¸ßÈýÓ¢ÓïÔĶÁÀí½âÏÞʱѵÁ·£¨1£© a he¡¯s an old cobblerÐÞЬ½³ with a shop in the marais, a historic area in paris. when i took him my shoes, he at first told me, ¡°i haven¡¯t time. take them to the other fellow on the main street. he¡¯ll fix them for you right away.¡± but i had my eyes on his shop for a long time. just looking at his bench loaded with tools and pieces of leather, i knew he was a skilled craftsmanÊÖÒÕÈË. ¡°no.¡± i replied, ¡°the other fellow can¡¯t do it well.¡± ¡°the other fellow¡± was one of those shopkeepers who fix shoes and make keys ¡ª without knowing much about mending shoes or making keys. they work carelessly, and when they have finished sewing back a sandal strapЬ´ø, you might as well just throw away the pair. my man saw i wouldn¡¯t give in, and he smiled. he wiped hands on his blue apronΧȹ, looked at my shoes, had me write my name on one shoe with a piece of chalk and said, ¡°come back in a week.¡± i was about to leave when he took a pair of soft leather boots off a shelf. ¡°see what i can do?¡±