It was only the next day that Bud was the means of helping Lovin Child
find a fortune for himself; which eased Bud's mind considerably, and
balanced better his half of the responsibility. Cutting out the dramatic
frills, then, this is what happened to Lovin Child and Bud: They were romping around the cabin, like two puppies that had a surplus
of energy to work off. Part of the time Lovin Child was a bear, chasing
Bud up and down the dead line, which was getting pretty well worn out
in places. After that, Bud was a bear and chased Lovin. And when Lovin
Child got so tickled he was perfectly helpless in the corner where he
had sought refuge, Bud caught him and swung him up to his shoulder and
let him grab handfuls of dirt out of the roof.
Lovin Child liked that better than being a bear, and sifted Bud's hair
full of dried mud, and threw the rest on the floor, and frequently cried
"Tell a worl'!" which he had learned from Bud and could say with the
uncanny pertinency of a parrot.
He had signified a desire to have Bud carry him along the wall, where
some lovely lumps of dirt protruded temptingly over a bulging log. Then
he leaned and grabbed with his two fat hands at a particularly big, hard
lump. It came away in his hands and fell plump on the blankets of the
bunk, half blinding Bud with the dust that came with it.
"Hey! You'll have all the chinkin' out of the dang shack, if you let
him keep that lick up, Bud," Cash grumbled, lifting his eyebrows at the
mess.
"Tell a worl'!" Lovin Child retorted over his shoulder, and made another
grab.
This time the thing he held resisted his baby strength. He pulled and he
grunted, he kicked Bud in the chest and grabbed again. Bud was patient,
and let him fuss--though in self-defense he kept his head down and his
eyes away from the expected dust bath.
"Stay with it, Boy; pull the darn roof down, if yuh want. Cash'll get
out and chink 'er up again."
"Yeah. Cash will not," the disapproving one amended the statement
gruffly. "He's trying to get the log outa the wall, Bud."
"Well, let him try, doggone it. Shows he's a stayer. I wouldn't have any
use for him if he didn't have gumption enough to tackle things too big
for him, and you wouldn't either. Stay with 'er, Lovins! Doggone it,
can't yuh git that log outa there nohow? Uh-h! A big old grunt and a big
old heave--uh-h! I'll tell the world in words uh one syllable, he's some
stayer."
"Tell a worl'!" chuckled Lovin Child, and pulled harder at the thing he
wanted.