Gregory was running back to him again.

"Stop!" he called, and as he came up panting in an excitement which the
shoeman might well have mistaken for indignation attending the discovery
of some blemish in his purchase. "Do you regard this as in any manner a
deception?" he palpitated.

"Why," the shoeman began cautiously, "it wa'n't what you may call a
promise, exactly. More of a joke than anything else, I looked on it. I
just said I'd keep 'em for her; but--"

"You don't understand. If I seemed to disapprove--if I led any one to
suppose, by my manner, or by--anything--that I thought it unwise or
unbecoming to buy the shoes, and then bought them myself, do you think it
is in the nature of an acted falsehood?"

"Lo'd no!" said the shoeman, and he caught up the slack of his reins to
drive on, as if he thought this amusing maniac might also be dangerous.

Gregory stopped him with another question. "And shall--will you--think it
necessary to speak of--of this transaction? I leave you free!"

"Well," said the shoeman. "I don't know what you're after, exactly, but
if you think I'm so shot on for subjects that I've got to tell the folks
at the next stop that I sold a fellar a pair of slippas for his gul--Go
'long!" he called to his horse, and left Gregory standing in the middle
of the road.