Next time, I'll tell a pinheaded world I'll have to bring home a quart or two, and put on a show right!" Just what he meant by that remained rather obscure, even to Bud.

He got up, shut his eyes very tight and then opened them wide to clear his vision, shook himself into his clothes and went over to the stove.
Cash had not left the coffeepot on the stove but had, with malicious intent--or so Bud believed--put it away on the shelf so that what coffee remained was stone cold.

Bud muttered and threw out the coffee, grounds and all--a bit of bachelor extravagance which only anger could drive him to--and made fresh coffee, and made it strong.

He did not want it.

He drank it for the work of physical regeneration it would do for him.
He lay down afterwards, and this time he dropped into a more nearly normal sleep, which lasted until Cash returned at dusk After that he lay with his face hidden, awake and thinking.