"Whar's y'r coat an' hat?"
"I never wear any," I explained, beginning a propagandistic harangue on the non-essentiality of clothes....
He cut in with the final pronouncement:
"Damn fool, you'll git pneumony."
Then he fell into obdurate, contemptuous silence.
The snow was deep about our living shanty and cook-shack in one, but hard-frozen enough to bear a man's weight without snow-shoes. Over the crust had fallen a powdery, white, new snow, about four inches deep.
Every morning, after the "boys" had eaten their breakfast and left for the woods, I went through my exercises, stripped, out in the open ... a half hour of it, finished by a roll in the snow, that set me tingling all over.
One morning I made up my mind to startle the "boys" by running, mother-naked, in a circle, whooping, about them, where they were sawing up fallen trees and felling others.
It was a half mile to where they worked.