"Let me untie 'em, Clem," said the big girl. "It's a shame for you eva to
take 'em off."
"That's right, lady," said the shoeman. "And you don't eva need to," he
added, to Clementina, "unless you object to sleepin' in 'em. You pay me
what you want to now, and the rest when I come around the latta paht of
August."
"Oh keep 'em, Clem!" the big girl urged, passionately, and the rest
joined her with their entreaties.
"I guess I betta not," said Clementina, and she completed the work of
taking off the slippers in which the big girl could lend her no further
aid, such was her affliction of spirit.
"All right, lady," said the shoeman. "Them's youa slippas, and I'll just
keep 'em for you till the latta paht of August."
He drove away, and in the woods which he had to pass through on the road
to another hotel he overtook the figure of a man pacing rapidly. He
easily recognized Gregory, but he bore him no malice. "Like a lift?" he
asked, slowing up beside him.
"No, thank you," said Gregory. "I'm out for the walk." He looked round
furtively, and then put his hand on the side of the wagon, mechanically,
as if to detain it, while he walked on.
"Did you sell the slippers to the young lady?"
"Well, not as you may say sell, exactly," returned the shoeman,
cautiously.
"Have you--got them yet?" asked the student.
"Guess so," said the man. "Like to see 'em?"
He pulled up his horse.