PENROD AND SAM

By Booth Tarkington

Contents

 I. Penrod and Sam II. The Bonded Prisoner III. The Militarist IV. Bingism V. The In-Or-In VI. Georgie Becomes a Member VII. Whitey VIII. Salvage IX. Reward of Merit X. Conscience XI. The Tonic XII. Gipsy XIII. Concerning Trousers XIV. Camera Work in the Jungle XV. A Model Letter to a Friend XVI. Wednesday Madness XVII. Penrod's Busy Day XVIII. On Account of the Weather XIX. Creative Art XX. The Departing Guest XXI. Yearnings XXII. The Horn of Fame XXIII. The Party XXIV. The Heart of Marjorie Jones

CHAPTER I. PENROD AND SAM

During the daylight hours of several autumn Saturdays there had beensevere outbreaks of cavalry in the Schofield neighbourhood. The sabreswere of wood; the steeds were imaginary, and both were employed in agame called "bonded pris'ner" by its inventors, Masters Penrod Schofieldand Samuel Williams. The pastime was not intricate. When two enemiesmet, they fenced spectacularly until the person of one or the other wastouched by the opposing weapon; then, when the ensuing claims of foulplay had been disallowed and the subsequent argument settled, thecombatant touched was considered to be a prisoner until such time ashe might be touched by the hilt of a sword belonging to one of his ownparty, which effected his release and restored to him the full enjoymentof hostile activity. Pending such rescue, however, he was obliged toaccompany the forces of his captor whithersoever their strategicalnecessities led them, which included many strange places. For the gamewas exciting, and, at its highest pitch, would sweep out of an alleyinto a stable, out of that stable and into a yard, out of that yard andinto a house, and through that house with the sound (and effect uponfurniture) of trampling herds. In fact, this very similarity must havebeen in the mind of the distressed coloured woman in Mrs. Williams'skitchen, when she declared that she might "jes' as well try to cookright spang in the middle o' the stock-yards. "

All up and down the neighbourhood the campaigns were waged, accompaniedby the martial clashing of wood upon wood and by many clamorousarguments. 

"You're a pris'ner, Roddy Bitts!"

"I am not!"

"You are, too! I touched you. "

"Where, I'd like to know!"

"On the sleeve. "

"You did not! I never felt it. I guess I'd 'a' felt it, wouldn't I?"

"What if you didn't? I touched you, and you're bonded. I leave it to SamWilliams. "

"Yah! Course you would! He's on your side! _I_ leave it to Herman. "

"No, you won't! If you can't show any SENSE about it, we'll do it over, and I guess you'll see whether you feel it or not! There! NOW, I guessyou--"

"Aw, squash!"

Strangely enough, the undoubted champion proved to be the youngest anddarkest of all the combatants, one Verman, coloured, brother to Herman, and substantially under the size to which his nine years entitled him. Verman was unfortunately tongue-tied, but he was valiant beyond allothers, and, in spite of every handicap, he became at once the chiefsupport of his own party and the despair of the opposition. 

On the third Saturday this opposition had been worn down by thesuccessive captures of Maurice Levy and Georgie Bassett until itconsisted of only Sam Williams and Penrod. Hence, it behooved thesetwo to be wary, lest they be wiped out altogether; and Sam was dismayedindeed, upon cautiously scouting round a corner of his own stable, tofind himself face to face with the valorous and skilful Verman, who wasacting as an outpost, or picket, of the enemy. 

Verman immediately fell upon Sam, horse and foot, and Sam wouldhave fled but dared not, for fear he might be touched from the rear. Therefore, he defended himself as best he could, and there followed alusty whacking, in the course of which Verman's hat, a relic and toolarge, fell from his head, touching Sam's weapon in falling. 

"There!" panted Sam, desisting immediately. "That counts! You're bonded, Verman. "

"Aim meewer!" Verman protested. 

Interpreting this as "Ain't neither", Sam invented a law to suit theoccasion. "Yes, you are; that's the rule, Verman. I touched your hatwith my sword, and your hat's just the same as you. "

"Imm mop!" Verman insisted. 

"Yes, it is, " said Sam, already warmly convinced (by his own statement)that he was in the right. "Listen here! If I hit you on the shoe, itwould be the same as hitting YOU, wouldn't it? I guess it'd count if Ihit you on the shoe, wouldn't it? Well, a hat's just the same as shoes. Honest, that's the rule, Verman, and you're a pris'ner. "

Now, in the arguing part of the game, Verman's impediment cooperatedwith a native amiability to render him far less effective than in theactual combat. He chuckled, and ceded the point. 

"Aw wi, " he said, and cheerfully followed his captor to a hidden placeamong some bushes in the front yard, where Penrod lurked. 

"Looky what _I_ got!" Sam said importantly, pushing his captive intothis retreat. "NOW, I guess you won't say I'm not so much use any more!Squat down, Verman, so's they can't see you if they're huntin' for us. That's one o' the rules--honest. You got to squat when we tell you to. "

Verman was agreeable. He squatted, and then began to laugh uproariously. 

"Stop that noise!" Penrod commanded. "You want to betray us? What youlaughin' at?"

"Ep mack im mimmup, " Verman giggled. 

"What's he mean?" Sam asked. 

Penrod was more familiar with Verman's utterance, and he interpreted. 

"He says they'll get him back in a minute. "

"No, they won't. I'd just like to see--"

"Yes, they will, too, " Penrod said. "They'll get him back for the mainand simple reason we can't stay here all day, can we? And they'd find usanyhow, if we tried to. There's so many of 'em against just us two, theycan run in and touch him soon as they get up to us--and then HE'LL beafter us again and--"

"Listen here!" Sam interrupted. "Why can't we put some REAL bonds onhim? We could put bonds on his wrists and around his legs--we could put'em all over him, easy as nothin'. Then we could gag him--"

"No, we can't, " said Penrod. "We can't, for the main and simple reasonwe haven't got any rope or anything to make the bonds with, have we? Iwish we had some o' that stuff they give sick people. THEN, I bet theywouldn't get him back so soon!"

"Sick people?" Sam repeated, not comprehending. 

"It makes 'em go to sleep, no matter what you do to 'em, " Penrodexplained. "That's the main and simple reason they can't wake up, andyou can cut off their ole legs--or their arms, or anything you want to. "

"Hoy!" exclaimed Verman, in a serious tone. His laughter ceasedinstantly, and he began to utter a protest sufficiently intelligible. 

"You needn't worry, " Penrod said gloomily. "We haven't got any o' thatstuff; so we can't do it. "

"Well, we got to do sumpthing, " Sam said. 

His comrade agreed, and there was a thoughtful silence; but presentlyPenrod's countenance brightened. 

"I know!" he exclaimed. "_I_ know what we'll do with him. Why, I thoughtof it just as EASY! I can most always think of things like that, for themain and simple reason--well, I thought of it just as soon--"

"Well, what is it?" Sam demanded crossly. Penrod's reiteration of hisnew-found phrase, "for the main and simple reason", had been growingmore and more irksome to his friend all day, though Sam was notdefinitely aware that the phrase was the cause of his annoyance. "WHATare we goin' to do with him, you know so much?"

Penrod rose and peered over the tops of the bushes, shading his eyeswith his hand, a gesture that was unnecessary but had a good appearance. He looked all round about him in this manner, finally vouchsafing areport to the impatient Sam. 

"No enemies in sight--just for the main and simple reason I expectthey're all in the alley and in Georgie Bassett's backyard. "

"I bet they're not!" Sam said scornfully, his irritation much increased. "How do YOU know so much about it?"

"Just for the main and simple reason, " Penrod replied, with dignifiedfinality. 

And at that, Sam felt a powerful impulse to do violence upon the personof his comrade-in-arms. The emotion that prompted this impulse was soprimitive and straightforward that it almost resulted in action; but Samhad a vague sense that he must control it as long as he could. 

"Bugs!" he said. 

Penrod was sensitive, and this cold word hurt him. However, he wasunder the domination of his strategic idea, and he subordinated privategrievance to the common weal. "Get up!" he commanded. "You get up, too, Verman. You got to--it's the rule. Now here I'll SHOW you what we'regoin' to do. Stoop over, and both o' you do just exackly like _I_ do. You watch ME, because this biz'nuss has got to be done RIGHT!"

Sam muttered something; he was becoming more insurgent every moment, buthe obeyed. Likewise, Verman rose to his feet, ducked his head betweenhis shoulders, and trotted out to the sidewalk at Sam's heels, bothfollowing Penrod and assuming a stooping position in imitation of him. Verman was delighted with this phase of the game, and, also, he wasprofoundly amused by Penrod's pomposity. Something dim and deep withinhim perceived it to be cause for such merriment that he had ado tomaster himself, and was forced to bottle and cork his laughter with bothhands. They proved insufficient; sputterings burst forth between hisfingers. 

"You stop that!" Penrod said, looking back darkly upon the prisoner. 

Verman endeavoured to oblige, though giggles continued to leak from himat intervals, and the three boys stole along the fence in single file, proceeding in this fashion until they reached Penrod's own front gate. Here the leader ascertained, by a reconnaissance as far as thecorner, that the hostile forces were still looking for them in anotherdirection. He returned in a stealthy but important manner to hisdisgruntled follower and the hilarious captive. 

"Well, " said Sam impatiently, "I guess I'm not goin' to stand aroundhere all day, I guess! You got anything you want to do, why'n't you goon and DO it?"

Penrod's brow was already contorted to present the appearance ofdetached and lofty concentration--a histrionic failure, since it did notdeceive the audience. He raised a hushing hand. 

"SH!" he murmured. "I got to think. "

"Bugs!" the impolite Mr. Williams said again. 

Verman bent double, squealing and sputtering; indeed, he was ultimatelyforced to sit upon the ground, so exhausting was the mirth to which henow gave way. Penrod's composure was somewhat affected and he showedannoyance. 

"Oh, I guess you won't laugh quite so much about minute from now, oleMister Verman!" he said severely. "You get up from there and do like Itell you. "

"Well, why'n't you TELL him why he won't laugh so much, then?" Samdemanded, as Verman rose. "Why'n't you do sumpthing and quit talkin' somuch about it?"

Penrod haughtily led the way into the yard. 

"You follow me, " he said, "and I guess you'll learn a little sense!"

Then, abandoning his hauteur for an air of mystery equally irritatingto Sam, he stole up the steps of the porch, and, after a moment'smanipulation of the knob of the big front door, contrived to operate thefastenings, and pushed the door open. 

"Come on, " he whispered, beckoning. And the three boys mounted thestairs to the floor above in silence--save for a belated giggle onthe part of Verman, which was restrained upon a terrible gesture fromPenrod. Verman buried his mouth as deeply as possible in a raggedsleeve, and confined his demonstrations to a heaving of the stomach anddiaphragm. 

Penrod led the way into the dainty room of his nineteen-year-old sister, Margaret, and closed the door. 

"There, " he said, in a low and husky voice, "I expect you'll see whatI'm goin' to do now!"

"Well, what?" the skeptical Sam asked. "If we stay here very long yourmother'll come and send us downstairs. What's the good of--"

"WAIT, can't you?" Penrod wailed, in a whisper. "My goodness!" And goingto an inner door, he threw it open, disclosing a clothes-closet hungwith pretty garments of many kinds, while upon its floor were two rowsof shoes and slippers of great variety and charm. 

A significant thing is to be remarked concerning the door of thissomewhat intimate treasury: there was no knob or latch upon the innerside, so that, when the door was closed, it could be opened only fromthe outside. 

"There!" said Penrod. "You get in there, Verman, and I'll bet they won'tget to touch you back out o' bein' our pris'ner very soon, NOW! Oh, Iguess not!"

"Pshaw!" said Sam. "Is that all you were goin' to do? Why, yourmother'll come and make him get out the first--"

"No, she won't. She and Margaret have gone to my aunt's in the country, and aren't goin' to be back till dark. And even if he made a lot o'noise, it's kind of hard to hear anything from in there, anyway, whenthe door's shut. Besides, he's got to keep quiet--that's the rule, Verman. You're a pris'ner, and it's the rule you can't holler ornothin'. You unnerstand that, Verman?"

"Aw wi, " said Verman. 

"Then go on in there. Hurry!"

The obedient Verman marched into the closet and sat down among the shoesand slippers, where he presented an interesting effect of contrast. Hewas still subject to hilarity--though endeavouring to suppress it bymeans of a patent-leather slipper--when Penrod closed the door. 

"There!" said Penrod, leading the way from the room. "I guess NOW yousee!"

Sam said nothing, and they came out to the open air and reached theirretreat in the Williams' yard again, without his having acknowledgedPenrod's service to their mutual cause. 

"I thought of that just as easy!" Penrod remarked, probably promptedto this odious bit of complacency by Sam's withholding the praise thatmight naturally have been expected. And he was moved to add, "I guessit'd of been a pretty long while if we'd had to wait for you to think ofsomething as good as that, Sam. "

"Why would it?" Sam asked. "Why would it of been such a long while?"

"Oh, " Penrod responded airily, "just for the main and simple reason!"

Sam could bear it no longer. "Oh, hush up!" he shouted. 

Penrod was stung. "Do you mean ME?" he demanded. 

"Yes, I do!" the goaded Sam replied. 

"Did you tell ME to hush up?"

"Yes, I did!"

"I guess you don't know who you're talkin' to, " Penrod said ominously. "I guess I just better show you who you're talkin' to like that. I guessyou need a little sumpthing, for the main and simple--"

Sam uttered an uncontrollable howl and sprang upon Penrod, catching himround the waist. Simultaneously with this impact, the wooden swords spunthrough the air and were presently trodden underfoot as the two boyswrestled to and fro. 

Penrod was not altogether surprised by the onset of his friend. He hadbeen aware of Sam's increasing irritation (though neither boy couldhave clearly stated its cause) and that very irritation produced acorresponding emotion in the bosom of the irritator. Mentally, Penrodwas quite ready for the conflict--nay, he welcomed it--though, for thefirst few moments, Sam had the physical advantage. 

However, it is proper that a neat distinction be drawn here. This wasa conflict; but neither technically nor in the intention of thecontestants was it a fight. Penrod and Sam were both in a state of highexasperation, and there was great bitterness; but no blows fell and notears. They strained, they wrenched, they twisted, and they panted andmuttered: "Oh, no, you don't!" "Oh, I guess I do!" "Oh, you will, willyou?" "You'll see what you get in about a minute!" "I guess you'll learnsome sense this time!"

Streaks and blotches began to appear upon the two faces, where colourhad been heightened by the ardent application of a cloth sleeve orshoulder, while ankles and insteps were scraped and toes were trampled. Turf and shrubberies suffered, also, as the struggle went on, untilfinally the wrestlers pitched headlong into a young lilac bush, and cameto earth together, among its crushed and sprawling branches. 

"OOCH!" and "WUF!" were the two exclamations which marked this episode, and then, with no further comment, the struggle was energeticallycontinued upon a horizontal plane. Now Penrod was on top, now Sam; theyrolled, they squirmed, they suffered. And this contest endured. It wenton and on, and it was impossible to imagine its coming to a definitetermination. It went on so long that to both the participants it seemedto be a permanent thing, a condition that had always existed and thatmust always exist perpetually. 

And thus they were discovered by a foray of the hostile party, headedby Roddy Bitts and Herman (older brother to Verman) and followed by thebonded prisoners, Maurice Levy and Georgie Bassett. These and otherscaught sight of the writhing figures, and charged down upon them withloud cries of triumph. 

"Pris'ner! Pris'ner! Bonded pris'ner!" shrieked Roddy Bitts, and touchedPenrod and Sam, each in turn, with his sabre. Then, seeing that theypaid no attention and that they were at his mercy, he recalled the factthat several times, during earlier stages of the game, both of them hadbeen unnecessarily vigorous in "touching" his own rather plump person. Therefore, the opportunity being excellent, he raised his weapon again, and, repeating the words "bonded pris'ner" as ample explanation of hisdeed, brought into play the full strength of his good right arm. He usedthe flat of the sabre. 

WHACK! WHACK! Roddy was perfectly impartial. It was a cold-bloodedperformance and even more effective than he anticipated. For one thing, it ended the civil war instantly. Sam and Penrod leaped to their feet, shrieking and bloodthirsty, while Maurice Levy capered with joy, Hermanwas so overcome that he rolled upon the ground, and Georgie Bassettremarked virtuously:

"It serves them right for fighting. "

But Roddy Bitts foresaw that something not within the rules of the gamewas about to happen. 

"Here! You keep away from me!" he quavered, retreating. "I was justtakin' you pris'ners. I guess I had a right to TOUCH you, didn't I?"

Alas! Neither Sam nor Penrod was able to see the matter in that light. They had retrieved their own weapons, and they advanced upon Roddy witha purposefulness that seemed horrible to him. 

"Here! You keep away from me!" he said, in great alarm. "I'm goin'home. "

He did go home--but only subsequently. What took place before hisdeparture had the singular solidity and completeness of systematicviolence; also, it bore the moral beauty of all actions that lead topeace and friendship, for, when it was over, and the final vocalizationsof Roderick Magsworth Bitts, Junior, were growing faint with increasingdistance, Sam and Penrod had forgotten their differences and felt welldisposed toward each other once more. All their animosity was exhausted, and they were in a glow of good feeling, though probably they were notconscious of any direct gratitude to Roddy, whose thoughtful opportunismwas really the cause of this happy result. 

CHAPTER II. THE BONDED PRISONER

After such rigorous events, every one comprehended that the game ofbonded prisoner was over, and there was no suggestion that it should ormight be resumed. The fashion of its conclusion had been so consummatelyenjoyed by all parties (with the natural exception of Roddy Bitts) thata renewal would have been tame; hence, the various minds of the companyturned to other matters and became restless. Georgie Bassett withdrewfirst, remembering that if he expected to be as wonderful as usual, to-morrow, in Sunday-school, it was time to prepare himself, thoughthis was not included in the statement he made alleging the cause ofhis departure. Being detained bodily and pressed for explanation, hedesperately said that he had to go home to tease the cook--which hadthe rakehelly air he thought would insure his release, but was notconsidered plausible. However, he was finally allowed to go, and, asfirst hints of evening were already cooling and darkening the air, the party broke up, its members setting forth, whistling, toward theirseveral homes, though Penrod lingered with Sam. Herman was the last togo from them. 

"Well, I got git 'at stove-wood f' suppuh, " he said, rising andstretching himself. "I got git 'at lil' soap-box wagon, an' go on ovuhwheres 'at new house buil'in' on Secon' Street; pick up few shingles an'blocks layin' roun'. "

He went through the yard toward the alley, and, at the alley gate, remembering something, he paused and called to them. The lot was adeep one, and they were too far away to catch his meaning. Sam shouted, "Can't HEAR you!" and Herman replied, but still unintelligibly; then, upon Sam's repetition of "Can't HEAR you!" Herman waved his arm infarewell, implying that the matter was of little significance, andvanished. But if they had understood him, Penrod and Sam might haveconsidered his inquiry of instant importance, for Herman's last shoutwas to ask if either of them had noticed "where Verman went. "

Verman and Verman's whereabouts were, at this hour, of no more concernto Sam and Penrod than was the other side of the moon. That unfortunatebonded prisoner had been long since utterly effaced from their fieldsof consciousness, and the dark secret of their Bastille troubled themnot--for the main and simple reason that they had forgotten it. 

They drifted indoors, and found Sam's mother's white cat drowsing ona desk in the library, the which coincidence obviously inspired theexperiment of ascertaining how successfully ink could be used in makinga clean white cat look like a coach-dog. There was neither malicenor mischief in their idea; simply, a problem presented itself to thebiological and artistic questionings beginning to stir within them. They did not mean to do the cat the slightest injury or to cause her anypain. They were above teasing cats, and they merely detained this oneand made her feel a little wet--at considerable cost to themselves fromboth the ink and the cat. However, at the conclusion of their efforts, it was thought safer to drop the cat out of the window before anybodycame, and, after some hasty work with blotters, the desk was moved tocover certain sections of the rug, and the two boys repaired to thebathroom for hot water and soap. They knew they had done nothing wrong;but they felt easier when the only traces remaining upon them were theless prominent ones upon their garments. 

