“Next?”
“Vegetables, eightpence.”
“Yes.”
“Paraffin oil and firewood, sixpence.”
Again the financier scrutinized the list. He was positive that it was down already. However, he could not find it, so the sixpence was added to the column of figures.
“Then there’s your boots; you can’t go about with them old things in this weather much longer, and they won’t stand mending again. You remember the old man said they were not worth it when you had that patch put on a few weeks ago.”
“Yes. I was thinking of buying a new pair tomorrow. My socks was wet through tonight. If it’s raining some morning when I’m going out and I have to work all day with wet feet I shall be laid up.”
“At that second-hand shop down in High Street I saw when I was out this afternoon a very good pair just your size, for two shillings.”
Easton did not reply at once. He did not much fancy wearing the cast-off boots of some stranger, who for all he knew might have suffered from some disease, but then remembering that his old ones were literally falling off his feet he realized that he had practically no choice.
“If you’re quite sure they’ll fit you’d better get them. It’s better to do that than for me to catch cold and be laid up for God knows how long.”