"Call me Buck, the same as all the boys."
Klinker came toward him holding out an object made of red velveteen about the size of a pocket handkerchief.
"Put these where you can find them to-morrow. You can have 'em. Left Hand Tom's gone where he don't need 'em any more."
"What are they? What does one do with them?"
"They're your trunks. You wear 'em."
"Where? On—what portion, I mean?"
"They're like little pants," said Klinker.
The two men walked home together over the frozen streets. Queed was taciturn and depressed. He was annoyed by Klinker's presence and irritated by his conversation; he wanted nothing in the world so much as to be let alone. But honest Buck Klinker remained unresponsive to his mood. All the way to Mrs. Paynter's he told his new pupil grisly stories of men he had known who had thought that they could work all day and all night, and never take any exercise. Buck kindly offered to show the Doc their graves.