Lovin Child Strikes It Rich

"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.

"Hey! The kid's got hold of a piece of gunny sack or something. You
look out, Bud, or he'll have all that chinkin' out. There's no sense in
lettin' him tear the whole blame shack to pieces, is there?"

"Can if he wants to. It's his shack as much as it's anybody's." Bud
shifted Lovin Child more comfortably on his shoulder and looked up,
squinting his eyes half shut for fear of dirt in them.