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CABIN FEVER IN THE WORST FORM.
Bud Moore woke on a certain morning with a distinct and well-defined grouch against the world as he had found it; a grouch quite different from the sullen imp of contrariness that had possessed him lately.

He did not know just what had caused the grouch, and he did not care.

He did know, however, that he objected to the look of Cash's overshoes that stood pigeon-toed beside Cash's bed on the opposite side of the room, where Bud had not set his foot for three weeks and more.

He disliked the audible yawn with which Cash manifested his return from the deathlike unconsciousness of sleep.