These precautions taken, it was time for them to make their appearanceat Penrod's house for dinner, for it had been arranged, upon petitionearlier in the day, that Sam should be his friend's guest for theevening meal. Clean to the elbows and with light hearts, they set forth. They marched, whistling--though not producing a distinctly musicaleffect, since neither had any particular air in mind--and they foundnothing wrong with the world; they had not a care. Arrived at theiradjacent destination, they found Miss Margaret Schofield just enteringthe front door. 

"Hurry, boys!" she said. "Mamma came home long before I did, and I'msure dinner is waiting. Run on out to the dining-room and tell them I'llbe right down. "

And, as they obeyed, she mounted the stairs, humming a little tune andunfastening the clasp of the long, light-blue military cape she wore. She went to her own quiet room, lit the gas, removed her hat and placedit and the cape upon the bed; after which she gave her hair a push, subsequent to her scrutiny of a mirror; then, turning out the light, shewent as far as the door. Being an orderly girl, she returned to the bedand took the cape and the hat to her clothes-closet. She opened thedoor of this sanctuary, and, in the dark, hung her cape upon a hook andplaced her hat upon the shelf. Then she closed the door again, havingnoted nothing unusual, though she had an impression that the placeneeded airing. She descended to the dinner table. 

The other members of the family were already occupied with the meal, andthe visitor was replying politely, in his non-masticatory intervals, toinquiries concerning the health of his relatives. So sweet and assuredwas the condition of Sam and Penrod that Margaret's arrival from herroom meant nothing to them. Their memories were not stirred, and theycontinued eating, their expressions brightly placid. 

But from out of doors there came the sound of a calling and questingvoice, at first in the distance, then growing louder--coming nearer. 

"Oh, Ver-er-man! O-o-o-oh, Ver-er-ma-a-an!"

It was the voice of Herman. 

"OO-O-O-O-OH, VER-ER-ER-MA-A-A-AN!"

And then two boys sat stricken at that cheerful table and ceased to eat. Recollection awoke with a bang!

"Oh, my!" Sam gasped. 

"What's the matter?" Mr. Schofield said. "Swallow something the wrongway, Sam?"

"Ye-es, sir. "

"OO-O-O-O-OH, VER-ER-ER-MA-A-A-AN!"

And now the voice was near the windows of the dining-room. 

Penrod, very pale, pushed back his chair and jumped up. 

"What's the matter with YOU?" his father demanded. "Sit down!"

"It's Herman--that coloured boy lives in the alley, " Penrod saidhoarsely. "I expect--I think--"

"Well, what's the matter?"

"I think his little brother's maybe got lost, and Sam and I better gohelp look--"

"You'll do nothing of the kind, " Mr. Schofield said sharply. "Sit downand eat your dinner. "

In a palsy, the miserable boy resumed his seat. He and Sam exchanged asingle dumb glance; then the eyes of both swung fearfully to Margaret. Her appearance was one of sprightly content, and, from a certain pointof view, nothing could have been more alarming. If she had opened hercloset door without discovering Verman, that must have been becauseVerman was dead and Margaret had failed to notice the body. (Such werethe thoughts of Penrod and Sam. ) But she might not have opened thecloset door. And whether she had or not, Verman must still be there, alive or dead, for if he had escaped he would have gone home, and theirears would not be ringing with the sinister and melancholy cry that nowcame from the distance, "Oo-o-oh, Ver-er-ma-an!"

Verman, in his seclusion, did not hear that appeal from his brother;there were too many walls between them. But he was becoming impatientfor release, though, all in all, he had not found the confinementintolerable or even very irksome. His character was philosophic, hisimagination calm; no bugaboos came to trouble him. When the boys closedthe door upon him, he made himself comfortable upon the floor and, fora time, thoughtfully chewed a patent-leather slipper that had come underhis hand. He found the patent leather not unpleasant to his palate, though he swallowed only a portion of what he detached, not being hungryat that time. The soul-fabric of Verman was of a fortunate weave; he wasnot a seeker and questioner. When it happened to him that he was atrest in a shady corner, he did not even think about a place in the sun. Verman took life as it came. 

Naturally, he fell asleep. And toward the conclusion of his slumbers, hehad this singular adventure: a lady set her foot down within less thanhalf an inch of his nose--and neither of them knew it. Verman slept on, without being wakened by either the closing or the opening of thedoor. What did rouse him was something ample and soft falling uponhim--Margaret's cape, which slid from the hook after she had gone. 

Enveloped in its folds, Verman sat up, corkscrewing his knucklesinto the corners of his eyes. Slowly he became aware of two importantvacuums--one in time and one in his stomach. Hours had vanishedstrangely into nowhere; the game of bonded prisoner was something cloudyand remote of the long, long ago, and, although Verman knew wherehe was, he had partially forgotten how he came there. He perceived, however, that something had gone wrong, for he was certain that he oughtnot to be where he found himself. 

WHITE-FOLKS' HOUSE! The fact that Verman could not have pronounced thesewords rendered them no less clear in his mind; they began to stirhis apprehension, and nothing becomes more rapidly tumultuous thanapprehension once it is stirred. That he might possibly obtain releaseby making a noise was too daring a thought and not even conceived, much less entertained, by the little and humble Verman. For, with thebewildering gap of his slumber between him and previous events, he didnot place the responsibility for his being in White-Folks' House uponthe white folks who had put him there. His state of mind was that of thestable-puppy who knows he MUST not be found in the parlour. Not thricein his life had Verman been within the doors of White-Folks' House, and, above all things, he felt that it was in some undefined way vital to himto get out of White-Folks' House unobserved and unknown. It was in hisvery blood to be sure of that. 

Further than this point, the processes of Verman's mind becomemysterious to the observer. It appears, however, that he had a definite(though somewhat primitive) conception of the usefulness of disguise;and he must have begun his preparations before he heard footsteps in theroom outside his closed door. 

These footsteps were Margaret's. Just as Mr. Schofield's coffee wasbrought, and just after Penrod had been baffled in another attempt toleave the table, Margaret rose and patted her father impertinently uponthe head. 

"You can't bully ME that way!" she said. "I got home too late to dress, and I'm going to a dance. 'Scuse!"

And she began her dancing on the spot, pirouetting herself swiftly outof the room, and was immediately heard running up the stairs. 

"Penrod!" Mr. Schofield shouted. "Sit down! How many times am I going totell you? What IS the matter with you to-night?"

"I GOT to go, " Penrod gasped. "I got to tell Margaret sumpthing. "

"What have you 'got' to tell her?"

"It's--it's sumpthing I forgot to tell her. "

"Well, it will keep till she comes downstairs, " Mr. Schofield saidgrimly. "You sit down till this meal is finished. "

Penrod was becoming frantic. 

"I got to tell her--it's sumpthing Sam's mother told me to tell her, "he babbled. "Didn't she, Sam? You heard her tell me to tell her; didn'tyou, Sam?"

Sam offered prompt corroboration. 

"Yes, sir; she did. She said for us both to tell her. I better go, too, I guess, because she said--"

He was interrupted. Startlingly upon their ears rang shriek on shriek. Mrs. Schofield, recognizing Margaret's voice, likewise shrieked, and Mr. Schofield uttered various sounds; but Penrod and Sam were incapable ofdoing anything vocally. All rushed from the table. 

Margaret continued to shriek, and it is not to be denied that therewas some cause for her agitation. When she opened the closet door, herlight-blue military cape, instead of hanging on the hook where she hadleft it, came out into the room in a manner that she afterward describedas "a kind of horrible creep, but faster than a creep. " Nothing was tobe seen except the creeping cape, she said, but, of course, she couldtell there was some awful thing inside of it. It was too large to be acat, and too small to be a boy; it was too large to be Duke, Penrod'slittle old dog, and, besides, Duke wouldn't act like that. It creptrapidly out into the upper hall, and then, as she recovered the use ofher voice and began to scream, the animated cape abandoned its creepingfor a quicker gait--"a weird, heaving flop, " she defined it. 

The Thing then decided upon a third style of locomotion, evidently, forwhen Sam and Penrod reached the front hall, a few steps in advance ofMr. And Mrs. Schofield, it was rolling grandly down the stairs. 

Mr. Schofield had only a hurried glimpse of it as it reached the bottom, close by the front door. 

"Grab that thing!" he shouted, dashing forward. "Stop it! Hit it!"

It was at this moment that Sam Williams displayed the presence of mindthat was his most eminent characteristic. Sam's wonderful instinct forthe right action almost never failed him in a crisis, and it did notfail him now. Leaping to the door, at the very instant when the rollingcape touched it, Sam flung the door open--and the cape rolled on. Withincredible rapidity and intelligence, it rolled, indeed, out into thenight. 

Penrod jumped after it, and the next second reappeared in the doorwayholding the cape. He shook out its folds, breathing hard but acquiringconfidence. In fact, he was able to look up in his father's face andsay, with bright ingenuousness:

"It was just laying there. Do you know what I think? Well, it couldn'thave acted that way itself. I think there must have been sumpthing kindof inside of it!"

Mr. Schofield shook his head slowly, in marvelling admiration. 

"Brilliant--oh, brilliant!" he murmured, while Mrs. Schofield ran tosupport the enfeebled form of Margaret at the top of the stairs. 

. .. In the library, after Margaret's departure to her dance, Mr. AndMrs. Schofield were still discussing the visitation, Penrod havingaccompanied his homeward-bound guest as far as the front gate. 

"No; you're wrong, " Mrs. Schofield said, upholding a theory, earlierdeveloped by Margaret, that the animated behaviour of the cape could besatisfactorily explained on no other ground than the supernatural. "Yousee, the boys saying they couldn't remember what Mrs. Williams wantedthem to tell Margaret, and that probably she hadn't told them anythingto tell her, because most likely they'd misunderstood something shesaid--well, of course, all that does sound mixed-up and peculiar;but they sound that way about half the time, anyhow. No; it couldn'tpossibly have had a thing to do with it. They were right there at thetable with us all the time, and they came straight to the table theminute they entered the house. Before that, they'd been over at Sam'sall afternoon. So, it COULDN'T have been the boys. " Mrs. Schofieldpaused to ruminate with a little air of pride; then added: "Margaret hasoften thought--oh, long before this!--that she was a medium. I mean--ifshe would let her self. So it wasn't anything the boys did. "

Mr. Schofield grunted. 

"I'll admit this much, " he said. "I'll admit it wasn't anything we'llever get out of 'em. "

And the remarks of Sam and Penrod, taking leave of each other, one oneach side of the gate, appeared to corroborate Mr. Schofield's opinion. 

"Well, g'-night, Penrod, " Sam said. "It was a pretty good Saturday, wasn't it?"

"Fine!" said Penrod casually. "G'-night, Sam. "

CHAPTER III. THE MILITARIST

PENROD SCHOFIELD, having been "kept-in" for the unjust period of twentyminutes after school, emerged to a deserted street. That is, the streetwas deserted so far as Penrod was concerned. Here and there people wereto be seen upon the sidewalks, but they were adults, and they and theshade trees had about the same quality of significance in Penrod'sconsciousness. Usually he saw grown people in the mass, which is to say, they were virtually invisible to him, though exceptions must be taken infavour of policemen, firemen, street-car conductors, motormen, and allother men in any sort of uniform or regalia. But this afternoon noneof these met the roving eye, and Penrod set out upon his homeward waywholly dependent upon his own resources. 

To one of Penrod's inner texture, a mere unadorned walk from onepoint to another was intolerable, and he had not gone a block withoutachieving some slight remedy for the tameness of life. An electric-lightpole at the corner, invested with powers of observation, might have beensurprised to find itself suddenly enacting a role of dubious honour inimprovised melodrama. Penrod, approaching, gave the pole a look of sharpsuspicion, then one of conviction; slapped it lightly and contemptuouslywith his open hand; passed on a few paces, but turned abruptly, and, pointing his right forefinger, uttered the symbolic word, "Bing!"

The plot was somewhat indefinite; yet nothing is more certain than thatthe electric-light pole had first attempted something against him, then growing bitter when slapped, and stealing after him to take himtreacherously in the back, had got itself shot through and through byone too old in such warfare to be caught off his guard. 

Leaving the body to lie where it was, he placed the smoking pistol ina holster at his saddlebow--he had decided that he was mounted--andproceeded up the street. At intervals he indulged himself in otherencounters, reining in at first suspicion of ambush with a muttered, "Whoa, Charlie!" or "Whoa, Mike!" or even "Whoa, Washington!" forpreoccupation with the enemy outweighed attention to the details oftheatrical consistency, though the steed's varying names were at leastharmoniously masculine, since a boy, in these, creative moments, neverrides a mare. And having brought Charlie or Mike or Washington toa standstill, Penrod would draw the sure weapon from its holsterand--"Bing! Bing! Bing!"--let them have it. 

It is not to be understood that this was a noisy performance, or even anobvious one. It attracted no attention from any pedestrian, and itwas to be perceived only that a boy was proceeding up the street at asomewhat irregular gait. Three or four years earlier, when Penrod wasseven or eight, he would have shouted "Bing!" at the top of his voice;he would have galloped openly; all the world might have seen that hebestrode a charger. But a change had come upon him with advancing years. Although the grown people in sight were indeed to him as walking trees, his dramas were accomplished principally by suggestion and symbol. His "Whoas" and "Bings" were delivered in a husky whisper, and hisequestrianism was established by action mostly of the mind, theaccompanying artistry of the feet being unintelligible to the passerby. 

And yet, though he concealed from observation the stirring little sceneshe thus enacted, a love of realism was increasing within him. Earlychildhood is not fastidious about the accessories of its drama--a caneis vividly a gun which may instantly, as vividly, become a horse; but atPenrod's time of life the lath sword is no longer satisfactory. Indeed, he now had a vague sense that weapons of wood were unworthy to the pointof being contemptible and ridiculous, and he employed them only whenhe was alone and unseen. For months a yearning had grown more and morepoignant in his vitals, and this yearning was symbolized by one of hismost profound secrets. In the inner pocket of his jacket, he carried abit of wood whittled into the distant likeness of a pistol, but not evenSam Williams had seen it. The wooden pistol never knew the light of day, save when Penrod was in solitude; and yet it never left his sideexcept at night, when it was placed under his pillow. Still, it did notsatisfy; it was but the token of his yearning and his dream. With allhis might and main Penrod longed for one thing beyond all others. Hewanted a Real Pistol!

That was natural. Pictures of real pistols being used to magnificentlyromantic effect were upon almost all the billboards in town, the yearround, and as for the "movie" shows, they could not have lived an hourunpistoled. In the drug store, where Penrod bought his candy and sodawhen he was in funds, he would linger to turn the pages of periodicalswhose illustrations were fascinatingly pistolic. Some of the magazinesupon the very library table at home were sprinkled with pictures ofpeople (usually in evening clothes) pointing pistols at other people. Nay, the Library Board of the town had emitted a "Selected List ofFifteen Books for Boys, " and Penrod had read fourteen of them withpleasure, but as the fifteenth contained no weapons in the earlierchapters and held forth little prospect of any shooting at all, heabandoned it halfway, and read the most sanguinary of the other fourteenover again. So, the daily food of his imagination being gun, what wonderthat he thirsted for the Real!

He passed from the sidewalk into his own yard, with a subdued "Bing!"inflicted upon the stolid person of a gatepost, and, entering the housethrough the kitchen, ceased to bing for a time. However, driven backfrom the fore part of the house by a dismal sound of callers, hereturned to the kitchen and sat down. 

"Della, " he said to the cook, "do you know what I'd do if you was acrook and I had my ottomatic with me?"

Della was industrious and preoccupied. "If I was a cook!" she repeatedignorantly, and with no cordiality. "Well, I AM a cook. I'm a-cookin'right now. Either g'wan in the house where y'b'long, or git out in th'yard!"

Penrod chose the latter, and betook himself slowly to the back fence, where he was greeted in a boisterous manner by his wistful little olddog, Duke, returning from some affair of his own in the alley. 

"Get down!" said Penrod coldly, and bestowed a spiritless "Bing!" uponhim. 

At this moment a shout was heard from the alley, "Yay, Penrod!" and thesandy head of comrade Sam Williams appeared above the fence. 

"Come on over, " said Penrod. 

As Sam obediently climbed the fence, the little old dog, Duke, movedslowly away, but presently, glancing back over his shoulder and seeingthe two boys standing together, he broke into a trot and disappearedround a corner of the house. He was a dog of long and enlighteningexperience; and he made it clear that the conjunction of Penrod and Samportended events which, from his point of view, might be unfortunate. Duke had a forgiving disposition, but he also possessed a melancholywisdom. In the company of either Penrod or Sam, alone, affection oftencaused him to linger, albeit with a little pessimism, but when he sawthem together, he invariably withdrew in as unobtrusive a manner ashaste would allow. 

"What you doin'?" Sam asked. 

"Nothin'. What you?"

"I'll show you if you'll come over to our house, " said Sam, who waswearing an important and secretive expression. 

"What for?" Penrod showed little interest. 

"Well, I said I'd show you if you came on over, didn't I?"

"But you haven't got anything I haven't got, " said Penrod indifferently. "I know everything that's in your yard and in your stable, and thereisn't a thing--"

"I didn't say it was in the yard or in the stable, did I?"

"Well, there ain't anything in your house, " returned Penrod frankly, "that I'd walk two feet to look at--not a thing!"

"Oh, no!" Sam assumed mockery. "Oh, no, you wouldn't! You know what itis, don't you? Yes, you do!" Penrod's curiosity stirred somewhat. "Well, all right, " he said, "I got nothin' to do. I just as soon go. What isit?"

"You wait and see, " said Sam, as they climbed the fence. "I bet YOUR oleeyes'll open pretty far in about a minute or so!"

"I bet they don't. It takes a good deal to get me excited, unless it'ssumpthing mighty--"

"You'll see!" Sam promised. 

He opened an alley, gate and stepped into his own yard in a mannersignalling caution--though the exploit, thus far, certainly requirednone and Penrod began to be impressed and hopeful. They entered thehouse, silently, encountering no one, and Sam led the way upstairs, tiptoeing, implying unusual and increasing peril. Turning, in the upperhall, they went into Sam's father's bedroom, and Sam closed the doorwith a caution so genuine that already Penrod's eyes began to fulfil hishost's prediction. Adventures in another boy's house are trying to thenerves; and another boy's father's bedroom, when invaded, has a violatedsanctity that is almost appalling. Penrod felt that something was aboutto happen--something much more important than he had anticipated. 

Sam tiptoed across the room to a chest of drawers, and, kneeling, carefully pulled out the lowest drawer until the surface of itscontents--Mr. Williams' winter underwear--lay exposed. Then he fumbledbeneath the garments and drew forth a large object, displaying ittriumphantly to the satisfactorily dumfounded Penrod. 

It was a blue-steel Colt's revolver, of the heaviest pattern made in theSeventies. Mr. Williams had inherited it from Sam's grandfather (a smallman, a deacon, and dyspeptic) and it was larger and more horrible thanany revolver either of the boys had ever seen in any picture, moving orstationary. Moreover, greenish bullets of great size were to be seenin the chambers of the cylinder, suggesting massacre rather than meremurder. This revolver was Real and it was Loaded!

CHAPTER IV. BINGISM

Both boys lived breathlessly through a magnificent moment. 

"Leave me have it!" gasped Penrod. "Leave me have hold of it!"

"You wait a minute!" Sam protested, in a whisper. "I want to show youhow I do. "

"No; you let me show you how _I_ do!" Penrod insisted; and they scuffledfor possession. 

"Look out!" Sam whispered warningly. "It might go off. "

"Then you better leave me have it!" And Penrod, victorious and flushed, stepped back, the weapon in his grasp. "Here, " he said, "this is the wayI do: You be a crook; and suppose you got a dagger, and I--"

"I don't want any dagger, " Sam protested, advancing. "I want thatrevolaver. It's my father's revolaver, ain't it?"

"Well, WAIT a minute, can't you? I got a right to show you the way I DO, first, haven't I?" Penrod began an improvisation on the spot. "Say I'mcomin' along after dark like this--look, Sam! And say you try to make ajump at me--"

"I won't!" Sam declined this role impatiently. "I guess it ain't YOURfather's revolaver, is it?"

