"Are you not coming?" asked Michali.
Curtis arose and sank down again. His companions ran back.
"What's the matter?" they asked in chorus.
"I can go no farther," replied Curtis. "I scratched my foot on a stone when we were gathering those sea urchins, and it's swelling up in my shoe."
"Why didn't you say something?" asked Lindbohm.
"A man doesn't like to squeal about a scratch, you know," replied the American. "Pull the blamed shoe off for me, will you? Hold on! hold on, I tell you! Holy Moses, how that hurts!"
"You'll just have to cut the shoe off," suggested the Lieutenant.
"I don't like to do that. What'll I do without shoes?"
"Ah, you will wear the beautiful Cretan boots!" cried Michali enthusiastically. "The yellow, soft, strong boots. There is no such leather in the world. Do you not know how Crete is famous for the boots?"
"That settles it, then," exclaimed Curtis. "I won't stand this torture any longer. Here, Lindbohm, old man, just slit that shoe right open, will you?"