Bud was not overstocked with clothes; much traveling had formed the habit of buying as he needed for immediate use.

With Lovin Child held firmly under one arm, where he would be sure of him, he emptied his "war-bag" on the bunk and hunted out another shirt Lovin Child got a bath, that time, because of the ashes he had managed to gather on his feet and his hands and his head.

Bud was patient, and Lovin Child was delightedly unrepentant--until he was buttoned into another shirt of Bud's, and the socks were tied on him.
"Now, doggone yuh, I'm goin' to stake you out, or hobble yuh, or some darn thing, till I get that wood in!" he thundered, with his eyes laughing.

"You want to freeze?
Hey?
Now you're goin' to stay right on this bunk till I get through, because I'm goin' to tie yuh on.

You may holler--but you little son of a gun, you'll stay safe!" So Bud tied him, with a necktie around his body for a belt, and a strap fastened to that and to a stout nail in the wall over the bunk.