"Well, it may be your father's but it ain't yours, " Penrod argued, becoming logical. "It ain't either'r of us revolaver, so I got as muchright--"

"You haven't either. It's my fath--"

"WATCH, can't you--just a minute!" Penrod urged vehemently. "I'm notgoin' to keep it, am I? You can have it when I get through, can't you?Here's how _I_ do: I'm comin' along after dark, just walkin' along thisway--like this--look, Sam!"

Penrod, suiting the action to the word, walked to the other end of theroom, swinging the revolver at his side with affected carelessness. 

"I'm just walkin' along like this, and first I don't see you, " continuedthe actor. "Then I kind of get a notion sumpthing wrong's liable tohappen, so I--No!" He interrupted himself abruptly. "No; that isn'tit. You wouldn't notice that I had my good ole revolaver with me. Youwouldn't think I had one, because it'd be under my coat like this, andyou wouldn't see it. " Penrod stuck the muzzle of the pistol into thewaistband of his knickerbockers at the left side and, buttoning hisjacket, sustained the weapon in concealment by pressure of his elbow. "So you think I haven't got any; you think I'm just a man comin' along, and so you--"

Sam advanced. "Well, you've had your turn, " he said. "Now, it's mine. I'm goin' to show you how I--"

"WATCH me, can't you?" Penrod wailed. "I haven't showed you how _I_ do, have I? My goodness! Can't you watch me a minute?"

"I HAVE been! You said yourself it'd be my turn soon as you--"

"My goodness! Let me have a CHANCE, can't you?" Penrod retreated to thewall, turning his right side toward Sam and keeping the revolver stillprotected under his coat. "I got to have my turn first, haven't I?"

"Well, yours is over long ago. "

"It isn't either! I--"

"Anyway, " said Sam decidedly, clutching him by the right shoulder andendeavouring to reach his left side--"anyway, I'm goin' to have it now. "

"You said I could have my turn out!" Penrod, carried away byindignation, raised his voice. 

"I did not!" Sam, likewise lost to caution, asserted his denial loudly. 

"You did, too. "

"You said--"

"I never said anything!"

"You said--Quit that!"

"Boys!" Mrs. Williams, Sam's mother, opened the door of the roomand stood upon the threshold. The scuffling of Sam and Penrod ceasedinstantly, and they stood hushed and stricken, while fear fell uponthem. "Boys, you weren't quarrelling, were you?"

"Ma'am?" said Sam. 

"Were you quarrelling with Penrod?"

"No, ma'am, " answered Sam in a small voice. 

"It sounded like it. What was the matter?"

Both boys returned her curious glance with meekness. They were summoningtheir faculties--which were needed. Indeed, these are the crises whichprepare a boy for the business difficulties of his later life. Penrod, with the huge weapon beneath his jacket, insecurely supported byan elbow and by a waistband which he instantly began to distrust, experienced distressful sensations similar to those of the owner of tooheavily insured property carrying a gasoline can under his overcoat anddetained for conversation by a policeman. And if, in the coming yearsit was to be Penrod's lot to find himself in that precise situation, nodoubt he would be the better prepared for it on account of this presentafternoon's experience under the scalding eye of Mrs. Williams. Itshould be added that Mrs. Williams's eye was awful to the imaginationonly. It was a gentle eye and but mildly curious, having no remotesuspicion of the dreadful truth, for Sam had backed upon the chest ofdrawers and closed the damnatory open one with the calves of his legs. 

Sam, not bearing the fatal evidence upon his person, was in a betterstate than Penrod, though when boys fall into the stillness now assumedby these two, it should be understood that they are suffering. Penrod, in fact, was the prey to apprehension so keen that the actual pit of hisstomach was cold. 

Being the actual custodian of the crime, he understood that his casewas several degrees more serious than that of Sam, who, in the event ofdetection, would be convicted as only an accessory. It was a lesson, andPenrod already repented his selfishness in not allowing Sam to show howhe did, first. 

"You're sure you weren't quarrelling, Sam?" said Mrs. Williams. 

"No, ma'am; we were just talking. "

Still she seemed dimly uneasy, and her eye swung to Penrod. 

"What were you and Sam talking about, Penrod!"

"Ma'am?"

"What were you talking about?"

Penrod gulped invisibly. 

"Well, " he murmured, "it wasn't much. Different things. "

"What things?"

"Oh, just sumpthing. Different things. "

"I'm glad you weren't quarrelling, " said Mrs. Williams, reassured bythis reply, which, though somewhat baffling, was thoroughly familiar toher ear. "Now, if you'll come downstairs, I'll give you each one cookieand no more, so your appetites won't be spoiled for your dinners. "

She stood, evidently expecting them to precede her. To linger mightrenew vague suspicion, causing it to become more definite; and boyspreserve themselves from moment to moment, not often attemptingto secure the future. Consequently, the apprehensive Sam and theunfortunate Penrod (with the monstrous implement bulking against hisribs) walked out of the room and down the stairs, their countenancesindicating an interior condition of solemnity. And a curious shade ofbehaviour might have here interested a criminologist. Penrod endeavouredto keep as close to Sam as possible, like a lonely person seekingcompany, while, on the other hand, Sam kept moving away from Penrod, seeming to desire an appearance of aloofness. 

"Go into the library, boys, " said Mrs. Williams, as the three reachedthe foot of the stairs. "I'll bring you your cookies. Papa's in there. "

Under her eye the two entered the library, to find Mr. Williams readinghis evening paper. He looked up pleasantly, but it seemed to Penrod thathe had an ominous and penetrating expression. 

"What have you been up to, you boys?" inquired this enemy. 

"Nothing, " said Sam. "Different things. "

"What like?"

"Oh--just different things. "

Mr. Williams nodded; then his glance rested casually upon Penrod. 

"What's the matter with your arm, Penrod?"

Penrod became paler, and Sam withdrew from him almost conspicuously. 

"Sir?"

"I said, What's the matter with your arm?"

"Which one?" Penrod quavered. 

"Your left. You seem to be holding it at an unnatural position. Have youhurt it?"

Penrod swallowed. "Yes, sir. A boy bit me--I mean a dog--a dog bit me. "

Mr. Williams murmured sympathetically: "That's too bad! Where did hebite you?"

"On the--right on the elbow. "

"Good gracious! Perhaps you ought to have it cauterized. "

"Sir?"

"Did you have a doctor look at it?"

"No, sir. My mother put some stuff from the drug store on it. "

"Oh, I see. Probably it's all right, then. "

"Yes, sir. " Penrod drew breath more freely, and accepted the warm cookieMrs. Williams brought him. He ate it without relish. 

"You can have only one apiece, " she said. "It's too near dinner-time. You needn't beg for any more, because you can't have 'em. "

They were good about that; they were in no frame of digestion forcookies. 

"Was it your own dog that bit you?" Mr. Williams inquired. 

"Sir? No, sir. It wasn't Duke. "

"Penrod!" Mrs. Williams exclaimed. "When did it happen?"

"I don't remember just when, " he answered feebly. "I guess it was daybefore yesterday. "

"Gracious! How did it--"

"He--he just came up and bit me. "

"Why, that's terrible! It might be dangerous for other children, " saidMrs. Williams, with a solicitous glance at Sam. "Don't you know whom hebelongs to?"

"No'm. It was just a dog. "

"You poor boy! Your mother must have been dreadfully frightened when youcame home and she saw--"

She was interrupted by the entrance of a middle-aged coloured woman. "Miz Williams, " she began, and then, as she caught sight of Penrod, sheaddressed him directly, "You' ma telefoam if you here, send you homeright away, 'cause they waitin' dinner on you. "

"Run along, then, " said Mrs. Williams, patting the visitor lightly uponhis shoulder; and she accompanied him to the front door. "Tell yourmother I'm so sorry about your getting bitten, and you must take goodcare of it, Penrod. "

"Yes'm. "

Penrod lingered helplessly outside the doorway, looking at Sam, whostood partially obscured in the hall, behind Mrs. Williams. Penrod'seyes, with veiled anguish, conveyed a pleading for help as well as ahorror of the position in which he found himself. Sam, however, pale anddetermined, seemed to have assumed a stony attitude of detachment, as ifit were well understood between them that his own comparative innocencewas established, and that whatever catastrophe ensued, Penrod hadbrought it on and must bear the brunt of it alone. 

"Well, you'd better run along, since they're waiting for you at home, "said Mrs. Williams, closing the door. "Good-night, Penrod. "

. .. Ten minutes later Penrod took his place at his own dinner-table, somewhat breathless but with an expression of perfect composure. 

"Can't you EVER come home without being telephoned for?" demanded hisfather. 

"Yes, sir. " And Penrod added reproachfully, placing the blame uponmembers of Mr. Schofield's own class, "Sam's mother and father kept me, or I'd been home long ago. They would keep on talkin', and I guess I hadto be POLITE, didn't I?"

His left arm was as free as his right; there was no dreadful bulkbeneath his jacket, and at Penrod's age the future is too far away tobe worried about the difference between temporary security and permanentsecurity is left for grown people. To Penrod, security was security, andbefore his dinner was half eaten his spirit had become fairly serene. 

Nevertheless, when he entered the empty carriage-house of the stable, on his return from school the next afternoon, his expression was notaltogether without apprehension, and he stood in the doorway lookingwell about him before he lifted a loosened plank in the flooring andtook from beneath it the grand old weapon of the Williams family. Notdid his eye lighten with any pleasurable excitement as he sat himselfdown in a shadowy corner and began some sketchy experiments withthe mechanism. The allure of first sight was gone. In Mr. Williams'bedchamber, with Sam clamouring for possession, it had seemed to Penrodthat nothing in the world was so desirable as to have that revolverin his own hands--it was his dream come true. But, for reasons notdefinitely known to him, the charm had departed; he turned the cylindergingerly, almost with distaste; and slowly there stole over him afeeling that there was something repellent and threatening in the heavyblue steel. 

Thus does the long-dreamed Real misbehave--not only for Penrod!

More out of a sense of duty to bingism in general than for any otherreason, he pointed the revolver at the lawn-mower, and gloomilymurmured, "Bing!"

Simultaneously, a low and cautious voice sounded from the yard outside, "Yay, Penrod!" and Sam Williams darkened the doorway, his eye fallinginstantly upon the weapon in his friend's hand. Sam seemed relieved tosee it. 

"You didn't get caught with it, did you?" he said hastily. 

Penrod shook his head, rising. 

"I guess not! I guess I got SOME brains around me, " he added, inspiredby Sam's presence to assume a slight swagger. "They'd have to get uppretty early to find any good ole revolaver, once I got MY hands on it!"

"I guess we can keep it, all right, " Sam said confidentially. "Becausethis morning papa was putting on his winter underclothes and he found itwasn't there, and they looked all over and everywhere, and he was prettymad, and said he knew it was those cheap plumbers stole it that mammagot instead of the regular plumbers he always used to have, and he saidthere wasn't any chance ever gettin' it back, because you couldn't tellwhich one took it, and they'd all swear it wasn't them. So it looks likewe could keep it for our revolaver, Penrod, don't it? I'll give you halfof it. "

Penrod affected some enthusiasm. "Sam, we'll keep it out here in thestable. "

"Yes, and we'll go huntin' with it. We'll do lots of things with it!"But Sam made no effort to take it, and neither boy seemed to feelyesterday's necessity to show the other how he did. "Wait till nextFourth o' July!" Sam continued. "Oh, oh! Look out!"

This incited a genuine spark from Penrod. 

"Fourth o' July! I guess she'll be a little better than anyfirecrackers! Just a little 'Bing!' Bing! Bing!' she'll be goin'. 'Bing!Bing! Bing!'"

The suggestion of noise stirred his comrade. "I'll bet she'll go offlouder'n that time the gas-works blew up! I wouldn't be afraid to shoother off ANY time. "

"I bet you would, " said Penrod. "You aren't used to revolavers the wayI--"

"You aren't, either!" Sam exclaimed promptly, "I wouldn't be any moreafraid to shoot her off than you would. "

"You would, too!"

"I would not!"

"Well, let's see you then; you talk so much!" And Penrod handed theweapon scornfully to Sam, who at once became less self-assertive. 

"I'd shoot her off in a minute, " Sam said, "only it might breaksumpthing if it hit it. "

"Hold her up in the air, then. It can't hurt the roof, can it?"

Sam, with a desperate expression, lifted the revolver at arm's length. Both boys turned away their heads, and Penrod put his fingers in hisears--but nothing happened. "What's the matter?" he demanded. "Why don'tyou go on if you're goin' to?"

Sam lowered his arm. "I guess I didn't have her cocked, " he saidapologetically, whereupon Penrod loudly jeered. 

"Tryin' to shoot a revolaver and didn't know enough to cock her! If Ididn't know any more about revolavers than that, I'd--"

"There!" Sam exclaimed, managing to draw back the hammer until twochilling clicks warranted his opinion that the pistol was now ready toperform its office. "I guess she'll do all right to suit you THIS time!"

"Well, whyn't you go ahead, then; you know so much!" And as Sam raisedhis arm, Penrod again turned away his head and placed his forefingers inhis ears. 

A pause followed. 

"Why'n't you go ahead?"

Penrod, after waiting in keen suspense, turned to behold his friendstanding with his right arm above his head, his left hand over his leftear, and both eyes closed. 

"I can't pull the trigger, " said Sam indistinctly, his face convulsed asin sympathy with the great muscular efforts of other parts of his body. "She won't pull!"

"She won't?" Penrod remarked with scorn. "I'll bet _I_ could pull her. "

Sam promptly opened his eyes and handed the weapon to Penrod. 

"All right, " he said, with surprising and unusual mildness. "You tryher, then. "

Inwardly discomfited to a disagreeable extent, Penrod attempted to talkhis own misgivings out of countenance. 

"Poor 'ittle baby!" he said, swinging the pistol at his side with a fairpretense of careless ease. "Ain't even strong enough to pull a trigger!Poor 'ittle baby! Well, if you can't even do that much, you better watchme while _I_--"

"Well, " said Sam reasonably, "why don't you go on and do it then?"

"Well, I AM goin' to, ain't I?"

"Well, then, why don't you?"

"Oh, I'll do it fast enough to suit YOU, I guess, " Penrod retorted, swinging the big revolver up a little higher than his shoulder andpointing it in the direction of the double doors, which opened upon thealley. "You better run, Sam, " he jeered. "You'll be pretty scared when Ishoot her off, I guess. "

"Well, why don't you SEE if I will? I bet you're afraid yourself. "

"Oh, I am, am I?" said Penrod, in a reckless voice--and his fingertouched the trigger. It seemed to him that his finger no more thantouched it; perhaps he had been reassured by Sam's assertion that thetrigger was difficult. His intentions must remain in doubt, and probablyPenrod himself was not certain of them; but one thing comes to thesurface as entirely definite--that trigger was not so hard to pull asSam said it was. 

BANG! WH-A-A-ACK! A shattering report split the air of the stable, andthere was an orifice of remarkable diameter in the alley door. Withthese phenomena, three yells, expressing excitement of different kinds, were almost simultaneous--two from within the stable and the third froma point in the alley about eleven inches lower than the orifice justconstructed in the planking of the door. This third point, roughlyspeaking, was the open mouth of a gayly dressed young coloured man whoseattention, as he strolled, had been thus violently distracted from somemental computations he was making in numbers, including, particularly, those symbols at ecstasy or woe, as the case might be, seven and eleven. His eye at once perceived the orifice on a line enervatingly littleabove the top of his head; and, although he had not supposed himselfso well known in this neighbourhood, he was aware that he did, here andthere, possess acquaintances of whom some such uncomplimentary actionmight be expected as natural and characteristic. His immediate procedurewas to prostrate himself flat upon the ground, against the stable doors. 

In so doing, his shoulders came brusquely in contact with one of them, which happened to be unfastened, and it swung open, revealing to hisgaze two stark-white white boys, one of them holding an enormous pistoland both staring at him in stupor of ultimate horror. For, to the glassyeyes of Penrod and Sam, the stratagem of the young coloured man, thusdropping to earth, disclosed, with awful certainty, a slaughtered body. 

This dreadful thing raised itself upon its elbows and looked at them, and there followed a motionless moment--a tableau of brief duration, forboth boys turned and would have fled, shrieking, but the body spoke:

"'At's a nice business!" it said reproachfully. "Nice business! Tryin'blow a man's head off!"

Penrod was unable to speak, but Sam managed to summon the tremuloussemblance of a voice. "Where--where did it hit you?" he gasped. 

"Nemmine anything 'bout where it HIT me, " the young coloured manreturned, dusting his breast and knees as he rose. "I want to know whatkine o' white boys you think you is--man can't walk 'long street'thout you blowin' his head off!" He entered the stable and, with anindignation surely justified, took the pistol from the limp, cold handof Penrod. "Whose gun you playin' with? Where you git 'at gun?"

"It's ours, " quavered Sam. "It belongs to us. "

"Then you' pa ought to be 'rested, " said the young coloured man. "Lettin' boys play with gun!" He examined the revolver with an interestin which there began to appear symptoms of a pleasurable appreciation. "My goo'ness! Gun like'iss blow a team o' steers thew a brick house!LOOK at 'at gun!" With his right hand he twirled it in a manner mostdexterous and surprising; then suddenly he became severe. "You whiteboy, listen me!" he said. "Ef I went an did what I OUGHT to did, I'dmarch straight out 'iss stable, git a policeman, an' tell him 'rest youan' take you off to jail. 'At's what you need--blowin' man's head off!Listen me: I'm goin' take 'iss gun an' th'ow her away where you can't dono mo' harm with her. I'm goin' take her way off in the woods an' th'owher away where can't nobody fine her an' go blowin' man's head off withher. 'At's what I'm goin' do!" And placing the revolver inside his coatas inconspicuously as possible, he proceeded to the open door and intothe alley, where he turned for a final word. "I let you off 'iss onetime, " he said, "but listen me--you listen, white boy: you bet' not tellyou' pa. _I_ ain' goin' tell him, an' YOU ain' goin' tell him. He wantknow where gun gone, you tell him you los' her. "

He disappeared rapidly. 

Sam Williams, swallowing continuously, presently walked to the alleydoor, and remarked in a weak voice, "I'm sick at my stummick. " Hepaused, then added more decidedly: "I'm goin' home. I guess I've stoodabout enough around here for one day!" And bestowing a last glance uponhis friend, who was now sitting dumbly upon the floor in the exact spotwhere he had stood to fire the dreadful shot, Sam moved slowly away. 

The early shades of autumn evening were falling when Penrod emerged fromthe stable; and a better light might have disclosed to a shrewd eye someindications that here was a boy who had been extremely, if temporarily, ill. He went to the cistern, and, after a cautious glance round thereassuring horizon, lifted the iron cover. Then he took from the innerpocket of his jacket an object which he dropped listlessly into thewater: it was a bit of wood, whittled to the likeness of a pistol. Andthough his lips moved not, nor any sound issued from his vocal organs, yet were words formed. They were so deep in the person of Penrod theycame almost from the slowly convalescing profundities of his stomach. These words concerned firearms, and they were:

"Wish I'd never seen one! Never want to see one again!"

Of course Penrod had no way of knowing that, as regards bingism ingeneral, several of the most distinguished old gentlemen in Europe wereat that very moment in exactly the same state of mind. 

CHAPTER V. THE IN-OR-IN

Georgie Bassett was a boy set apart. Not only that; Georgie knew that hewas a boy set apart. He would think about it for ten or twenty minutesat a time, and he could not look at himself in a mirror and remainwholly without emotion. What that emotion was, he would have been unableto put into words; but it helped him to understand that there was acertain noble something about him that other boys did not possess. 

Georgie's mother had been the first to discover that Georgie was aboy set apart. In fact, Georgie did not know it until one day when hehappened to overhear his mother telling two of his aunts about it. True, he had always understood that he was the best boy in town andhe intended to be a minister when he grew up; but he had never beforecomprehended the full extent of his sanctity, and, from that fraughtmoment onward, he had an almost theatrical sense of his set-apartness. 

Penrod Schofield and Sam Williams and the other boys of theneighbourhood all were conscious that there was something different andspiritual about Georgie, and, though this consciousness of theirs mayhave been a little obscure, it was none the less actual. That is to say, they knew that Georgie Bassett was a boy set apart; but they didnot know that they knew it. Georgie's air and manner at all timesdemonstrated to them that the thing was so, and, moreover, their mothersabsorbed appreciation of Georgie's wonderfulness from the very fountof it, for Mrs. Bassett's conversation was of little else. Thus, theradiance of his character became the topic of envious parental commentduring moments of strained patience in many homes, so that altogetherthe most remarkable fact to be stated of Georgie Bassett is that heescaped the consequences as long as he did. 

