He was unencumbered with belongings.

He had no troublesome packing to do, and took not even the smallest of bags in his farings forth.

Unlike the twins, Dave had no Sunday clothes.

What clothes he had he wore, very sensibly, it seemed to him.

He had but to go on and on, equipped with his union card and his printer's steel rule, the sole machinery of his trade, and where he would linger he was welcome, for as long as he chose and at a wage ample for his few needs, to embalm the doings of a queer world in type.