Not for Dave Cowan was the printed word of sacred authority.

He had set up too much copy.

But he was pleased, nevertheless, thus to while and doze away a beautiful Sabbath morning that other people made rather a trial of.
Having finished the last of the judge's shoes, the Wilbur twin took them and the shoes of Merle to their owners, then hastened with his own to the little house where he must dress in his own Sunday clothes, wash his hands with due care--they would be doubtingly inspected by Winona--and put soap on his hair to make it lie down.

Merle's hair would lie politely as combed, but his own hair owned no master but soap.

Lacking this, it stood out and up in wicked disorder--like the hair of a rowdy, Winona said.
The rebellious stuff was at last plastered deceitfully to his skull as if a mere brush had smoothed it, and with a final survey, to assure himself that he had forgotten none of those niceties of the toilet that Winona would insist upon, he took his new straw hat and went again to the Penniman house.