Strange as it may seem, no actual violence was done him, except upon theincidental occasion of a tar-fight into which he was drawn by an obviouseccentricity on the part of destiny. Naturally, he was not popular withhis comrades; in all games he was pushed aside, and disregarded, beinginvariably the tail-ender in every pastime in which leaders "chosesides"; his counsels were slighted as worse than weightless, and all hisopinions instantly hooted. Still, considering the circumstances fairlyand thoughtfully, it is difficult to deny that his boy companions showedcreditable moderation in their treatment of him. That is, they weremoderate up to a certain date, and even then they did not directlyattack him--there was nothing cold--blooded about it at all. Thething was forced upon them, and, though they all felt pleased anduplifted--while it was happening--they did not understand precisely why. Nothing could more clearly prove their innocence of heart than this veryignorance, and yet none of the grown people who later felt themselvesconcerned in the matter was able to look at it in that light. Now, herewas a characteristic working of those reactions that produce what issometimes called "the injustice of life", because the grown people wereresponsible for the whole affair and were really the guilty parties. It was from grown people that Georgie Bassett learned he was a boy setapart, and the effect upon him was what alienated his friends. Thenthese alienated friends were brought (by odious comparisons on thepart of grown people) to a condition of mind wherein they suffereddumb annoyance, like a low fever, whenever they heard Georgie's namementioned, while association with his actual person became every daymore and more irritating. And yet, having laid this fuse and having keptit constantly glowing, the grown people expected nothing to happen toGeorgie. 

The catastrophe befell as a consequence of Sam Williams deciding to havea shack in his backyard. Sam had somehow obtained a vasty piano-box anda quantity of lumber, and, summoning Penrod Schofield and the colouredbrethren, Herman and Verman, he expounded to them his building-plansand offered them shares and benefits in the institution he proposed tofound. Acceptance was enthusiastic; straightway the assembly becamea union of carpenters all of one mind, and ten days saw the shack notcompleted but comprehensible. Anybody could tell, by that time, that itwas intended for a shack. 

There was a door on leather hinges; it drooped, perhaps, but it was adoor. There was a window--not a glass one, but, at least, it could be"looked out of", as Sam said. There was a chimney made of stovepipe, though that was merely decorative, because the cooking was done out ofdoors in an underground "furnace" that the boys excavated. There werepictures pasted on the interior walls, and, hanging from a nail, therewas a crayon portrait of Sam's grandfather, which he had brought downfrom the attic quietly, though, as he said, it "wasn't any use on earthup there. " There were two lame chairs from Penrod's attic and alongone wall ran a low and feeble structure intended to serve as a bench ordivan. This would come in handy, Sam said, if any of the party "hadto lay down or anything", and at a pinch (such as a meeting of theassociation) it would serve to seat all the members in a row. 

For, coincidentally with the development of the shack, the buildersbecame something more than partners. Later, no one could remember whofirst suggested the founding of a secret order, or society, as a measureof exclusiveness and to keep the shack sacred to members only; but itwas an idea that presently began to be more absorbing and satisfactorythan even the shack itself. The outward manifestations of it mighthave been observed in the increased solemnity and preoccupation of theCaucasian members and in a few ceremonial observances exposed to thepublic eye. As an instance of these latter, Mrs. Williams, happening toglance from a rearward window, about four o'clock one afternoon, foundher attention arrested by what seemed to be a flag-raising before thedoor of the shack. Sam and Herman and Verman stood in attitudes of rigidattention, shoulder to shoulder, while Penrod Schofield, facing them, was apparently delivering some sort of exhortation, which he read from ascribbled sheet of foolscap. Concluding this, he lifted from the grounda long and somewhat warped clothes-prop, from one end of which hunga whitish flag, or pennon, bearing an inscription. Sam and Herman andVerman lifted their right hands, while Penrod placed the other end ofthe clothes-prop in a hole in the ground, with the pennon flutteringhigh above the shack. He then raised his own right hand, and the fourboys repeated something in concert. It was inaudible to Mrs. Williams;but she was able to make out the inscription upon the pennon. Itconsisted of the peculiar phrase "In-Or-In" done in black paint upon amuslin ground, and consequently seeming to be in need of a blotter. 

It recurred to her mind, later that evening, when she happened to findherself alone with Sam in the library, and, in merest idle curiosity, she asked: "Sam, what does 'In-Or-In' mean?"

Sam, bending over an arithmetic, uncreased his brow till it became of ablank and marble smoothness. 

"Ma'am?"

"What are those words on your flag?"

Sam gave her a long, cold, mystic look, rose to his feet and left theroom with emphasis and dignity. For a moment she was puzzled. But Sam'solder brother was this year completing his education at a university, and Mrs. Williams was not altogether ignorant of the obligations ofsecrecy imposed upon some brotherhoods; so she was able to comprehendSam's silent withdrawal, and, instead of summoning him back for furtherquestions, she waited until he was out of hearing and then began tolaugh. 

Sam's action was in obedience to one of the rules adopted, at his ownsuggestion, as a law of the order. Penrod advocated it warmly. FromMargaret he had heard accounts of her friends in college and thus hadlearned much that ought to be done. On the other hand, Herman subscribedto it with reluctance, expressing a decided opinion that if he andVerman were questioned upon the matter at home and adopted the line ofconduct required by the new rule, it would be well for them to departnot only from the room in which the questioning took place but from thehouse, and hurriedly at that. "An' STAY away!" he concluded. 

Verman, being tongue-tied--not without advantage in this case, andsurely an ideal qualification for membership--was not so apprehensive. He voted with Sam and Penrod, carrying the day. 

New rules were adopted at every meeting (though it cannot be saidthat all of them were practicable) for, in addition to the informationpossessed by Sam and Penrod, Herman and Verman had many ideas of theirown, founded upon remarks overheard at home. Both their parents belongedto secret orders, their father to the Innapenent 'Nevolent Lodge (sostated by Herman) and their mother to the Order of White Doves. 

From these and other sources, Penrod found no difficulty in compilingmaterial for what came to be known as the "rixual"; and it was therixual he was reading to the members when Mrs. Williams happened toobserve the ceremonial raising of the emblem of the order. 

The rixual contained the oath, a key to the secret language, or code(devised by Penrod for use in uncertain emergencies) and passwords foradmission to the shack, also instructions for recognizing a brothermember in the dark, and a rather alarming sketch of the things to bedone during the initiation of a candidate. 

This last was employed for the benefit of Master Roderick MagsworthBitts, Junior, on the Saturday following the flag-raising. He presentedhimself in Sam's yard, not for initiation, indeed--having no previousknowledge of the Society of the In-Or-In--but for general purposesof sport and pastime. At first sight of the shack he expressedanticipations of pleasure, adding some suggestions for improving thearchitectural effect. Being prevented, however, from entering, and evenfrom standing in the vicinity of the sacred building, he plaintivelydemanded an explanation; whereupon he was commanded to withdraw to thefront yard for a time, and the members held meeting in the shack. Roddywas elected, and consented to undergo the initiation. 

He was not the only new member that day. A short time after Roddyhad been taken into the shack for the reading of the rixual and otherceremonies, little Maurice Levy entered the Williams' gate and strolledround to the backyard, looking for Sam. He was surprised and delightedto behold the promising shack, and, like Roddy, entertained fair hopesfor the future. 

The door of the shack was closed; a board covered the window, but amurmur of voices came from within. Maurice stole close and listened. Through a crack he could see the flicker of a candle-flame, and he heardthe voice of Penrod Schofield:

"Roddy Bitts, do you solemnly swear?"

"Well, all right, " said the voice of Roddy, somewhat breathless. 

"How many fingers you see before your eyes?"

"Can't see any, " Roddy returned. "How could I, with this thing over myeyes, and laying down on my stummick, anyway?"

"Then the time has come, " Penrod announced in solemn tones. "The timehas come. "

Whack!

Evidently a broad and flat implement was thereupon applied to Roddy. 

"OW!" complained the candidate. 

"No noise!" said Penrod sternly, and added: "Roddy Bitts must now saythe oath. Say exackly what I say, Roddy, and if you don't--well, youbetter, because you'll see! Now, say 'I solemnly swear--'"

"I solemnly swear--" Roddy said. 

"To keep the secrets--"

"To keep the secrets--" Roddy repeated. 

"To keep the secrets in infadelaty and violate and sanctuary. "

"What?" Roddy naturally inquired. 

Whack!

"OW!" cried Roddy. "That's no fair!"

"You got to say just what _I_ say, " Penrod was heard informing him. "That's the rixual, and anyway, even if you do get it right, Verman'sgot to hit you every now and then, because that's part of the rixual, too. Now go on and say it. 'I solemnly swear to keep the secrets ininfadelaty and violate and sanctuary. "'

"I solemnly swear--" Roddy began. 

But Maurice Levy was tired of being no party to such fascinatingproceedings, and he began to hammer upon the door. 

"Sam! Sam Williams!" he shouted. "Lemme in there! I know lots about'nishiatin'. Lemme in!"

The door was flung open, revealing Roddy Bitts, blindfolded and bound, lying face down upon the floor of the shack; but Maurice had only afugitive glimpse of this pathetic figure before he, too, was recumbent. Four boys flung themselves indignantly upon him and bore him to earth. 

"Hi!" he squealed. "What you doin'? Haven't you got any SENSE?"

And, from within the shack, Roddy added his own protest. 

"Let me up, can't you?" he cried. "I got to see what's goin' on outthere, haven't I? I guess I'm not goin' to lay here all DAY! What youthink I'm made of?"

"You hush up!" Penrod commanded. "This is a nice biznuss!" he continued, deeply aggrieved. "What kind of a 'nishiation do you expect this is, anyhow?"

"Well, here's Maurice Levy gone and seen part of the secrets, " said Sam, in a voice of equal plaintiveness. "Yes; and I bet he was listenin' outhere, too!"

"Lemme up!" begged Maurice, half stifled. "I didn't do any harm to yourold secrets, did I? Anyways, I just as soon be 'nishiated myself. Iain't afraid. So if you 'nishiate me, what difference will it make if Idid hear a little?"

Struck with this idea, which seemed reasonable; Penrod obtained silencefrom every one except Roddy, and it was decided to allow Maurice to riseand retire to the front yard. The brother members then withdrewwithin the shack, elected Maurice to the fellowship, and completed theinitiation of Mr. Bitts. After that, Maurice was summoned and underwentthe ordeal with fortitude, though the newest brother--still tinglingwith his own experiences--helped to make certain parts of the rixualunprecedentedly severe. 

Once endowed with full membership, Maurice and Roddy accepted theobligations and privileges of the order with enthusiasm. Both interestedthemselves immediately in improvements for the shack, and madeexcursions to their homes to obtain materials. Roddy returned with apair of lensless mother-of-pearl opera-glasses, a contribution that ledto the creation of a new office, called the "warner". It was his dutyto climb upon the back fence once every fifteen minutes and search thehorizon for intruders or "anybody that hasn't got any biznuss aroundhere. " This post proved so popular, at first, that it was foundnecessary to provide for rotation in office, and to shorten theinterval from fifteen minutes to an indefinite but much briefer period, determined principally by argument between the incumbent and hissuccessor. 

And Maurice Levy contributed a device so pleasant, and so necessaryto the prevention of interruption during meetings, that Penrod andSam wondered why they had not thought of it themselves long before. Itconsisted of about twenty-five feet of garden hose in fair condition. One end of it was introduced into the shack through a knothole, and theother was secured by wire round the faucet of hydrant in the stable. Thus, if members of the order were assailed by thirst during animportant session, or in the course of an initiation, it would not benecessary for them all to leave the shack. One could go, instead, andwhen he had turned on the water at the hydrant, the members in the shackcould drink without leaving their places. It was discovered, also, thatthe section of hose could be used as a speaking-tube; and though it didprove necessary to explain by shouting outside the tube what one hadsaid into it, still there was a general feeling that it provided anothermeans of secrecy and an additional safeguard against intrusion. It istrue that during the half-hour immediately following the installationof this convenience, there was a little violence among the brothersconcerning a question of policy. Sam, Roddy and Verman--Vermanespecially--wished to use the tube "to talk through" and Maurice, Penrodand Herman wished to use it "to drink through. " As a consequence of thesuccess of the latter party, the shack became too damp for habitationuntil another day, and several members, as they went home at dusk, mighteasily have been mistaken for survivors of some marine catastrophe. 

Still, not every shack is equipped with running water, and exuberancebefitted the occasion. Everybody agreed that the afternoon had been oneof the most successful and important in many weeks. The Order of theIn-Or-In was doing splendidly, and yet every brother felt, in his heart, that there was one thing that could spoil it. Against that fatality, all were united to protect themselves, the shack, the rixual, theopera-glasses and the water-and-speaking tube. Sam spoke not only forhimself but for the entire order when he declared, in speeding the lastparting guest:

"Well, we got to stick to one thing or we might as well quit! GEORGIEBASSETT better not come pokin' around!"

"No, SIR!" said Penrod. 

CHAPTER VI. GEORGIE BECOMES A MEMBER

But Georgie did. It is difficult to imagine how cause and effect couldbe more closely and patently related. Inevitably, Georgie did comepoking around. How was he to refrain when daily, up and down theneighbourhood, the brothers strutted with mystic and important airs, when they whispered together and uttered words of strange import in hispresence? Thus did they defeat their own object. They desired to keepGeorgie at a distance, yet they could not refrain from posing beforehim. They wished to impress upon him the fact that he was an outsider, and they but succeeded in rousing his desire to be an insider, a desirethat soon became a determination. For few were the days until he notonly knew of the shack but had actually paid it a visit. That was upon amorning when the other boys were in school, Georgie having found himselfindisposed until about ten o'clock, when he was able to take nourishmentand subsequently to interest himself in this rather private errand. He climbed the Williams' alley fence, and, having made a modestinvestigation of the exterior of the shack, which was padlocked, retiredwithout having disturbed anything except his own peace of mind. Hiscuriosity, merely piqued before, now became ravenous and painful. It wasnot allayed by the mystic manners of the members or by the unnecessaryemphasis they laid upon their coldness toward himself; and when acommittee informed him darkly that there were "secret orders" to preventhis coming within "a hundred and sixteen feet"--such was Penrod'sarbitrary language--of the Williams' yard, "in any direction", Georgiecould bear it no longer, but entered his own house, and, in burningwords, laid the case before a woman higher up. Here the responsibilityfor things is directly traceable to grown people. Within that hour, Mrs. Bassett sat in Mrs. Williams's library to address her hostess upon thesubject of Georgie's grievance. 

"Of course, it isn't Sam's fault, " she said, concluding herinterpretation of the affair. "Georgie likes Sam, and didn't blamehim at all. No; we both felt that Sam would always be a polite, niceboy--Georgie used those very words--but Penrod seems to have a VERY badinfluence. Georgie felt that Sam would WANT him to come and play inthe shack if Penrod didn't make Sam do everything HE wants. What hurtGeorgie most is that it's SAM'S shack, and he felt for another boy tocome and tell him that he mustn't even go NEAR it--well, of course, itwas very trying. And he's very much hurt with little Maurice Levy, too. He said that he was sure that even Penrod would be glad to have him fora member of their little club if it weren't for Maurice--and I think hespoke of Roddy Bitts, too. "

The fact that the two remaining members were coloured was omittedfrom this discourse which leads to the deduction that Georgie had notmentioned it. 

"Georgie said all the other boys liked him very much, " Mrs. Bassettcontinued, "and that he felt it his duty to join the club, because mostof them were so anxious to have him, and he is sure he would have a goodinfluence over them. He really did speak of it in quite a touching way, Mrs. Williams. Of course, we mothers mustn't brag of our sons too much, but Georgie REALLY isn't like other boys. He is so sensitive, you can'tthink how this little affair has hurt him, and I felt that it might evenmake him ill. You see, I HAD to respect his reason for wanting tojoin the club. And if I AM his mother"--she gave a deprecating littlelaugh--"I must say that it seems noble to want to join not really forhis own sake but for the good that he felt his influence would have overthe other boys. Don't you think so, Mrs. Williams?"

Mrs. Williams said that she did, indeed. And the result of thisinterview was another, which took place between Sam and his father thatevening, for Mrs. Williams, after talking to Sam herself, felt that thematter needed a man to deal with it. The man did it man-fashion. 

"You either invite Georgie Bassett to play in the shack all he wantsto, " the man said, "or the shack comes down. "

"But--"

"Take your choice. I'm not going to have neighbourhood quarrels oversuch--"

"But, Papa--"

"That's enough! You said yourself you haven't anything against Georgie. "

"I said--"

"You said you didn't like him, but you couldn't tell why. You couldn'tstate a single instance of bad behaviour against him. You couldn'tmention anything he ever did which wasn't what a gentleman should havedone. It's no use, I tell you. Either you invite Georgie to play in theshack as much as he likes next Saturday, or the shack comes down. "

"But, PAPA--"

"I'm not going to talk any more about it. If you want the shack pulleddown and hauled away, you and your friends continue to tantalize thisinoffensive little boy the way you have been. If you want to keep it, bepolite and invite him in. "

"But--"

"That's ALL, I said!"

Sam was crushed. 

Next day he communicated the bitter substance of the edict to the othermembers, and gloom became unanimous. So serious an aspect did the affairpresent that it was felt necessary to call a special meeting of theorder after school. The entire membership was in attendance; the doorwas closed, the window covered with a board, and the candle lighted. Then all of the brothers--except one--began to express their sorrowfulapprehensions. The whole thing was spoiled, they agreed, if GeorgieBassett had to be taken in. On the other hand, if they didn't take himin, "there wouldn't be anything left. " The one brother who failed toexpress any opinion was little Verman. He was otherwise occupied. 

Verman had been the official paddler during the initiations of RoddyBitts and Maurice Levy; his work had been conscientious, and it seemedto be taken by consent that he was to continue in office. An old shinglefrom the woodshed roof had been used for the exercise of his function inthe cases of Roddy and Maurice; but this afternoon he had broughtwith him a new one that he had picked up somewhere. It was broader andthicker than the old one and, during the melancholy prophecies of hisfellows, he whittled the lesser end of it to the likeness of a handle. Thus engaged, he bore no appearance of despondency; on the contrary, hiseyes, shining brightly in the candlelight, indicated that eager thoughtspossessed him, while from time to time the sound of a chuckle issuedfrom his simple African throat. Gradually the other brothers began tonotice his preoccupation, and one by one they fell silent, regarding himthoughtfully. Slowly the darkness of their countenances lifted a little;something happier and brighter began to glimmer from each boyish face. All eyes remained fascinated upon Verman. 

"Well, anyway, " said Penrod, in a tone that was almost cheerful, "thisis only Tuesday. We got pretty near all week to fix up the 'nishiationfor Saturday. "

And Saturday brought sunshine to make the occasion more tolerable forboth the candidate and the society. Mrs. Williams, going to the windowto watch Sam when he left the house after lunch, marked with pleasurethat his look and manner were sprightly as he skipped down the walk tothe front gate. There he paused and yodelled for a time. An answeringyodel came presently; Penrod Schofield appeared, and by his side walkedGeorgie Bassett. Georgie was always neat; but Mrs. Williams noticed thathe exhibited unusual gloss and polish to-day. As for his expression, it was a shade too complacent under the circumstances, though, for thatmatter, perfect tact avoids an air of triumph under any circumstances. Mrs. Williams was pleased to observe that Sam and Penrod betrayed noresentment whatever; they seemed to have accepted defeat in a goodspirit and to be inclined to make the best of Georgie. Indeed, theyappeared to be genuinely excited about him--it was evident that theircordiality was eager and wholehearted. 

The three boys conferred for a few moments; then Sam disappeared roundthe house and returned, waving his hand and nodding. Upon that, Penrodtook Georgie's left arm, Sam took his right, and the three marched offto the backyard in a companionable way that made Mrs. Williams feel ithad been an excellent thing to interfere a little in Georgie's interest. 

