He hated them.

The girl was quick to understand.

"Why don't you like your boots ?" she asked.
A whimsical, exasperated look came into his face.

"I don't know why they brass a boy's toes like that, but when I marry I won't wear them--that's all," he replied.
"Why do you wear them now ?" she asked, smiling.
"You don't know my father." "He's got plenty of money, hasn't he ?" she urged.

"Plenty; and that's what I can't understand about him! There's a lot of waste in river-driving, timber-making, out in the shanties and on the river, but he don't seem to mind that.