“What?!” cried the Master-Cobbler. “What do you mean you’re canceling your orders?”
Herbert couldn’t hear the guard’s reply over the roar of the fire, so he tiptoed nearer to the door. Outside, his master and the guard were still arguing.
“That’s a preposterous excuse,” said the Master-Cobbler.
“Hey, it happened like I said: the princesses were under some kind of hoodoo dancing curse, and a soldier guy broke them out of it. Point is, we don’t need that many dancing shoes anymore.”
“But whatever shall I do?!”
“I dunno, less work?”
Inside, Herbert smiled. Finally, he could catch a break.