Experiencing the benevolent warmth that comes of assisting in a goodaction, she ascended to an apartment upstairs, and, for a couple ofhours, employed herself with needle and thread in sartorial repairs onbehalf of her husband and Sam. Then she was interrupted by the advent ofa coloured serving-maid. 

"Miz Williams, I reckon the house goin' fall down!" this pessimist said, arriving out of breath. "That s'iety o' Mist' Sam's suttenly tryin' topull the roof down on ow haids!"

"The roof?" Mrs. Williams inquired mildly. "They aren't in the attic, are they?"

"No'm; they in the celluh, but they REACHIN' fer the roof! I nev'did hear no sech a rumpus an' squawkin' an' squawlin' an' fallin' an'whoopin' an' whackin' an' bangin'! They troop down by the outside celluhdo', n'en--bang!--they bus' loose, an' been goin' on ev' since, wuss'nBedlun! Ef they anything down celluh ain' broke by this time, it cain'be only jes' the foundashum, an' I bet THAT ain' goin' stan' muchlonger! I'd gone down an' stop 'em, but I'm 'fraid to. Hones', MizWilliams, I'm 'fraid o' my life go down there, all that Bedlun goin' on. I thought I come see what you say. "

Mrs. Williams laughed. 

"We have to stand a little noise in the house sometimes, Fanny, whenthere are boys. They're just playing, and a lot of noise is usually apretty safe sign. "

"Yes'm, " Fanny said. "It's yo' house, Miz Williams, not mine. You want'em tear it down, I'm willin'. "

She departed, and Mrs. Williams continued to sew. The days were growingshort, and at five o'clock she was obliged to put the work aside, as hereyes did not permit her to continue it by artificial light. Descendingto the lower floor, she found the house silent, and when she opened thefront door to see if the evening paper had come, she beheld Sam, Penrodand Maurice Levy standing near the gate engaged in quiet conversation. Penrod and Maurice departed while she was looking for the paper, and Samcame thoughtfully up the walk. 

"Well, Sam, " she said, "it wasn't such a bad thing, after all, to show alittle politeness to Georgie Bassett, was it?"

Sam gave her a non-committal look--expression of every kind had beenwiped from his countenance. He presented a blank surface. 

"No'm, " he said meekly. 

"Everything was just a little pleasanter because you'd been friendly, wasn't it?"

"Yes'm. "

"Has Georgie gone home?"

"Yes'm. "

"I hear you made enough noise in the cellar--Did Georgie have a goodtime?"

"Ma'am?"

"Did Georgie Bassett have a good time?"

"Well"--Sam now had the air of a person trying to remember details withabsolute accuracy--"well, he didn't say he did, and he didn't say hedidn't. "

"Didn't he thank the boys?"

"No'm. "

"Didn't he even thank you?"

"No'm. "

"Why, that's queer, " she said. "He's always so polite. He SEEMED to behaving a good time, didn't he, Sam?"

"Ma'am?"

"Didn't Georgie seem to be enjoying himself?"

This question, apparently so simple, was not answered with promptness. Sam looked at his mother in a puzzled way, and then he found itnecessary to rub each of his shins in turn with the palm of his righthand. 

"I stumbled, " he said apologetically. "I stumbled on the cellar steps. "

"Did you hurt yourself?" she asked quickly. 

"No'm; but I guess maybe I better rub some arnica--"

"I'll get it, " she said. "Come up to your father's bathroom, Sam. Doesit hurt much?"

"No'm, " he answered truthfully, "it hardly hurts at all. "

And having followed her to the bathroom, he insisted, with unusualgentleness, that he be left to apply the arnica to the alleged injurieshimself. He was so persuasive that she yielded, and descended to thelibrary, where she found her husband once more at home after his day'swork. 

"Well?" he said. "Did Georgie show up, and were they decent to him?"

"Oh, yes; it's all right. Sam and Penrod were good as gold. I saw thembeing actually cordial to him. "

"That's well, " Mr. Williams said, settling into a chair with his paper. "I was a little apprehensive, but I suppose I was mistaken. I walkedhome, and just now, as I passed Mrs. Bassett's, I saw Doctor Venny'scar in front, and that barber from the corner shop on Second Street wasgoing in the door. I couldn't think what a widow would need a barberand a doctor for--especially at the same time. I couldn't think whatGeorgie'd need such a combination for either, and then I got afraid thatmaybe--"

Mrs. Williams laughed. "Oh, no; it hasn't anything to do with his havingbeen over here. I'm sure they were very nice to him. "

"Well, I'm glad of that. "

"Yes, indeed--" Mrs. Williams began, when Fanny appeared, summoning herto the telephone. 

It is pathetically true that Mrs. Williams went to the telephone humminga little song. She was detained at the instrument not more than fiveminutes; then she made a plunging return into the library, a blanchedand stricken woman. She made strange, sinister gestures at her husband. 

He sprang up, miserably prophetic. "Mrs. Bassett?"

"Go to the telephone, " Mrs. Williams said hoarsely "She wants to talkto you, too. She CAN'T talk much--she's hysterical. She says they luredGeorgie into the cellar and had him beaten by negroes! That's not all--"

Mr. Williams was already on his way. 

"You find Sam!" he commanded, over his shoulder. 

Mrs. Williams stepped into the front hall. "Sam!" she called, addressingthe upper reaches of the stairway. "Sam!"

Not even echo answered. 

"SAM!"

A faint clearing of somebody's throat was heard behind her, a sound somodest and unobtrusive it was no more than just audible, and, turning, the mother beheld her son sitting upon the floor in the shadow of thestairs and gazing meditatively at the hatrack. His manner indicated thathe wished to produce the impression that he had been sitting there, inthis somewhat unusual place and occupation, for a considerable time, butwithout overhearing anything that went on in the library so close by. 

"Sam, " she cried, "what have you DONE?"

"Well--I guess my legs are all right, " he said gently. "I got the arnicaon, so probably they won't hurt any m--"

"Stand up!" she said. 

"Ma'am?"

"March into the library!"

Sam marched--slow-time. In fact, no funeral march has been composed ina time so slow as to suit this march of Sam's. One might have suspectedthat he was in a state of apprehension. 

Mr. Williams entered at one door as his son crossed the threshold of theother, and this encounter was a piteous sight. After one glance at hisfather's face, Sam turned desperately, as if to flee outright. But Mrs. Williams stood in the doorway behind him. 

"You come here!" And the father's voice was as terrible as his face. "WHAT DID YOU DO TO GEORGIE BASSETT?"

"Nothin', " Sam gulped; "nothin' at all. "

"What!"

"We just--we just 'nishiated him. "

Mr. Williams turned abruptly, walked to the fireplace, and there turnedagain, facing the wretched Sam. "That's all you did?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Georgie Bassett's mother has just told me over the telephone, " Mr. Williams said, deliberately, "that you and Penrod Schofield and RoderickBitts and Maurice Levy LURED GEORGIE INTO THE CELLAR AND HAD HIM BEATENBY NEGROES!"

At this, Sam was able to hold up his head a little and to summon arather feeble indignation. 

"It ain't so, " he declared. "We didn't any such thing lower him into thecellar. We weren't goin' NEAR the cellar with him. We never THOUGHT ofgoin' down cellar. He went down there himself, first. "

"So! I suppose he was running away from you, poor thing! Trying toescape from you, wasn't he?"

"He wasn't, " Sam said doggedly. "We weren't chasin' him--or anything atall. "

"Then why did he go in the cellar?"

"Well, he didn't exactly GO in the cellar, " Sam said reluctantly. 

"Well, how did he GET in the cellar, then?"

"He--he fell in, " said Sam. 

"HOW did he fall in?"

"Well, the door was open, and--well, he kept walkin' around there, andwe hollered at him to keep away, but just then he kind of--well, thefirst _I_ noticed was I couldn't SEE him, and so we went and looked downthe steps, and he was sitting down there on the bottom step and kind ofshouting, and--"

"See here!" Mr. Williams interrupted. "You're going to make a cleanbreast of this whole affair and take the consequences. You're going totell it and tell it ALL. Do you understand that?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Then you tell me how Georgie Bassett fell down the cellar steps--andtell me quick!"

"He--he was blindfolded. "

"Aha! NOW we're getting at it. You begin at the beginning and tell mejust what you did to him from the time he got here. Understand?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Go on, then!"

"Well, I'm goin' to, " Sam protested. "We never hurt him at all. Hewasn't even hurt when he fell down cellar. There's a lot of mud downthere, because the cellar door leaks, and--"

"Sam!" Mr. Williams's tone was deadly. "Did you hear me tell you tobegin at the beginning?"

Sam made a great effort and was able to obey. 

"Well, we had everything ready for the 'nishiation before lunch, " hesaid. "We wanted it all to be nice, because you said we had to have him, papa, and after lunch Penrod went to guard him--that's a new part in therixual--and he brought him over, and we took him out to the shack andblindfolded him, and--well, he got kind of mad because we wanted himto lay down on his stummick and be tied up, and he said he wouldn't, because the floor was a little bit wet in there and he could feel itsort of squashy under his shoes, and he said his mother didn't want himever to get dirty and he just wouldn't do it; and we all kept tellinghim he had to, or else how could there be any 'nishiation; and he keptgettin' madder and said he wanted to have the 'nishiation outdoors whereit wasn't wet and he wasn't goin' to lay down on his stummick, anyway. "Sam paused for wind, then got under way again: "Well, some of the boyswere tryin' to get him to lay down on his stummick, and he kind of fellup against the door and it came open and he ran out in the yard. He wastryin' to get the blindfold off his eyes, but he couldn't because itwas a towel in a pretty hard knot; and he went tearin' all around thebackyard, and we didn't chase him, or anything. All we did was justwatch him--and that's when he fell in the cellar. Well, it didn't hurthim any. It didn't hurt him at all; but he was muddier than what hewould of been if he'd just had sense enough to lay down in the shack. Well, so we thought, long as he was down in the cellar anyway, we mightas well have the rest of the 'nishiation down there. So we brought thethings down and--and 'nishiated him--and that's all. That's every bit wedid to him. "

"Yes, " Mr. Williams said sardonically; "I see. What were the details ofthe initiation?"

"Sir?"

"I want to know what else you did to him? What was the initiation?"

"It's--it's secret, " Sam murmured piteously. 

"Not any longer, I assure you! The society is a thing of the past andyou'll find your friend Penrod's parents agree with me in that. Mrs. Bassett had already telephoned them when she called us up. You go onwith your story!"

Sam sighed deeply, and yet it may have been a consolation to know thathis present misery was not altogether without its counterpart. Throughthe falling dusk his spirit may have crossed the intervening distanceto catch a glimpse of his friend suffering simultaneously and standingwithin the same peril. And if Sam's spirit did thus behold Penrod injeopardy, it was a true vision. 

"Go on!" Mr. Williams said. 

"Well, there wasn't any fire in the furnace because it's too warmyet, and we weren't goin' to do anything'd HURT him, so we put him inthere--"

"In the FURNACE?"

"It was cold, " Sam protested. "There hadn't been any fire there sincelast spring. Course we told him there was fire in it. We HAD todo that, " he continued earnestly, "because that was part of the'nishiation. We only kept him in it a little while and kind of hammeredon the outside a little and then we took him out and got him to lay downon his stummick, because he was all muddy anyway, where he fell down thecellar; and how could it matter to anybody that had any sense at all?Well, then we had the rixual, and--and--why, the teeny little paddlin'he got wouldn't hurt a flea! It was that little coloured boy lives inthe alley did it--he isn't anyways near HALF Georgie's size but Georgiegot mad and said he didn't want any ole nigger to paddle him. That'swhat he said, and it was his own foolishness, because Verman won't letANYBODY call him 'nigger', and if Georgie was goin' to call him that heought to had sense enough not to do it when he was layin' down that wayand Verman all ready to be the paddler. And he needn't of been so mad atthe rest of us, either, because it took us about twenty minutes to getthe paddle away from Verman after that, and we had to lock Verman upin the laundry-room and not let him out till it was all over. Well, andthen things were kind of spoiled, anyway; so we didn't do but just alittle more--and that's all. "

"Go on! What was the 'just a little more?'"

"Well--we got him to swaller a little teeny bit of asafidity that Penrodused to have to wear in a bag around his neck. It wasn't enough to evenmake a person sneeze--it wasn't much more'n a half a spoonful--it wasn'thardly a QUARTER of a spoonf--"

"Ha!" said Mr. Williams. "That accounts for the doctor. What else?"

"Well--we--we had some paint left over from our flag, and we put just alittle teeny bit of it on his hair and--"

"Ha!" said Mr. Williams. "That accounts for the barber. What else?"

"That's all, " Sam said, swallowing. "Then he got mad and went home. "

Mr. Williams walked to the door, and sternly motioned to the culprit toprecede him through it. But just before the pair passed from her sight, Mrs. Williams gave way to an uncontrollable impulse. 

"Sam, " she asked, "what does 'In-Or-In' stand for?"

The unfortunate boy had begun to sniffle. 

"It--it means--Innapenent Order of Infadelaty, " he moaned--and ploddedonward to his doom. 

Not his alone: at that very moment Master Roderick Magsworth Bitts, Junior, was suffering also, consequent upon telephoning on the part ofMrs. Bassett, though Roderick's punishment was administered less onthe ground of Georgie's troubles and more on that of Roddy's havingaffiliated with an order consisting so largely of Herman and Verman. Asfor Maurice Levy, he was no whit less unhappy. He fared as ill. 

Simultaneously, two ex-members of the In-Or-In were finding their lotfortunate. Something had prompted them to linger in the alley inthe vicinity of the shack, and it was to this fated edifice that Mr. Williams, with demoniac justice, brought Sam for the deed he had inmind. 

Herman and Verman listened--awe-stricken--to what went on within theshack. Then, before it was over, they crept away and down the alleytoward their own home. This was directly across the alley from theSchofields' stable, and they were horrified at the sounds that issuedfrom the interior of the stable store-room. It was the St. Bartholomew'sEve of that neighbourhood. 

"Man, man!" said Herman, shaking his head. "Glad I ain' no white boy!"

Verman seemed gloomily to assent. 

CHAPTER VII. WHITEY

Penrod and Sam made a gloomy discovery one morning in mid-October. Allthe week had seen amiable breezes and fair skies until Saturday, when, about breakfast-time, the dome of heaven filled solidly with gray vapourand began to drip. The boys' discovery was that there is no justiceabout the weather. 

They sat in the carriage-house of the Schofields' empty stable; thedoors upon the alley were open, and Sam and Penrod stared torpidly atthe thin but implacable drizzle that was the more irritating becausethere was barely enough of it to interfere with a number of things theyhad planned to do. 

"Yes; this is NICE!" Sam said, in a tone of plaintive sarcasm. "This isa PERTY way to do!" (He was alluding to the personal spitefulness ofthe elements. ) "I'd like to know what's the sense of it--ole sun pourin'down every day in the week when nobody needs it, then cloud up and rainall Saturday! My father said it's goin' to be a three days' rain. "

"Well, nobody with any sense cares if it rains Sunday and Monday, "Penrod said. "I wouldn't care if it rained every Sunday as long I lived;but I just like to know what's the reason it had to go and rain to-day. Got all the days o' the week to choose from and goes and picks onSaturday. That's a fine biz'nuss!"

"Well, in vacation--" Sam began; but at a sound from a source invisibleto him he paused. "What's that?" he said, somewhat startled. 

It was a curious sound, loud and hollow and unhuman, yet it seemed to bea cough. Both boys rose, and Penrod asked uneasily: "Where'd that noisecome from?"

"It's in the alley, " said Sam. 

Perhaps if the day had been bright, both of them would have steppedimmediately to the alley doors to investigate; but their actualprocedure was to move a little distance in the opposite direction. Thestrange cough sounded again. 

"SAY!" Penrod quavered. "What IS that?"

Then both boys uttered smothered exclamations and jumped, for the long, gaunt head that appeared in the doorway was entirely unexpected. It wasthe cavernous and melancholy head of an incredibly thin, old, whitishhorse. This head waggled slowly from side to side; the nostrilsvibrated; the mouth opened, and the hollow cough sounded again. 

Recovering themselves, Penrod and Sam underwent the customary humanreaction from alarm to indignation. 

"What you want, you ole horse, you?" Penrod shouted. "Don't you comecoughin' around ME!"

And Sam, seizing a stick, hurled it at the intruder. 

"Get out o' here!" he roared. 

The aged horse nervously withdrew his head, turned tail, and made arickety flight up the alley, while Sam and Penrod, perfectly obedientto inherited impulse, ran out into the drizzle and uproariously pursued. They were but automatons of instinct, meaning no evil. Certainly theydid not know the singular and pathetic history of the old horse whowandered into the alley and ventured to look through the open door. 

This horse, about twice the age of either Penrod or Sam, had livedto find himself in a unique position. He was nude, possessing neitherharness nor halter; all he had was a name, Whitey, and he would haveanswered to it by a slight change of expression if any one had thusproperly addressed him. So forlorn was Whitey's case, he was actually anindependent horse; he had not even an owner. For two days and a half hehad been his own master. 

Previous to that period he had been the property of one Abalene Morris, a person of colour, who would have explained himself as engaged inthe hauling business. On the contrary, the hauling business was aninsignificant side line with Mr. Morris, for he had long ago givenhimself, as utterly as fortune permitted, to the talent that early inyouth he had recognized as the greatest of all those surging in hisbosom. In his waking thoughts and in his dreams, in health and insickness, Abalene Morris was the dashing and emotional practitionerof an art probably more than Roman in antiquity. Abalene was acrap-shooter. The hauling business was a disguise. 

A concentration of events had brought it about that, at one and thesame time, Abalene, after a dazzling run of the dice, found the haulingbusiness an actual danger to the preservation of his liberty. He wonseventeen dollars and sixty cents, and within the hour found himselfin trouble with an officer of the Humane Society on account of analtercation with Whitey. Abalene had been offered four dollars forWhitey some ten days earlier; wherefore he at once drove to the shop ofthe junk-dealer who had made the offer and announced his acquiescence inthe sacrifice. 

"No, suh!" the junk-dealer said, with emphasis, "I awready done got mea good mule fer my deliv'ry hoss, 'n'at ole Whitey hoss ain' wuff no fo'dollah nohow! I 'uz a fool when I talk 'bout th'owin' money roun' thata-way. _I_ know what YOU up to, Abalene. Man come by here li'l bitago tole me all 'bout white man try to 'rest you, ovah on the avvynoo. Yessuh; he say white man goin' to git you yit an' th'ow you in jail'count o' Whitey. White man tryin' to fine out who you IS. He say, nemmine, he'll know Whitey ag'in, even if he don' know you! He say heketch you by the hoss; so you come roun' tryin' fix me up with Whiteyso white man grab me, th'ow ME in 'at jail. G'on 'way f'um hyuh, youAbalene! You cain' sell an' you cain' give Whitey to no cullud man 'n'is town. You go an' drowned 'at ole hoss, 'cause you sutny goin' tojail if you git ketched drivin' him. "

The substance of this advice seemed good to Abalene, especially as theseventeen dollars and sixty cents in his pocket lent sweet colours tolife out of jail at this time. At dusk he led Whitey to a broad commonat the edge of town, and spoke to him finally. 

"G'on 'bout you biz'nis, " said Abalene; "you ain' MY hoss. Don' lookroun'at me, 'cause _I_ ain't got no 'quaintance wif you. I'm a man o'money, an' I got my own frien's; I'm a-lookin' fer bigger cities, hoss. You got you biz'nis an' I got mine. Mista' Hoss, good-night!"

Whitey found a little frosted grass upon the common and remained thereall night. In the morning he sought the shed where Abalene had kept him;but that was across the large and busy town, and Whitey was hopelesslylost. He had but one eye, a feeble one, and his legs were not to bedepended upon; but he managed to cover a great deal of ground, tohave many painful little adventures, and to get monstrously hungry andthirsty before he happened to look in upon Penrod and Sam. 

