentleman. He wondered id in fgackt he was the Pettigrew of New Orleans.
"Please excuse my boys" Mrs Patterson Forde said soothingly "They're a little highly strung. Please follow me and I shall take you to Mr Pettigrew." she said, motioning him to the door that she had entered through.
"Not to concern yourself, Madam, ours is a high-strung trade." He said pleasantly, "I appreciate our efforts on my behalf."
"Nice to meet you, Mr Lyle" Reeve said as the man passed, holding out his hand.
Ferdy grasped his hand, probably a bit firmer than the gentleman expected. "And you as well, sir."
The woman led Ferdy through a well-appointed, but empty, bootmaker's workshop, to a door that she opened with a key and which led, almost miraculously, into the workroom of the drapers next door. A rather bovine, piggy eyed girl with dark hair looked up from her sewing machine.
"This is a wonderful workshop, one I might be coerced into using, though I doubt there would be much call for twenty-dollar boots in this town, though I could be mistaken. I mean, there are men everywhere who would require the finest in all manner of dress, including footwear. Have you no bootmaker?" He asked as she had a seamstress fetch Mister Pettigrew.
It seemed odd that they would meet in the room where garments were made, but then, they were Mister Pettigrew's fashions, as for the boys, it appeared to Ferdy they had their own cutting tables and machines, or he may have been mistaken; they could be sharing the room where this Jemima person had been working. He couldn't be certain.
"The door was Mister Pettigrew's idea" she explained to Mr Lyle "When we send someone next door to the drapers, or Worcester sends someone next door to us, there's a good chance they'll change their mind and wander off without coming in to purchase: this way we can deliver them right on the spot: all under the excuse of their convenience" she confided.
"Excellent idea, that. I can see where you might stand to lose customers if done any other way. You seem to have thought of everything. Yes, a fine setup indeed."
"Where are the snows of yesterday" - Villon
While they were waiting, Mrs Patterson Forde explained why the lasts of the unused boot-making workshop remained unadorned by footwear, and why the awls lay gathering dust on the worktops.
"Until very recently, my brother-in-law was here as our co... cordwainer." She swerved the apparently taboo word of 'Cobbler' "He had a disagreement with the rest of the family and left." she said calmly. No need to rehearse the past flaming rows between her and 'Uncle Pat' in front of a stranger.
"There's a saddler in town, a cretin by the name of Miller, who can effect a few rudimentary repairs, but nobody with any real skill" she added, just as a thumping down the stairs announced the arrival of their host, followed up by the girl Jemima, who sped back to her post behind the sewing machine.
"Well fan my brow! It really is the Ferdinand Lyle! Well, well, well!!" From Jemima's description of the man, it could hardly be anyone else. The ginger haired, rotund man came forward with his hand extended and a look of delighted recognition on his face. "What the Dickens brings you out west, Suh?" he asked with a note of genuine intrigue in his Louisiana drawl.
"The suit, they say, makes the man; I say the man gives the suit life."
"None othe'a, ma dear friend."Ferdy replied, his proper English giving way to hints of his Cajun accent. "I had a run of bad luck which led to pistols on the green at dawn, and what I could carry on the afternoon train, and then a series of conveyances in this direction, none of which I would not recommend." He gripped Wus' hand and pulled him in for a hug, as any friend who had not seen the other in some time.
"I admire the situation you have here Wus, what with these Patterson Forde folk, and all. Now I'd say you have yourse'f situated purty good. Now, about this town, tell me some about it, I may find ma'sef takin' up permanent residence among ya." He was having difficulty with maintaining the Cajun vernacular, as he spoke proper English all of the time back there, mingling with the upper crust, to whom he made clothes for.
"Where are the snows of yesterday" - Villon
"I admire the situation you have here Wus, what with these Patterson Forde folk, and all. Now I'd say you have yourse'f situated purty good. Now, about this town, tell me some about it, I may find ma'sef takin' up permanent residence among ya."
Mrs Patterson Forde excused herself at this juncture, but not before enjoining both men to join her family for supper that evening.
Once the woman was gone, Wus answered his old acquaintance frankly and fully.
"The town, my dear Ferdy, is booming! And set to grow further once the branch line of the railroad reaches here. And our particular trade increasingly in demand. Now, that said, we wouldn't want too much business competition right now. Between us, the Patterson Fordes and myself have cornered the sartorial market in Kalispell. The 'Lady of the Manor', if you'll pardon the expression, a Miss Steelgrave, is about to come over: previously she has had all of her gowns made in Helena, which is the 'Paris' of the people around here."
There was only one thing that made his brow furrow.
"The only blot on the landscape is the departure of the bootmaker from next -door. Nine people in a house, bound to be frictions. You've met the redoubtable Mrs Patterson Forde: she rules the roost next door; they all toe the line, except the Uncle, they had a blazing row and he left last week. Orders to fill and a devil of a time finding a replacement!" he informed the new arrival.
"The suit, they say, makes the man; I say the man gives the suit life."
"The town sounds ripe for growth, and perhaps a higher class of people looking to have the finer things that you and these Patterson Forde folk can produce. A lot better than 'off the rack' things from the Mercantile or the General Store. Nothing wrong with mass-produced clothing, certainly not, but quality clothing with exact fit cannot be beat, at least as far as I am concerned." Then again, what would you expect from a tailor?
"Without a bootmaker, it would seem that a man of my talents could ease right in to a position. Of course, I much prefer men's furnishings, but, given the situation with the brothers over there, I'm not quite sure I'd fit in. Perhaps bringing elite footwear to the natives is my destiny. I mean, they could certainly use my talents. Wouldn't you say, Wus?" Ferdy grinned as he spoke about taking the vacant position. "I do have my tools along, just in case something like this came along. But, is the current equipment the Patterson Forde's property, and do you suppose they might want to sell? I mean, I'd like a day or so to consider it, and of course, there would be the rent. I'm not inclined to toe anyone's line. Gentlemen like you and I certainly need to have our creative freedom."