He declined to sit up half the night to find out "how things were going." So he went to bed, knowing perfectly well that his three bunkies would come piling in at some outlandish hour and jabber about the "kid," and he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep again for hours.
He was what is commonly known as a "grass widower." His wife rather too promptly married inside of a month after leaving Reno, and, much to her own gratification and joy, proceeded to have three very desirable children within a period of five years, causing him a great deal of pain and annoyance for the reason that their father had once been regarded as his best friend,--and now he couldn't abide the sight of him.

He hated children.

Now you know the kind of a man he was.
Five tired and thoughtful men were going to bed a little later on in one of the huts.
"What shall we call her ?" came from Randolph Fitts, as he threw one of his clay-covered shoes into the corner.
"There's only one name for her," said Percival firmly, from the edge of his bunk.

"We'll call her Doraine." "Good shot!" cried Peter Snipe.

"I had two names in mind, but Doraine's got 'em both beat.