When the two boys chased him up the alley they had no intention to causepain; they had no intention at all. They were no more cruel than Duke, Penrod's little old dog, who followed his own instincts, and, making hisappearance hastily through a hole in the back fence, joined the pursuitwith sound and fury. A boy will nearly always run after anything thatis running, and his first impulse is to throw a stone at it. This is asurvival of primeval man, who must take every chance to get his dinner. So, when Penrod and Sam drove the hapless Whitey up the alley, they werereally responding to an impulse thousands and thousands of years old--animpulse founded upon the primordial observation that whatever runs islikely to prove edible. Penrod and Sam were not "bad"; they were neverthat. They were something that was not their fault; they were historic. 

At the next corner Whitey turned to the right into the cross-street;thence, turning to the right again and still warmly pursued, he zigzagged down a main thoroughfare until he reached anothercross-street, which ran alongside the Schofields' yard and brought himto the foot of the alley he had left behind in his flight. He enteredthe alley, and there his dim eye fell upon the open door he hadpreviously investigated. No memory of it remained; but the place had alook associated in his mind with hay, and, as Sam and Penrod turnedthe corner of the alley in panting yet still vociferous pursuit, Whiteystumbled up the inclined platform before the open doors, staggeredthunderously across the carriage-house and through another open doorinto a stall, an apartment vacant since the occupancy of Mr. Schofield'slast horse, now several years deceased. 

CHAPTER VIII. SALVAGE

The two boys shrieked with excitement as they beheld the coincidence ofthis strange return. They burst into the stable, making almost as muchnoise as Duke, who had become frantic at the invasion. Sam laid handsupon a rake. 

"You get out o' there, you ole horse, you!" he bellowed. "I ain't afraidto drive him out. I--"

"WAIT a minute!" Penrod shouted. "Wait till I--"

Sam was manfully preparing to enter the stall. 

"You hold the doors open, " he commanded, "so's they won't blow shut andkeep him in here. I'm goin' to hit him--"

"Quee-YUT!" Penrod shouted, grasping the handle of the rake so that Samcould not use it. "Wait a MINUTE, can't you?" He turned with ferociousvoice and gestures upon Duke. "DUKE!" And Duke, in spite of hisexcitement, was so impressed that he prostrated himself in silence, andthen unobtrusively withdrew from the stable. Penrod ran to the alleydoors and closed them. 

"My gracious!" Sam protested. "What you goin' to do?"

"I'm goin' to keep this horse, " said Penrod, whose face showed thestrain of a great idea. 

"What FOR?"

"For the reward, " said Penrod simply. 

Sam sat down in the wheelbarrow and stared at his friend almost withawe. 

"My gracious, " he said, "I never thought o' that! How--how much do youthink we'll get, Penrod?"

Sam's thus admitting himself to a full partnership in the enterprisemet no objection from Penrod, who was absorbed in the contemplation ofWhitey. 

"Well, " he said judicially, "we might get more and we might get less. "

Sam rose and joined his friend in the doorway opening upon the twostalls. Whitey had preempted the nearer, and was hungrily nuzzling theold frayed hollows in the manger. 

"Maybe a hunderd dollars--or sumpthing?" Sam asked in a low voice. 

Penrod maintained his composure and repeated the newfound expressionthat had sounded well to him a moment before. He recognized it as asymbol of the non--committal attitude that makes people looked up to. "Well"--he made it slow, and frowned--"we might get more and we mightget less. "

"More'n a hunderd DOLLARS?" Sam gasped. 

"Well, " said Penrod, "we might get more and we might get less. " Thistime, however, he felt the need of adding something. He put a questionin an indulgent tone, as though he were inquiring, not to add to his owninformation but to discover the extent of Sam's. "How much do you thinkhorses are worth, anyway?"

"I don't know, " Sam said frankly, and, unconsciously, he added, "Theymight be more and they might be less. "

"Well, when our ole horse died, " Penrod said, "Papa said he wouldn'ttaken five hunderd dollars for him. That's how much HORSES are worth!"

"My gracious!" Sam exclaimed. Then he had a practical afterthought. "Butmaybe he was a better horse than this'n. What colour was he?"

"He was bay. Looky here, Sam"--and now Penrod's manner changed fromthe superior to the eager--"you look what kind of horses they have in acircus, and you bet a circus has the BEST horses, don't it? Well, whatkind of horses do they have in a circus? They have some black and whiteones; but the best they have are white all over. Well, what kind of ahorse is this we got here? He's perty near white right now, and I bet ifwe washed him off and got him fixed up nice he WOULD be white. Well, abay horse is worth five hunderd dollars, because that's what Papa said, and this horse--"

Sam interrupted rather timidly. 

"He--he's awful bony, Penrod. You don't guess they'd make any--"

Penrod laughed contemptuously. 

"Bony! All he needs is a little food and he'll fill right up and lookgood as ever. You don't know much about horses, Sam, I expect. Why, OURole horse--"

"Do you expect he's hungry now?" asked Sam, staring at Whitey. 

"Let's try him, " said Penrod. "Horses like hay and oats the best; butthey'll eat most anything. "

"I guess they will. He's tryin' to eat that manger up right now, and Ibet it ain't good for him. "

"Come on, " said Penrod, closing the door that gave entrance to thestalls. "We got to get this horse some drinkin'-water and some goodfood. "

They tried Whitey's appetite first with an autumnal branch that theywrenched from a hardy maple in the yard. They had seen horses nibbleleaves, and they expected Whitey to nibble the leaves of thisbranch; but his ravenous condition did not allow him time for cooldiscriminations. Sam poked the branch at him from the passageway, andWhitey, after one backward movement of alarm, seized it venomously. 

"Here! You stop that!" Sam shouted. "You stop that, you ole horse, you!"

"What's the matter?" called Penrod from the hydrant, where he wasfilling a bucket. "What's he doin' now?"

"Doin'! He's eatin' the wood part, too! He's chewin' up sticks as big asbaseball bats! He's crazy!"

Penrod rushed to see this sight, and stood aghast. 

"Take it away from him, Sam!" he commanded sharply. 

"Go on, take it away from him yourself!" was the prompt retort of hiscomrade. 

"You had no biz'nuss to give it to him, " said Penrod. "Anybody with anysense ought to know it'd make him sick. What'd you want to go and giveit to him for?"

"Well, you didn't say not to. "

"Well, what if I didn't? I never said I did, did I? You go on in thatstall and take it away from him. "

"YES, I will!" Sam returned bitterly. Then, as Whitey had dragged theremains of the branch from the manger to the floor of the stall, Samscrambled to the top of the manger and looked over. "There ain't muchleft to TAKE away! He's swallered it all except some splinters. Bettergive him the water to try and wash it down with. " And, as Penrodcomplied, "My gracious, look at that horse DRINK!"

They gave Whitey four buckets of water, and then debated the question ofnourishment. Obviously, this horse could not be trusted with branches, and, after getting their knees black and their backs sodden, they gaveup trying to pull enough grass to sustain him. Then Penrod rememberedthat horses like apples, both "cooking-apples" and "eating-apples", andSam mentioned the fact that every autumn his father received a barrel of"cooking-apples" from a cousin who owned a farm. That barrel was in theWilliams' cellar now, and the cellar was providentially supplied with"outside doors, " so that it could be visited without going through thehouse. Sam and Penrod set forth for the cellar. 

They returned to the stable bulging, and, after a discussion of Whitey'sdigestion (Sam claiming that eating the core and seeds, as Whiteydid, would grow trees in his inside) they went back to the cellar forsupplies again--and again. They made six trips, carrying each time acapacity cargo of apples, and still Whitey ate in a famished manner. They were afraid to take more apples from the barrel, which began toshow conspicuously the result of their raids, wherefore Penrod made anunostentatious visit to the cellar of his own house. From the inside heopened a window and passed vegetables out to Sam, who placed them in abucket and carried them hurriedly to the stable, while Penrod returnedin a casual manner through the house. Of his sang-froid under a greatstrain it is sufficient to relate that, in the kitchen, he said suddenlyto Della, the cook, "Oh, look behind you!" and by the time Delladiscovered that there was nothing unusual behind her, Penrod was gone, and a loaf of bread from the kitchen table was gone with him. 

Whitey now ate nine turnips, two heads of lettuce, one cabbage, elevenraw potatoes and the loaf of bread. He ate the loaf of bread last andhe was a long time about it; so the boys came to a not unreasonableconclusion. 

"Well, sir, I guess we got him filled up at last!" said Penrod. "I bethe wouldn't eat a saucer of ice-cream now, if we'd give it to him!"

"He looks better to me, " said Sam, staring critically at Whitey. "Ithink he's kind of begun to fill out some. I expect he must like us, Penrod; we been doin' a good deal for this horse. "

"Well, we got to keep it up, " Penrod insisted rather pompously. "Long as_I_ got charge o' this horse, he's goin' to get good treatment. "

"What we better do now, Penrod?"

Penrod took on the outward signs of deep thought. 

"Well, there's plenty to DO, all right. I got to think. "

Sam made several suggestions, which Penrod--maintaining his air ofpreoccupation--dismissed with mere gestures. 

"Oh, _I_ know!" Sam cried finally. "We ought to wash him so's he'lllook whiter'n what he does now. We can turn the hose on him across themanger. "

"No; not yet, " Penrod said. "It's too soon after his meal. You ought toknow that yourself. What we got to do is to make up a bed for him--if hewants to lay down or anything. "

"Make up a what for him?" Sam echoed, dumfounded. "What you talkin'about? How can--"

"Sawdust, " Penrod said. "That's the way the horse we used to have usedto have it. We'll make this horse's bed in the other stall, and then hecan go in there and lay down whenever he wants to. "

"How we goin' to do it?"

"Look, Sam; there's the hole into the sawdust-box! All you got to do iswalk in there with the shovel, stick the shovel in the hole till it getsfull of sawdust, and then sprinkle it around on the empty stall. "

"All _I_ got to do!" Sam cried. "What are you goin' to do?"

"I'm goin' to be right here, " Penrod answered reassuringly. "He won'tkick or anything, and it isn't goin' to take you half a second to sliparound behind him to the other stall. "

"What makes you think he won't kick?"

"Well, I KNOW he won't, and, besides, you could hit him with the shovelif he tried to. Anyhow, I'll be right here, won't I?"

"I don't care where you are, " Sam said earnestly. "What difference wouldthat make if he ki--"

"Why, you were goin' right in the stall, " Penrod reminded him. "When hefirst came in, you were goin' to take the rake and--"

"I don't care if I was, " Sam declared. "I was excited then. "

"Well, you can get excited now, can't you?" his friend urged. "You canjust as easy get--"

He was interrupted by a shout from Sam, who was keeping his eye uponWhitey throughout the discussion. 

"Look! Looky there!" And undoubtedly renewing his excitement, Sampointed at the long, gaunt head beyond the manger. It was disappearingfrom view. "Look!" Sam shouted. "He's layin' down!"

"Well, then, " said Penrod, "I guess he's goin' to take a nap. If hewants to lay down without waitin' for us to get the sawdust fixed forhim, that's his lookout, not ours. "

On the contrary, Sam perceived a favourable opportunity for action. 

"I just as soon go and make his bed up while he's layin' down, " hevolunteered. "You climb up on the manger and watch him, Penrod, and I'llsneak in the other stall and fix it all up nice for him, so's he can goin there any time when he wakes up, and lay down again, or anything;and if he starts to get up, you holler and I'll jump out over the othermanger. "

Accordingly, Penrod established himself in a position to observe therecumbent figure. Whitey's breathing was rather laboured but regular, and, as Sam remarked, he looked "better", even in his slumber. It is notto be doubted that although Whitey was suffering from a light attack ofcolic his feelings were in the main those of contentment. After trouble, he was solaced; after exposure, he was sheltered; after hunger andthirst, he was fed and watered. He slept. 

The noon whistles blew before Sam's task was finished; but by the timehe departed for lunch there was made a bed of such quality that Whiteymust needs have been a born fault-finder if he complained of it. Thefriends parted, each urging the other to be prompt in returning; butPenrod got into threatening difficulties as soon as he entered thehouse. 

CHAPTER IX. REWARD OF MERIT

"Penrod, " said his mother, "what did you do with that loaf of breadDella says you took from the table?"

"Ma'am? WHAT loaf o' bread?"

"I believe I can't let you go outdoors this afternoon, " Mrs. Schofieldsaid severely. "If you were hungry, you know perfectly well all you hadto do was to--"

"But I wasn't hungry; I--"

"You can explain later, " Mrs. Schofield said. "You'll have allafternoon. "

Penrod's heart grew cold. 

"I CAN'T stay in, " he protested. "I've asked Sam Williams to come over. "

"I'll telephone Mrs. Williams. "

"Mamma!" Penrod's voice became agonized. "I HAD to give that bread toa--to a poor ole man. He was starving and so were his children and hiswife. They were all just STARVING--and they couldn't wait while I tooktime to come and ask you, Mamma. I got to GO outdoors this afternoon. IGOT to! Sam's--"

She relented. 

In the carriage-house, half an hour later, Penrod gave an account of theepisode. 

"Where'd we been, I'd just like to know, " he concluded, "if I hadn't gotout here this afternoon?"

"Well, I guess I could managed him all right, " Sam said. "I was in thepassageway, a minute ago, takin' a look at him. He's standin' up again. I expect he wants more to eat. "

"Well, we got to fix about that, " said Penrod. "But what I mean--if I'dhad to stay in the house, where would we been about the most importantthing in the whole biz'nuss?"

"What you talkin' about?"

"Well, why can't you wait till I tell you?" Penrod's tone had becomepeevish. For that matter, so had Sam's; they were developing one of thelittle differences, or quarrels, that composed the very texture of theirfriendship. 

"Well, why don't you tell me, then?"

"Well, how can I?" Penrod demanded. "You keep talkin' every minute. "

"I'm not talkin' NOW, am I?" Sam protested. "You can tell me NOW, can'tyou? I'm not talk--"

"You are, too!" Penrod shouted. "You talk all the time! You--"

He was interrupted by Whitey's peculiar cough. Both boys jumped andforgot their argument. 

"He means he wants some more to eat, I bet, " said Sam. 

"Well, if he does, he's got to wait, " Penrod declared. "We got to getthe most important thing of all fixed up first. "

"What's that, Penrod?"

"The reward, " said Penrod mildly. "That's what I was tryin' to tell youabout, Sam, if you'd ever give me half a chance. "

"Well, I DID give you a chance. I kept TELLIN' you to tell me, but--"

"You never! You kept sayin'--"

They renewed this discussion, protracting it indefinitely; but aseach persisted in clinging to his own interpretation of the facts, thequestion still remains unsettled. It was abandoned, or rather, it mergedinto another during the later stages of the debate, this other beingconcerned with which of the debaters had the least "sense. " Each madethe plain statement that if he were more deficient than his opponent inthat regard, self-destruction would be his only refuge. Each declaredthat he would "rather die than be talked to death"; and then, as thetwo approached a point bluntly recriminative, Whitey coughed again, whereupon they were miraculously silent, and went into the passageway ina perfectly amiable manner. 

"I got to have a good look at him, for once, " Penrod said, as he staredfrowningly at Whitey. "We got to fix up about that reward. "

"I want to take a good ole look at him myself, " Sam said. 

After supplying Whitey with another bucket of water, they returned tothe carriage-house and seated themselves thoughtfully. In truth, theywere something a shade more than thoughtful; the adventure to which theyhad committed themselves was beginning to be a little overpowering. IfWhitey had been a dog, a goat, a fowl, or even a stray calf, they wouldhave felt equal to him; but now that the earlier glow of their wilddaring had disappeared, vague apprehensions stirred. Their "good look"at Whitey had not reassured them--he seemed large, Gothic and unusual. 

Whisperings within them began to urge that for boys to undertake anenterprise connected with so huge an animal as an actual horse wasperilous. Beneath the surface of their musings, dim but ominousprophecies moved; both boys began to have the feeling that, somehow, this affair was going to get beyond them and that they would be in heavytrouble before it was over--they knew not why. They knew why no morethan they knew why they felt it imperative to keep the fact of Whitey'spresence in the stable a secret from their respective families; but theydid begin to realize that keeping a secret of that size was going to beattended with some difficulty. In brief, their sensations were becomingcomparable to those of the man who stole a house. 

Nevertheless, after a short period given to unspoken misgivings, theyreturned to the subject of the reward. The money-value of bay horses, ascompared to white, was again discussed, and each announced his certaintythat nothing less than "a good ole hunderd dollars" would be offered forthe return of Whitey. 

But immediately after so speaking they fell into another silence, due tosinking feelings. They had spoken loudly and confidently, and yet theyknew, somehow, that such things were not to be. According to theirknowledge, it was perfectly reasonable to suppose that they wouldreceive this fortune; but they frightened themselves in speaking of it. They knew that they COULD not have a hundred dollars for their own. Anoppression, as from something awful and criminal, descended upon them atintervals. 

Presently, however, they were warmed to a little cheerfulness again byPenrod's suggestion that they should put a notice in the paper. Neitherof them had the slightest idea how to get it there; but such details asthat were beyond the horizon; they occupied themselves with the questionof what their advertisement ought to "say". Finding that they differedirreconcilably, Penrod went to his cache in the sawdust-box and broughttwo pencils and a supply of paper. He gave one of the pencils andseveral sheets to Sam; then both boys bent themselves in silence to thelabour of practical composition. Penrod produced the brieferparagraph. (See Fig. I. ) Sam's was more ample. (See Fig. II. )------------------[Transcribed from handwritten illustration for ProjectGutenberg:] FIG. I. Reward. White horse in Schofields ally finders gothim in Schofields stable and will let him taken away by by (crossed out:pay) paying for good food he has aten while (crossed out: wat w) while(crossed out: wat) waiting and Reward of (crossed out: $100 $20 $15 $5)$10. 

FIG II. FOND Horse on Saturday morning owner can get him by (crossedthrough word, unreadable) replying at stable bhind Mr. Schofield. You will have to proof he is your horse he is whit with hind of brown(crossed out: spec) speks and worout (crossed out: tail) tale, he isgeting good care and food, reword (crossed out: $100 $20) sevntyfivecents to each one or we will keep him lokked up. ----------------

Neither Sam nor Penrod showed any interest in what the otherhad written; but both felt that something praiseworthy had beenaccomplished. Penrod exhaled a sigh, as of relief, and, in a manner hehad observed his father use sometimes, he said:

"Thank goodness, THAT'S off my mind, anyway!"

"What we goin' do next, Penrod?" Sam asked deferentially, the borrowedmanner having some effect upon him. 

"I don't know what YOU'RE goin' to do, " Penrod returned, picking up theold cigarbox that had contained the paper and pencils. "I'M goin' to putmine in here, so's it'll come in handy when I haf to get at it. "

"Well, I guess I'll keep mine there, too, " Sam said. Thereupon hedeposited his scribbled slip beside Penrod's in the cigarbox, and thebox was solemnly returned to the secret place whence it had been taken. 

"There, THAT'S 'tended to!" Sam said, and, unconsciously imitating hisfriend's imitation, he gave forth audibly a breath of satisfaction andrelief. 

Both boys felt that the financial side of their great affair had beenconscientiously looked to, that the question of the reward was settled, and that everything was proceeding in a businesslike manner. Therefore, they were able to turn their attention to another matter. 

This was the question of Whitey's next meal. After their exploits ofthe morning, and the consequent imperilment of Penrod, they decidedthat nothing more was to be done in apples, vegetables or bread; it wasevident that Whitey must be fed from the bosom of nature. 

"We couldn't pull enough o' that frostbit ole grass in the yard to feedhim, " Penrod said gloomily. "We could work a week and not get enough tomake him swaller more'n about twice. All we got this morning, he blewmost of it away. He'd try to scoop it in toward his teeth with his lip, and then he'd haf to kind of blow out his breath, and after that all thegrass that'd be left was just some wet pieces stickin' to the outsidesof his face. Well, and you know how he acted about that maple branch. Wecan't trust him with branches. "

Sam jumped up. 

"_I_ know!" he cried. "There's lots of leaves left on the branches. Wecan give them to him. "

"I just said--"

"I don't mean the branches, " Sam explained. "We'll leave the branches onthe trees, but just pull the leaves off the branches and put 'em in thebucket and feed 'em to him out of the bucket. "

Penrod thought this plan worth trying, and for three-quarters of an hourthe two boys were busy with the lower branches of various trees in theyard. Thus they managed to supply Whitey with a fair quantity of wetleaves, which he ate in a perfunctory way, displaying little of hisearlier enthusiasm. And the work of his purveyors might have been moretedious if it had been less damp, for a boy is seldom bored by anythingthat involves his staying-out in the rain without protection. Thedrizzle had thickened; the leaves were heavy with water, and at everyjerk the branches sent fat drops over the two collectors. They attaineda noteworthy state of sogginess. 

