Quality – John Galsworthy

1 The narrator knew the Gessler brothers from childhood — because the elder Mr Gessler had made his father's boots. Their small shop occupied a quiet side-street in a fashionable part of London. The shop announced itself with nothing but a small sign — "Gessler Brothers" — and a few pairs of boots displayed in the window. Imagery There was a distinction about the place, something hushed and purposeful. Mr Gessler made only what was ordered, and nothing he made ever failed to fit perfectly. To the young narrator, the making of such boots seemed mysterious and wonderful — a kind of art.

2 Visiting the shop was not like entering any ordinary store. One went in with a feeling of calm, as one might enter a place of worship. Simile A guttural sound would be heard, followed by the tip-tap of Gessler's slippers on the narrow wooden stairs, and then the man himself would appear — slightly stooped, wearing a leather apron, sleeves rolled back, blinking as though woken from a deep dream. A dream of boots. When a customer asked for a pair of Russian-leather boots, Gessler would disappear and return holding a piece of gold-brown leather with reverence, saying, "What a beautiful piece!" Imagery The smell of leather — the incense of his trade — filled the shop.

3 One occasion stood out. The narrator came in wearing boots bought hurriedly from a large chain store during an emergency. Gessler took the order without a word, but the narrator could feel the old man's gaze cutting through the leather of those inferior shoes. Finally, Gessler pressed a finger on the tight spot and said quietly, Irony "Those big firms get it all by advertising, not by work. They take it away from us — those who love our boots." His voice was low, not with anger but with a sadness that ran deeper than anger. The narrator, moved by guilt and sympathy, promptly ordered many pairs. They lasted longer than any he had owned before.

4 Years passed. On a return visit, the narrator found not the elder brother but what appeared to be the younger one — except the face was aged and thin, wan in a way it had never been. "My elder brother is dead," the old cobbler said quietly. He had worked until the very end. The narrator ordered several pairs — they came slowly but were the finest Gessler had ever made. The narrator then went abroad for over a year.

5 Returning to London after more than twelve months, the narrator headed straight for the shop. He found a seventy-five-year-old man who had shrunk to barely a shadow — pinched, worn, barely recognising his old customer. "I can make them quickly; it is a slack time," Gessler said. The narrator ordered boots of every kind. Weeks later, the boots arrived — the finest he had ever seen. He flew downstairs to write a cheque and post it immediately. A week later, he passed the small street again — and saw that Gessler's name was gone from the shopfront.

6 Inside, a young English man said simply: "Mr Gessler? Dead." He explained: "Slow starvation, the doctor called it. He went to work in such a way. Would keep the shop on; wouldn't have a soul touch his boots but himself. When he got an order, it took him such a time. People won't wait. He lost everybody. And there he'd sit, going on and on… He never advertised. Would have the best leather too, and do it all himself. But look at the competition! Never gave himself time to eat; never had a penny in the house — all went in rent and leather. But he made good boots." Irony Symbolism

7 "Yes," said the narrator. "He made good boots." Symbolism