'You care for what they mean to other folks,' said Scheffer.
'Not much, I assure you. A little praise, like music, is pleasant. But a man can't live on sound. Show me your seven-league boots, Scheffer; I'm going to take a stroll around the world.'
'What do you mean?' asked Scheffer, without moving.
'I'm going over the ocean.'
'India rubber soles?' asked Scheffer, again speaking in his quietest manner, but really feeling great excitement.
Cromwell laughed. 'I suppose they have iron-bound boots, even in Paris; but I thought I'd like to take something out of your shop with me; something of your own make, if possible. Do you know, Scheffer, you've had more to do with me, a vast deal, than you ever supposed? I've had the feeling that you were watching me as often as ever I got into lazy ways, just as if you stood by that window and searched me out across the grounds, no matter where I was lurking. I shall take my time when I am well rid of you. But I'll have the boots for a token; and when I am tired and sick of my work, as I shall be a hundred times, I'll pretend that you put some magic into the soles. Give them to me with a strong squeak.'
Cromwell laughed, but he was at least two thirds in earnest.
Still August did not stir. 'Are you really going away?' he asked.
'If I'm a live man, next week.'
'Going to France?'