Finally, they were brought to the attention of the authorities indoors, and Della appeared upon the back porch. 

"Musther Penrod, " she called, "y'r mamma says ye'll c'm in the housethis minute an' change y'r shoes an' stockin's an' everythun' else yegot on! D'ye hear me?"

Penrod, taken by surprise and unpleasantly alarmed, darted away from thetree he was depleting and ran for the stable. 

"You tell her I'm dry as toast!" he shouted over his shoulder. 

Della withdrew, wearing the air of a person gratuitously insulted; anda moment later she issued from the kitchen, carrying an umbrella. Sheopened it and walked resolutely to the stable. 

"She says I'm to bring ye in the house, " said Della, "an' I'm goin' tobring ye!"

Sam had joined Penrod in the carriage-house, and, with the beginningsof an unnamed terror, the two beheld this grim advance. But they did notstay for its culmination. Without a word to each other they hurriedlytiptoed up the stairs to the gloomy loft, and there they paused, listening. 

They heard Della's steps upon the carriage-house floor. 

"Ah, there's plenty places t'hide in, " they heard her say; "but I'llshow ye! She tole me to bring ye, and I'm--"

She was interrupted by a peculiar sound--loud, chilling, dismal, andunmistakably not of human origin. The boys knew it for Whitey's cough;but Della had not their experience. A smothered shriek reached theirears; there was a scurrying noise, and then, with horror, they heardDella's footsteps in the passageway that ran by Whitey's manger. Immediately there came a louder shriek, and even in the anguish ofknowing their secret discovered, they were shocked to hear distinctlythe words, "O Lard in hivvin!" in the well-known voice of Della. Sheshrieked again, and they heard the rush of her footfalls across thecarriage-house floor. Wild words came from the outer air, and thekitchen door slammed violently. It was all over. She had gone to "tell". 

Penrod and Sam plunged down the stairs and out of the stable. Theyclimbed the back fence and fled up the alley. They turned into Sam'syard, and, without consultation, headed for the cellar doors, nor pausedtill they found themselves in the farthest, darkest and gloomiest recessof the cellar. There, perspiring, stricken with fear, they sank downupon the earthen floor, with their moist backs against the stone wall. 

Thus with boys. The vague apprehensions that had been creeping uponPenrod and Sam all afternoon had become monstrous; the unknown wasbefore them. How great their crime would turn out to be (now that it wasin the hands of grown people) they did not know; but, since it concerneda horse, it would undoubtedly be considered of terrible dimensions. 

Their plans for a reward, and all the things that had seemed bothinnocent and practical in the morning, now staggered their minds asmanifestations of criminal folly. A new and terrible light seemed toplay upon the day's exploits; they had chased a horse belonging tostrangers, and it would be said that they deliberately drove him intothe stable and there concealed him. They had, in truth, virtually stolenhim, and they had stolen food for him. The waning light throughthe small window above them warned Penrod that his inroads upon thevegetables in his own cellar must soon be discovered. Della, thatNemesis, would seek them in order to prepare them for dinner, and shewould find them not. But she would recall his excursion to the cellar, for she had seen him when he came up; and also the truth would be knownconcerning the loaf of bread. Altogether, Penrod felt that his casewas worse than Sam's--until Sam offered a suggestion that roused suchhorrible possibilities concerning the principal item of their offensethat all thought of the smaller indictments disappeared. 

"Listen, Penrod, " Sam quavered: "What--what if that--what if that olehorse maybe b'longed to a--policeman!" Sam's imagination was not of thecomforting kind. "What'd they--do to us, Penrod, if it turned out he wassome policeman's horse?"

Penrod was able only to shake his head. He did not reply in words; butboth boys thenceforth considered it almost inevitable that Whitey hadbelonged to a policeman, and, in their sense of so ultimate a disaster, they ceased for a time to brood upon what their parents would probablydo to them. The penalty for stealing a policeman's horse would be onlya step short of capital, they were sure. They would not be hanged; butvague, looming sketches of something called the penitentiary began toflicker before them. 

It grew darker in the cellar, so that finally they could not see eachother. 

"I guess they're huntin' for us by now, " Sam said huskily. "I don't--Idon't like it much down here, Penrod. "

Penrod's hoarse whisper came from the profound gloom: "Well, who eversaid you did?"

"Well--" Sam paused; then he said plaintively, "I wish we'd never SEENthat dern ole horse. "

"It was every bit his fault, " said Penrod. "We didn't do anything. If hehadn't come stickin' his ole head in our stable, it'd never happenedat all. Ole fool!" He rose. "I'm goin' to get out of here; I guess I'vestood about enough for one day. "

"Where--where you goin', Penrod? You aren't goin' HOME, are you?"

"No; I'm not! What you take me for? You think I'm crazy?"

"Well, where CAN we go?"

How far Penrod's desperation actually would have led him is doubtful;but he made this statement: "I don't know where YOU'RE goin', but I'Mgoin' to walk straight out in the country till I come to a farmhouse andsay my name's George and live there!"

"I'll do it, too, " Sam whispered eagerly. "I'll say my name's Henry. "

"Well, we better get started, " said the executive Penrod. "We got to getaway from here, anyway. "

But when they came to ascend the steps leading to the "outside doors", they found that those doors had been closed and locked for the night. 

"It's no use, " Sam lamented, "and we can't bust 'em, cause I tried to, once before. Fanny always locks 'em about five o'clock--I forgot. We gotto go up the stairway and try to sneak out through the house. "

They tiptoed back, and up the inner stairs. They paused at the top, thenbreathlessly stepped out into a hall that was entirely dark. Sam touchedPenrod's sleeve in warning and bent to listen at a door. 

Immediately that door opened, revealing the bright library, where satPenrod's mother and Sam's father. 

It was Sam's mother who had opened the door. "Come into the library, boys, " she said. "Mrs. Schofield is just telling us about it. "

And as the two comrades moved dumbly into the lighted room, Penrod'smother rose, and, taking him by the shoulder, urged him close to thefire. 

"You stand there and try to dry off a little, while I finish telling Mr. And Mrs. Williams about you and Sam, " she said. "You'd better make Samkeep near the fire, too, Mrs. Williams, because they both got wringingwet. Think of their running off just when most people would have wantedto stay! Well, I'll go on with the story, then. Della told me all aboutit, and what the cook next door said SHE'D seen, how they'd been tryingto pull grass and leaves for the poor old thing all day--and all aboutthe apples they carried from YOUR cellar, and getting wet and workingin the rain as hard as they could--and they'd given him a loaf of bread!Shame on you, Penrod!" She paused to laugh; but there was a littlemoisture about her eyes, even before she laughed. "And they'd fed himon potatoes and lettuce and cabbage and turnips out of OUR cellar! AndI wish you'd see the sawdust bed they made for him! Well, when I'dtelephoned, and the Humane Society man got there, he said it was themost touching thing he ever knew. It seems he KNEW this horse, and hadbeen looking for him. He said ninety-nine boys out of a hundred wouldhave chased the poor old thing away, and he was going to see to it thatthis case didn't go unnoticed, because the local branch of the societygives little silver medals for special acts like this. And the lastthing he said was that he was sure Penrod and Sam each would be awardedone at the meeting of the society next Thursday night. "

. .. On the following Saturday a yodel sounded from the sunny sidewalkin front of the Schofields' house, and Penrod, issuing forth, beheld thefamiliar figure of Samuel Williams waiting. 

Upon Sam's breast there glittered a round bit of silver suspended by awhite ribbon from a bar of the same metal. Upon the breast of Penrod wasa decoration precisely similar. 

"'Lo, Penrod, " said Sam. "What are you goin' to do?"

"Nothin'"

"I got mine on, " said Sam. 

"I have, too, " said Penrod. "I wouldn't take a hunderd dollars formine. "

"I wouldn't take two hunderd for mine, " said Sam. 

Each glanced pleasantly at the other's medal. They faced each otherwithout shame. Neither had the slightest sense of hypocrisy in himselfor in his comrade. On the contrary!

Penrod's eyes went from Sam's medal back to his own; thence theywandered, with perhaps a little disappointment, to the lifeless streetand to the empty yards and spectatorless windows of the neighbourhood. Then he looked southward toward the busy heart of the town, wheremultitudes were. 

"Let's go down and see what time it is by the court-house-clock, " saidPenrod. 

CHAPTER X. CONSCIENCE

Mrs. Schofield had been away for three days, visiting her sisterin Dayton, Illinois, and on the train, coming back, she fell into areverie. Little dramas of memory were reenacted in her pensive mind, andthrough all of them moved the figure of Penrod as a principal figure, orstar. These little dramas did not present Penrod as he really was, much less did they glow with the uncertain but glamorous light in whichPenrod saw himself. No; Mrs. Schofield had indulged herself in absencefrom her family merely for her own pleasure, and, now that she washomeward bound, her conscience was asserting itself; the fact that shehad enjoyed her visit began to take on the aspect of a crime. 

She had heard from her family only once during the three days--themessage "All well don't worry enjoy yourself" telegraphed by Mr. Schofield, and she had followed his suggestions to a reasonable extent. Of course she had worried--but only at times; wherefore she now sufferedmore and more poignant pangs of shame because she had not worriedconstantly. Naturally, the figure of Penrod, in her railway reverie, wasthat of an invalid. 

She recalled all the illnesses of his babyhood and all those of hisboyhood. She reconstructed scene after scene, with the hero alwaysprostrate and the family physician opening the black case of phials. Sheemphatically renewed her recollection of accidental misfortunes to thebody of Penrod Schofield, omitting neither the considerable nor theinconsiderable, forgetting no strain, sprain, cut, bruise or dislocationof which she had knowledge. And running this film in a sequenceunrelieved by brighter interludes, she produced a biographical pictureof such consistent and unremittent gloom that Penrod's past appeared tojustify disturbing thoughts about his present and future. 

She became less and less at ease, reproaching herself for having goneaway, wondering how she had brought herself to do such a crazy thing, for it seemed to her that the members of her family were almost helplesswithout her guidance; they were apt to do anything--anything at all--orto catch anything. The more she thought about her having left theseirresponsible harebrains unprotected and undirected for three days, theless she was able to account for her action. It seemed to her thatshe must have been a little flighty; but, shaking her head grimly, shedecided that flightiness was not a good excuse. And she made up her mindthat if, upon her arrival, she found poor little neglected Penrod (andMargaret and Mr. Schofield) spared to her, safe and sound, she wouldmake up to them--especially to Penrod--for all her lack of care in thepast, and for this present wild folly of spending three whole days andnights with her sister, far away in Dayton, Illinois. Consequently, when Mrs. Schofield descended from that train, she wore the hurried butdetermined expression that was always the effect upon her of a guiltyconscience. 

"You're SURE Penrod is well now?" she repeated, after Mr. Schofield hadseated himself at her side in a vehicle known to its driver as a "deepoehack". 

"'Well NOW?'" he said. "He's been well all the time. I've told you twicethat he's all right. "

"Men can't always see. " She shook her head impatiently. "I haven't beena bit sure he was well lately. I don't think he's been really well fortwo or three months. How has he seemed to-day?"

"In fair health, " Mr. Schofield replied thoughtfully. "Della called meup at the office to tell me that one of the telephone-men had come intothe house to say that if that durn boy didn't quit climbing their polesthey'd have him arrested. They said he--"

"That's it!" Mrs. Schofield interrupted quickly. "He's nervous. It'ssome nervous trouble makes him act like that. He's not like himself atall. "

"Sometimes, " Mr. Schofield said, "I wish he weren't. "

"When he's himself, " Mrs. Schofield went on anxiously, "he's very quietand good; he doesn't go climbing telegraph-poles and reckless thingslike that. And I noticed before I went away that he was growing twitchy, and seemed to be getting the habit of making unpleasant little noises inhis throat. "

"Don't fret about that, " her husband said. "He was trying to learn SamWilliams's imitation of a bullfrog's croak. I used to do that myselfwhen I was a boy. Gl-glump, gallump! No; I can't do it now. But nearlyall boys feel obliged to learn it. "

"You're entirely mistaken, Henry, " she returned a little sharply. "Thatisn't the way he goes in his throat. Penrod is getting to be a VERYnervous boy, and he makes noises because he can't help it. He workspart of his face, too, sometimes, so much that I've been afraid it wouldinterfere with his looks. "

"Interfere with his what?" For the moment, Mr. Schofield seemed to bedazed. 

"When he's himself, " she returned crisply, "he's quite a handsome boy. "

"He is?"

"Handsomer than the average, anyhow, " Mrs. Schofield said firmly. "Nowonder you don't see it--when we've let his system get all run down likethis!"

"Good heavens!" the mystified Mr. Schofield murmured. "Penrod's systemhasn't been running down; it's just the same as it always was. He'sabsolutely all right. "

"Indeed he is not!" she said severely. "We've got to take better care ofhim than we have been. "

"Why, how could--"

"I know what I'm talking about, " she interrupted. "Penrod is anythingbut a strong boy, and it's all our fault. We haven't been watchfulenough of his health; that's what's the matter with him and makes him sonervous. "

Thus she continued, and, as she talked on, Mr. Schofield began, byimperceptible processes, to adopt her views. As for Mrs. Schofieldherself, these views became substantial by becoming vocal. This is tosay, with all deference, that as soon as she heard herself statingthem she was convinced that they accurately represented facts. And thedetermined look in her eyes deepened when the "deepoe hack" turned thefamiliar corner and she saw Penrod running to the gate, followed byDuke. 

Never had Penrod been so glad to greet his mother. Never was he moreboisterous in the expression of happiness of that kind. And the tokensof his appetite at dinner, a little later, were extraordinary. Mr. Schofield began to feel reassured in spite of himself; but Mrs. Schofield shook her head. 

"Don't you see? It's abnormal!" she said, in a low, decisive voice. 

That night Penrod awoke from a sweet, conscienceless slumber--or, rather, he was awakened. A wrappered form lurked over him in the gloom. 

"Uff--ow--" he muttered, and turned his face from the dim light thatshone through the doorway. He sighed and sought the depths of sleepagain. 

"Penrod, " his mother said softly, and, while he resisted feebly, sheturned him over to face her. 

"Gawn lea' me 'lone, " he muttered. 

Then, as a little sphere touched his lips, he jerked his head away, startled. 

"Whassat?"

Mrs. Schofield replied in tones honeysweet and coaxing: "It's just anice little pill, Penrod. "

"Doe waw 'ny!" he protested, keeping his eyes shut, clinging to thesleep from which he was being riven. 

"Be a good boy, Penrod, " she whispered. "Here's a glass of nice coolwater to swallow it down with. Come, dear; it's going to do you lots ofgood. "

And again the little pill was placed suggestively against his lips; buthis head jerked backward, and his hand struck out in blind, instinctiveself-defense. 

"I'll BUST that ole pill, " he muttered, still with closed eyes. "Lemmeget my han's on it an' I will!"

"Penrod!"

"PLEASE go on away, mamma!"

"I will, just as soon as you take this little pill. "

"I DID!"

"No, dear. "

"I did, " Penrod insisted plaintively. "You made me take it just before Iwent to bed. "

"Oh, yes; THAT one. But, dearie, " Mrs. Schofield explained, "I got tothinking about it after I went to bed, and I decided you'd better haveanother. "

"I don't WANT another. "

"Yes, dearie. "

"Please go 'way and let me sleep. "

"Not till you've taken the little pill, dear. "

"Oh, GOLLY!" Groaning, he propped himself upon an elbow and allowed thepill to pass between his lips. (He would have allowed anything whateverto pass between them, if that passing permitted his return to slumber. )Then, detaining the pill in his mouth, he swallowed half a glass ofwater, and again was recumbent. 

"G'-night, Mamma. "

"Good-night, dearie. Sleep well. "

"Yes'm. "

After her departure Penrod drowsily enjoyed the sugar coating of thepill; but this was indeed a brief pleasure. A bitterness that was likea pang suddenly made itself known to his sense of taste, and he realizedthat he had dallied too confidingly with the product of a manufacturingchemist who should have been indicted for criminal economy. Themedicinal portion of the little pill struck the wall with a faint tap, then dropped noiselessly to the floor, and, after a time, Penrod slept. 

Some hours later he began to dream; he dreamed that his feet and legswere becoming uncomfortable as a result of Sam Williams's activitieswith a red-hot poker. 

"You QUIT that!" he said aloud, and awoke indignantly. Again a dark, wrappered figure hovered over the bed. 

"It's only a hot-water bag, dear, " Mrs. Schofield said, still labouringunder the covers with an extended arm. "You mustn't hunch yourself upthat way, Penrod. Put your feet down on it. "

And, as he continued to hunch himself, she moved the bag in thedirection of his withdrawal. 

"Ow, murder!" he exclaimed convulsively. "What you tryin' to do? Scaldme to death?"

"Penrod--"

"My goodness, Mamma, " he wailed; "can't you let me sleep a MINUTE?"

"It's very bad for you to let your feet get cold, dear. "

"They WEREN'T cold. I don't want any ole hot-wat--"

"Penrod, " she said firmly, "you must put your feet against the bag. Itisn't too hot. "

"Oh, isn't it?" he retorted. "I don't s'pose you'd care if I burnedmy feet right off! Mamma, won't you please, pul-LEEZE let me get somesleep?"

"Not till you--"

She was interrupted by a groan that seemed to come from an abyss. 

"All right, I'll do it! Let 'em burn, then!" Thus spake the desperatePenrod; and Mrs. Schofield was able to ascertain that one heel had beenplaced in light contact with the bag. 

"No; both feet, Penrod. "

With a tragic shiver he obeyed. 

"THAT'S right, dear! Now, keep them that way. It's good for you. Good-night. "

"G'-night!"

The door closed softly behind her, and the body of Penrod, from the hipsupward, rose invisibly in the complete darkness of the bedchamber. A moment later the hot-water bag reached the floor in as noiseless amanner as that previously adopted by the remains of the little pill, and Penrod once more bespread his soul with poppies. This time he sleptuntil the breakfast-bell rang. 

He was late to school, and at once found himself in difficulties. Government demanded an explanation of the tardiness; but Penrod made noreply of any kind. Taciturnity is seldom more strikingly out of placethan under such circumstances, and the penalties imposed took accountnot only of Penrod's tardiness but of his supposititious defiance ofauthority in declining to speak. The truth was that Penrod did not knowwhy he was tardy, and, with mind still lethargic, found it impossibleto think of an excuse his continuing silence being due merely to thepersistence of his efforts to invent one. Thus were his meek searchingsmisinterpreted, and the unloved hours of improvement in science and thearts made odious. 

"They'll SEE!" he whispered sorely to himself, as he bent low over hisdesk, a little later. Some day he would "show 'em". The picture in hismind was of a vast, vague assembly of people headed by Miss Spenceand the superior pupils who were never tardy, and these multitudes, representing persecution and government in general, were all cringingbefore a Penrod Schofield who rode a grim black horse up and down theirmiserable ranks, and gave curt orders. 

"Make 'em step back there!" he commanded his myrmidons savagely. "Fixit so's your horses'll step on their feet if they don't do what I say!"Then, from his shining saddle, he watched the throngs slinking away. "Iguess they know who I am NOW!"

CHAPTER XI. THE TONIC

These broodings helped a little; but it was a severe morning, and onhis way home at noon he did not recover heart enough to practice thebullfrog's croak, the craft that Sam Williams had lately mastered toinspiring perfection. This sonorous accomplishment Penrod had determinedto make his own. At once guttural and resonant, impudent yet plaintive, with a barbaric twang like the plucked string of a Congo war-fiddle, thesound had fascinated him. It is made in the throat by processes utterlyimpossible to describe in human words, and no alphabet as yet producedby civilized man affords the symbols to vocalize it to the ear ofimagination. "Gunk" is the poor makeshift that must be employed toindicate it. 

Penrod uttered one half-hearted "Gunk" as he turned in at his own gate. However, this stimulated him, and he paused to practice. "Gunk!" hecroaked. "Gunk-gunk-gunk-gunk!"

