“They’re boots, anyhow,” said the Voice.
“They are-charity boots,” said Mr. Thomas Marvel; “and I can’t decide which is the ugliest pair here.”
“Hm,” said the Voice.
“I’ve worn worse boots. But not so ugly. My old boots-I am sick of them. They’re good enough, of course. And if you’ll believe me, I’ve got nothing in the whole country, but these boots. Look at them! Ugly, right? What a country! What people!”
“It’s a terrible country,” said the Voice. “And people are like pigs.”
“That’s it!” said Mr. Thomas Marvel. “Lord! And their boots!”
He turned his head to the right, to look at the boots of his interlocutor, and lo! Where the boots of his interlocutor should have been were neither legs nor boots. He was in a great amazement.
“Where are you?” said Mr. Thomas Marvel over his shoulder. “Am I drunk? Have I had visions? Was I talking to myself? What the-”
“Don’t be alarmed,” said a Voice.
“None of your jokes,” said Mr. Thomas Marvel, rising sharply to his feet. “Where are you?”
“Don’t be alarmed,” repeated the Voice.
“You’ll be alarmed in a minute, you silly fool,” said Mr. Thomas Marvel. “Where are you? Let me catch you.”
There was no answer. Mr. Thomas Marvel stood bootless and amazed.
“Peewit,” said a peewit, very remote.
“Peewit, indeed!” said Mr. Thomas Marvel. “This is no time for foolery.”
The field was desolate, east and west, north and south; the road ran smooth and empty north and south, and, save for that peewit, the blue sky was empty too.
“I know,” said Mr. Thomas Marvel, shuffling his coat on to his shoulders again. “It’s the alcohol! I might have known.”
“It’s not the alcohol,” said the Voice. “Don’t worry.”
“Oh!” said Mr. Marvel, and his face grew white. “It’s the alcohol!” his lips repeated noiselessly. He remained staring about him, rotating slowly backwards. “I could have sworn I heard a voice,” he whispered.
“Of course you did.”
“It’s there again,” said Mr. Marvel, closing his eyes and clasping his hands with a tragic gesture. He was suddenly taken by the collar and shaken violently, and left more dazed than ever.
“Don’t be a fool,” said the Voice.
“I got crazy,” said Mr. Marvel. “It’s no good. It’s because of those damned boots. Or it’s spirits.”
“Neither one thing nor the other,” said the Voice. “Listen!”
“Crazy,” said Mr. Marvel.