The strokes were smoother this time and Lorenz floundered up on the ground without reverting to dog paddling. If there was anything he could out do the Big Bastard on, he hadn't discovered it yet. He moved to put on his clothes when the deep voice stopped him.
“Ye dry off with this.” MacDonald handed Lorenz a towel. “Then ye put on these,” and he held up the summer drawers and vest, an abbreviated, cotton version of winter underclothes by being shortened to mid-calf and upper arm.
Lorenz took the towel and swiped at parts of his anatomy while eying the underwear with distaste. “Hit's too hot!” he protested.
“Aye,” agreed MacDonald, “but if I must wear the damn things, so twill ye.”
Lorenz ground his teeth. Rity had made him wear the itching, confining clothing and he detested them. He
