“Now then,” said my companion, speaking for the first time, “put on your shoes.”
I did so, and very glad I was to do it. At the same time he reached down and drew off his stockings, and then I saw they had been drawn on over his boots.
Then he took my hand, and we walked along steadily and swiftly for an hour, until the lights of Lancaster had faded in the distance, and not until then did my companion fall into a walk and conversation.
“What did you say you were in for?” he asked.
“For nothing,” I answered, promptly.
This seemed to amuse him greatly.
“Of course not,” said he, after an outburst of laughter. “I never saw a prisoner in my life who wasn’t innocent!”
I attempted to explain, but he wouldn’t listen.
“No matter—it’s not my business. It was forgery with me—ten years at the least; and I couldn’t stand that, you know.”
“Certainly not,” said I, not knowing what else to say.