The next morning Jerome went early to his uncle Ozias Lamb for some finished shoes, which he was to take to Dale.

For the first time in his life, when he entered the shop, he had an impulse to avert his eyes and not meet his uncle's fully.

Ozias had grown old rapidly of late.

He sat, with his usual stiff crouch, on his bench and hammered away at a shoe-heel on his lapstone.

His hair and beard were white and shaggy, his blue eyes peered sharply, as from a very ambush of old age, at Jerome loading himself with the finished shoes.
After the usual half-grunt of greeting, which was scarcely more than a dissyllabic note of salutation between two animals, Ozias was silent until Jerome was going out.
"Ain't ye well this mornin' ?" he asked then.
"Yes," replied Jerome, "I'm well enough." "When a man's smart," said Ozias Lamb, "and has got money in his pocket, and don't want folks to know it, he don't keep feelin' of it to see if it's safe.