Neither did it please him to find, when all the seams were
sewn, that the little overalls failed to look like any garment he
had ever seen on a child. When he tried them on Lovin Child, next
day, Cash took one look and bolted from the cabin with his hand
over his mouth.
When he came back an hour or so later, Lovin Child was wearing
his ragged rompers, and Bud was bent over a Weinstock-Lubin
mail-order catalogue. He had a sheet of paper half filled with
items, and was licking his pencil and looking for more. He looked
up and grinned a little, and asked Cash when he was going to town
again; and added that he wanted to mail a letter.
"Yeah. Well, the trail's just as good now as it was when I took
it," Cash hinted strongly. "When I go to town again, it'll be
because I've got to go. And far as I can see, I won't have to go
for quite some time."
So Bud rose before daylight the next morning, tied on the
makeshift snowshoes Cash had contrived, and made the fifteen-mile
trip to Alpine and back before dark. He brought candy for Lovin
Child, tended that young gentleman through a siege of indigestion
because of the indulgence, and waited impatiently until he was
fairly certain that the wardrobe he had ordered had arrived at
the post-office.
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