This was a new light, and I thought, perhaps, I should be easier, for one shoe was constantly scraping the tendon at the back of my heel. So sitting down on the grass, I untied and slipped off my shoes, my socks following, to be thrust into my pocket, and I limped on, setting my feet delicately on the gravel, which hurt them, till I changed on to the short soft turf beside the path.
The barge had passed me, but I soon overtook it, and then reached the boy, who watched me complacently as I trudged on, certainly feeling easier.
“One on ’ems a-bleeding,” said my new friend then. “Shoes allus hurts. Jeet!”
“Yes, when you walk far,” I said, the conversation beginning to warm now.
“Walked far, matey?”
“Yes, ever so far. Have you come far?”
“Pistol,” I thought he said.
“Where?” I asked.
“Bristol. Jeet, Sammy!” Crack!
“All along by the river?”