“You won’t get mad!”
The big, rugged, raw-boned Scot caught Phil in his arms and hugged him as if he were a sweetheart.
Usually so undemonstrative, Phil was taken aback at Jim’s behaviour; and Jim, immediately ashamed for his 282 outward show of emotion, sat down beside Phil and looked at the floor between his legs.
Phil clapped him on the back and Jim drew himself together.
“How long ago is it since you had these boots on, Phil?”
“Oh,––I guess I haven’t had them on since before–––” He reddened. “Oh!––four or five years, maybe. They never fitted me very well.”
“My own broke on the soles yesterday and I simply had to have something of the kind when cleaning out the stable to-day, so I hunted out yours from your old kit bag.”
“You’re heartily welcome to them, Jim,––if that is all.”
Jim turned a curious glance at Phil.
“You good old scout!” he said. Then he changed quickly. “Och,––what’s the use o’ me beating about. Phil,––that––that fell out of the toe of one of the boots when I was trying to get them on.”