He went to the lower drawer of a tall “highboy” and, from the tumbled mass of apparel therein took one of his own night garments.
“Here's one,” he said, coming back with it in his hand. “I guess you'll have to make this do for now. It'll fit you enough for three times to once, but it's all I've got.”
A small hand reached 'round the edge of the door and the nightshirt disappeared. Captain Cy chuckled and resumed his pacing.
“I'm tucked up,” called Miss Thomas. The captain entered and found her in bed, the patchwork points and diamonds of the “Rising Sun” quilt covering her to the chin and her head denting the uppermost of the two big pillows. Captain Cy liked to “sleep high.”
“Got enough over you?” he asked.
“Yes, sir, thank you.”
“That's good. I'll take your togs out and dry 'em in the kitchen. Don't be scared; I'll be right back.”
In the kitchen he sorted the wet garments and hung them about the cook stove. It was a strange occupation for him and he shook his head whimsically as he completed it. Then he took a flat iron, one of Mrs. Beasley's purchases, from the shelf in the closet and put it in the oven to heat. Soon afterwards he returned to the bedroom, bearing the iron wrapped in a dish towel.
“My ma always used to put a hot flat to my feet when I was a young one and got chilled,” he explained. “I ain't used one for some time, but I guess it's a good receipt. How do you feel now? Any more icicles?”
“No, sir. I'm ever so warm. Isn't this a nice bed?”