Mrs. Schofield leaned out of an open window upstairs. 

"Don't do that, Penrod, " she said anxiously. "Please don't do that. "

"Why not?" Penrod asked, and, feeling encouraged by his progress in thenew art, he continued: "Gunk--gunk-gunk! Gunk-gunk--"

"Please try not to do it, " she urged pleadingly. "You CAN stop it if youtry. Won't you, dear?"

But Penrod felt that he was almost upon the point of attaining a masteryequal to Sam Williams's. He had just managed to do something in histhroat that he had never done before, and he felt that unless he kepton doing it at this time, his new-born facility might evade him later. "Gunk!" he croaked. "Gunk--gunk-gunk!" And he continued to croak, persevering monotonously, his expression indicating the depth of hispreoccupation. 

His mother looked down solicitously, murmured in a melancholy undertone, shook her head; then disappeared from the window, and, after a moment ortwo, opened the front door. 

"Come in, dear, " she said; "I've got something for you. "

Penrod's look of preoccupation vanished; he brightened and ceased tocroak. His mother had already given him a small leather pocketbook witha nickel in it, as a souvenir of her journey. Evidently she had broughtanother gift as well, delaying its presentation until now. "I've gotsomething for you!" These were auspicious words. 

"What is it, Mamma?" he asked, and, as she smiled tenderly upon him, his gayety increased. "Yay!" he shouted. "Mamma, is it that reg'larcarpenter's tool chest I told you about?"

"No, " she said. "But I'll show you, Penrod. Come on, dear. "

He followed her with alacrity to the dining-room, and the brightanticipation in his eyes grew more brilliant--until she opened thedoor of the china-closet, simultaneously with that action announcingcheerily:

"It's something that's going to do you lots of good, Penrod. "

He was instantly chilled, for experience had taught him that whenpredictions of this character were made, nothing pleasant need beexpected. Two seconds later his last hope departed as she turned fromthe closet and he beheld in her hands a quart bottle containing whatappeared to be a section of grassy swamp immersed in a cloudy brownliquor. He stepped back, grave suspicion in his glance. 

"What IS that?" he asked, in a hard voice. 

Mrs. Schofield smiled upon him. "It's nothing, " she said. "That is, it'snothing you'll mind at all. It's just so you won't be so nervous. "

"I'm not nervous. "

"You don't think so, of course, dear, " she returned, and, as she spoke, she poured some of the brown liquor into a tablespoon. "People oftencan't tell when they're nervous themselves; but your Papa and I havebeen getting a little anxious about you, dear, and so I got thismedicine for you. "

"WHERE'D you get it?" he demanded. 

Mrs. Schofield set the bottle down and moved toward him, insinuatinglyextending the full tablespoon. 

"Here, dear, " she said; "just take this little spoonful, like a goo--"

"I want to know where it came from, " he insisted darkly, again steppingbackward. 

"Where?" she echoed absently, watching to see that nothing was spilledfrom the spoon as she continued to move toward him. "Why, I was talkingto old Mrs. Wottaw at market this morning, and she said her son Clarkused to have nervous trouble, and she told me about this medicine andhow to have it made at the drug store. She told me it cured Clark, and--"

"I don't want to be cured, " Penrod said, adding inconsistently, "Ihaven't got anything to be cured of. "

"Now, dear, " Mrs. Schofield began, "you don't want your papa and me tokeep on worrying about--"

"I don't care whether you worry or not, " the heartless boy interrupted. "I don't want to take any horrable ole medicine. What's that grass andweeds in the bottle for?"

Mrs. Schofield looked grieved. "There isn't any grass and there aren'tany weeds; those are healthful herbs. "

"I bet they'll make me sick. "

She sighed. "Penrod, we're trying to make you well. "

"But I AM well, I tell you!"

"No, dear; your papa's been very much troubled about you. Come, Penrod;swallow this down and don't make such a fuss about it. It's just foryour own good. "

And she advanced upon him again, the spoon extended toward his lips. Italmost touched them, for he had retreated until his back was againstthe wall-paper. He could go no farther; but he evinced his unshakenrepugnance by averting his face. 

"What's it taste like?" he demanded. 

"It's not unpleasant at all, " she answered, poking the spoon at hismouth. "Mrs. Wottaw said Clark used to be very fond of it. It doesn'ttaste like ordinary medicine at all, ' she said. "

"How often I got to take it?" Penrod mumbled, as the persistent spoonsought to enter his mouth. "Just this once?"

"No, dear; three times a day. "

"I won't do it!"

"Penrod!" She spoke sharply. "You swallow this down and stop making sucha fuss. I can't be all day. Hurry. "

She inserted the spoon between his lips, so that its rim touched hisclenched teeth; he was still reluctant. Moreover, is reluctance wasnatural and characteristic, for a boy's sense of taste is as simple andas peculiar as a dog's, though, of course, altogether different from adog's. A boy, passing through the experimental age, may eat and drinkastonishing things; but they must be of his own choosing. His palate istender, and, in one sense, might be called fastidious; nothing is moresensitive or more easily shocked. A boy tastes things much more thangrown people taste them: what is merely unpleasant to a man issheer broth of hell to a boy. Therefore, not knowing what might beencountered, Penrod continued to be reluctant. 

"Penrod, " his mother exclaimed, losing patience, "I'll call your papa tomake you take it, if you don't swallow it right down! Open your mouth, Penrod! It isn't going to taste bad at all. Open your mouth--THERE!"

The reluctant jaw relaxed at last, and Mrs. Schofield dexterouslyelevated the handle of the spoon so that the brown liquor was depositedwithin her son. 

"There!" she repeated triumphantly. "It wasn't so bad after all, wasit?"

Penrod did not reply. His expression had become odd, and the oddity ofhis manner was equal to that of his expression. Uttering no sound, heseemed to distend, as if he had suddenly become a pneumatic boy underdangerous pressure. Meanwhile, his reddening eyes, fixed awfully uponhis mother, grew unbearable. 

"Now, it wasn't such a bad taste, " Mrs. Schofield said rather nervously. "Don't go acting THAT way, Penrod!"

But Penrod could not help himself. In truth, even a grown personhardened to all manner of flavours, and able to eat caviar or liquidCamembert, would have found the cloudy brown liquor virulentlyrepulsive. It contained in solution, with other things, the vitalelement of surprise, for it was comparatively odourless, and, unlike thechivalrous rattlesnake, gave no warning of what it was about to do. Inthe case of Penrod, the surprise was complete and its effect visiblyshocking. 

The distention by which he began to express his emotion appeared tobe increasing; his slender throat swelled as his cheeks puffed. Hisshoulders rose toward his ears; he lifted his right leg in an unnaturalway and held it rigidly in the air. 

"Stop that, Penrod!" Mrs. Schofield commanded. "You stop it!"

He found his voice. 

"Uff! OOOFF!" he said thickly, and collapsed--a mere, ordinary, every-day convulsion taking the place of his pneumatic symptoms. Hebegan to writhe, at the same time opening and closing his mouth rapidlyand repeatedly, waving his arms, stamping on the floor. 

"Ow! Ow-ow-OW!" he vociferated. 

Reassured by these normal demonstrations, of a type with which she wasfamiliar, Mrs. Schofield resumed her fond smile. 

"YOU'RE all right, little boysie!" she said heartily. Then, picking upthe bottle, she replenished the tablespoon, and told Penrod somethingshe had considered it undiplomatic to mention before. 

"Here's the other one, " she said sweetly. 

"Uuf!" he sputtered. "Other--uh--what?"

"Two tablespoons before each meal, " she informed him. 

Instantly Penrod made the first of a series of passionate efforts toleave the room. His determination was so intense and the manifestationsof it were so ruthless, that Mrs. Schofield, exhausted, found herselfobliged to call for the official head of the house--in fact, she foundherself obliged to shriek for him; and Mr. Schofield, hastily enteringthe room, beheld his wife apparently in the act of sawing his son backand forth across the sill of an open window. 

Penrod made a frantic effort to reach the good green earth, even afterhis mother's clutch upon his ankle had been reenforced by his father's. Nor was the lad's revolt subdued when he was deposited upon the floorand the window closed. Indeed, it may be said that he actually nevergave up, though it is a fact that the second potion was successfullyplaced inside him. But by the time this feat was finally accomplished, Mr. Schofield had proved that, in spite of middle age, he was entitledto substantial claims and honours both as athlete and orator--hisoratory being founded less upon the school of Webster and more upon thatof Jeremiah. 

So the thing was done, and the double dose put within the person ofPenrod Schofield. It proved not ineffective there, and presently, as itsnew owner sat morosely at table, he began to feel slightly dizzy andhis eyes refused him perfect service. This was natural, because twotablespoons of the cloudy brown liquor contained about the amount ofalcohol to be found in an ordinary cocktail. Now a boy does not enjoythe effects of intoxication; enjoyment of that kind is obtained onlyby studious application. Therefore, Penrod spoke of his symptomscomplainingly, and even showed himself so vindictive as to attributethem to the new medicine. 

His mother made no reply. Instead, she nodded her head as if some innerconviction had proven well founded. 

"BILIOUS, TOO, " she whispered to her husband. 

That evening, during the half-hour preceding dinner, the dining-room wasthe scene of another struggle, only a little less desperate than thatwhich had been the prelude to lunch, and again an appeal to the head ofthe house was found necessary. Muscular activity and a liberal imitationof the jeremiads once more subjugated the rebel--and the same rebellionand its suppression in a like manner took place the following morningbefore breakfast. But this was Saturday, and, without warning orapparent reason, a remarkable change came about at noon. However, Mr. And Mrs. Schofield were used to inexplicable changes in Penrod, and theymissed its significance. 

When Mrs. Schofield, with dread in her heart, called Penrod into thehouse "to take his medicine" before lunch, he came briskly, and took itlike a lamb!

"Why, Penrod, that's splendid!" she cried "You see it isn't bad, atall. "

"No'm, " he said meekly. "Not when you get used to it. "

"And aren't you ashamed, making all that fuss?" she went on happily. 

"Yes'm, I guess so. "

"And don't you feel better? Don't you see how much good it's doing youalready?"

"Yes'm, I guess so. "

Upon a holiday morning, several weeks later, Penrod and Sam Williamsrevived a pastime that they called "drug store", setting up displaycounters, selling chemical, cosmetic and other compounds to imaginarycustomers, filling prescriptions and variously conducting themselves ina pharmaceutical manner. They were in the midst of affairs when Penrodinterrupted his partner and himself with a cry of recollection. 

"_I_ know!" he shouted. "I got some mighty good ole stuff we want. Youwait!" And, dashing to the house, he disappeared. 

Returning immediately, Penrod placed upon the principal counter of the"drug store" a large bottle. It was a quart bottle, in fact; and itcontained what appeared to be a section of grassy swamp immersed in acloudy brown liquor. 

"There!" Penrod exclaimed. "How's that for some good ole medicine?"

"It's good ole stuff, " Sam said approvingly. "Where'd you get it? Whoseis it, Penrod?"

"It WAS mine, " said Penrod. "Up to about serreval days ago, it was. Theyquit givin' it to me. I had to take two bottles and a half of it. "

"What did you haf to take it for?"

"I got nervous, or sumpthing, " said Penrod. 

"You all well again now?"

"I guess so. Uncle Passloe and cousin Ronald came to visit, and I expectshe got too busy to think about it, or sumpthing. Anyway, she quitmakin' me take it, and said I was lots better. She's forgot all about itby this time. "

Sam was looking at the bottle with great interest. 

"What's all that stuff in there, Penrod?" he asked. "What's all thatstuff in there looks like grass?"

"It IS grass, " said Penrod. 

"How'd it get there?"

"I stuck it in there, " the candid boy replied. "First they had somehorrable ole stuff in there like to killed me. But after they got threedoses down me, I took the bottle out in the yard and cleaned her allout and pulled a lot o' good ole grass and stuffed her pretty full andpoured in a lot o' good ole hydrant water on top of it. Then, when theygot the next bottle, I did the same way, and--"

"It don't look like water, " Sam objected. 

Penrod laughed a superior laugh. 

"Oh, that's nothin', " he said, with the slight swagger of youngand conscious genius. "Of course, I had to slip in and shake her upsometimes, so's they wouldn't notice. "

"But what did you put in it to make it look like that?"

Penrod, upon the point of replying, happened to glance toward the house. His gaze, lifting, rested for a moment upon a window. The head of Mrs. Schofield was framed in that window. She nodded gayly to her son. Shecould see him plainly, and she thought that he seemed perfectly healthy, and as happy as a boy could be. She was right. 

"What DID you put in it?" Sam insisted. 

And probably it was just as well that, though Mrs. Schofield could seeher son, the distance was too great for her to hear him. 

"Oh, nothin', " Penrod replied. "Nothin' but a little good ole mud. "

CHAPTER XII. GIPSY

On a fair Saturday afternoon in November Penrod's little old dog Dukereturned to the ways of his youth and had trouble with a strange cat onthe back porch. This indiscretion, so uncharacteristic, was due to theagitation of a surprised moment, for Duke's experience had inclinedhim to a peaceful pessimism, and he had no ambition for hazardousundertakings of any sort. He was given to musing but not to avoidableaction, and he seemed habitually to hope for something that he waspretty sure would not happen. Even in his sleep, this gave him an air ofwistfulness. 

Thus, being asleep in a nook behind the metal refuse-can, when thestrange cat ventured to ascend the steps of the porch, his appearancewas so unwarlike that the cat felt encouraged to extend its field ofreconnaissance for the cook had been careless, and the backbone of athree-pound whitefish lay at the foot of the refuse-can. 

This cat was, for a cat, needlessly tall, powerful, independent andmasculine. Once, long ago, he had been a roly-poly pepper-and-saltkitten; he had a home in those days, and a name, "Gipsy, " which heabundantly justified. He was precocious in dissipation. Long before hisadolescence, his lack of domesticity was ominous, and he had formed badcompanionships. Meanwhile, he grew so rangy, and developed such lengthand power of leg and such traits of character, that the father of thelittle girl who owned him was almost convincing when he declared thatthe young cat was half broncho and half Malay pirate--though, in thelight of Gipsy's later career, this seems bitterly unfair to even thelowest orders of bronchos and Malay pirates. 

No; Gipsy was not the pet for a little girl. The rosy hearthstone andsheltered rug were too circumspect for him. Surrounded by the comfortsof middle-class respectability, and profoundly oppressed, even in hisyouth, by the Puritan ideals of the household, he sometimes experienceda sense of suffocation. He wanted free air and he wanted free life; hewanted the lights, the lights and the music. He abandoned the bourgeoiseirrevocably. He went forth in a May twilight, carrying the eveningbeefsteak with him, and joined the underworld. 

His extraordinary size, his daring and his utter lack of sympathy soonmade him the leader--and, at the same time, the terror--of all theloose-lived cats in a wide neighbourhood. He contracted no friendshipsand had no confidants. He seldom slept in the same place twice insuccession, and though he was wanted by the police, he was not found. In appearance he did not lack distinction of an ominous sort; the slow, rhythmic, perfectly controlled mechanism of his tail, as he impressivelywalked abroad, was incomparably sinister. This stately and dangerouswalk of his, his long, vibrant whiskers, his scars, his yellow eye, soice-cold, so fire-hot, haughty as the eye of Satan, gave him the deadlyair of a mousquetaire duellist. His soul was in that walk and in thateye; it could be read--the soul of a bravo of fortune, living onhis wits and his velour, asking no favours and granting no quarter. Intolerant, proud, sullen, yet watchful and constantly planning--purelya militarist, believing in slaughter as in a religion, and confidentthat art, science, poetry and the good of the world were happilyadvanced thereby--Gipsy had become, though technically not a wildcat, undoubtedly the most untamed cat at large in the civilized world. Such, in brief, was the terrifying creature that now elongated its neck, and, over the top step of the porch, bent a calculating scrutiny upon thewistful and slumberous Duke. 

The scrutiny was searching but not prolonged. Gipsy mutteredcontemptuously to himself, "Oh, sheol; I'm not afraid o' THAT!" Andhe approached the fishbone, his padded feet making no noise upon theboards. It was a desirable fishbone, large, with a considerable portionof the fish's tail still attached to it. 

It was about a foot from Duke's nose, and the little dog's dreams beganto be troubled by his olfactory nerve. This faithful sentinel, on guardeven while Duke slept, signalled that alarums and excursions by partiesunknown were taking place, and suggested that attention might well bepaid. Duke opened one drowsy eye. What that eye beheld was monstrous. 

Here was a strange experience--the horrific vision in the midst ofthings so accustomed. Sunshine fell sweetly upon porch and backyard;yonder was the familiar stable, and from its interior came the busy humof a carpenter shop, established that morning by Duke's young master, in association with Samuel Williams and Herman. Here, close by, werethe quiet refuse-can and the wonted brooms and mops leaning against thelatticed wall at the end of the porch, and there, by the foot of thesteps, was the stone slab of the cistern, with the iron cover displacedand lying beside the round opening, where the carpenters had left it, not half an hour ago, after lowering a stick of wood into the water, "toseason it". All about Duke were these usual and reassuring environs ofhis daily life, and yet it was his fate to behold, right in the midst ofthem, and in ghastly juxtaposition to his face, a thing of nightmare andlunacy. 

Gipsy had seized the fishbone by the middle. Out from one side of hishead, and mingling with his whiskers, projected the long, spiked spineof the big fish; down from the other side of that ferocious head dangledthe fish's tail, and from above the remarkable effect thus produced shotthe intolerable glare of two yellow eyes. To the gaze of Duke, stillblurred by slumber, this monstrosity was all of one piece the boneseemed a living part of it. What he saw was like those interestinginsect-faces that the magnifying glass reveals to great M. Fabre. Itwas impossible for Duke to maintain the philosophic calm of M. Fabre, however; there was no magnifying glass between him and this spined andspiky face. Indeed, Duke was not in a position to think the matter overquietly. If he had been able to do that, he would have said to himself:"We have here an animal of most peculiar and unattractive appearance, though, upon examination, it seems to be only a cat stealing a fishbone. Nevertheless, as the thief is large beyond all my recollection of catsand has an unpleasant stare, I will leave this spot at once. "

On the contrary, Duke was so electrified by his horrid awakening that hecompletely lost his presence of mind. In the very instant of his firsteye's opening, the other eye and his mouth behaved similarly, the latterloosing upon the quiet air one shriek of mental agony before the littledog scrambled to his feet and gave further employment to his voice ina frenzy of profanity. At the same time the subterranean diapason of ademoniac bass viol was heard; it rose to a wail, and rose and rose againtill it screamed like a small siren. It was Gipsy's war-cry, and, at thesound of it, Duke became a frothing maniac. He made a convulsive frontalattack upon the hobgoblin--and the massacre began. 

Never releasing the fishbone for an instant, Gipsy laid back his ears ina chilling way, beginning to shrink into himself like a concertina, butrising amidships so high that he appeared to be giving an imitation ofthat peaceful beast, the dromedary. Such was not his purpose, however, for, having attained his greatest possible altitude, he partially satdown and elevated his right arm after the manner of a semaphore. Thissemaphore arm remained rigid for a second, threatening; then it vibratedwith inconceivable rapidity, feinting. But it was the treacherous leftthat did the work. Seemingly this left gave Duke three lightning littlepats upon the right ear; but the change in his voice indicated thatthese were no love-taps. He yelled "help!" and "bloody murder!"

Never had such a shattering uproar, all vocal, broken out upon apeaceful afternoon. Gipsy possessed a vocabulary for cat-swearingcertainly second to none out of Italy, and probably equal to the bestthere, while Duke remembered and uttered things he had not thought offor years. 

The hum of the carpenter shop ceased, and Sam Williams appeared in thestable doorway. He stared insanely. 

"My gorry!" he shouted. "Duke's havin' a fight with the biggest cat youever saw in your life! C'mon!"

His feet were already in motion toward the battlefield, with Penrod andHerman hurrying in his wake. Onward they sped, and Duke was encouragedby the sight and sound of these reenforcements to increase hisown outrageous clamours and to press home his attack. But he wasill-advised. This time it was the right arm of the semaphore thatdipped--and Duke's honest nose was but too conscious of what happened inconsequence. 

A lump of dirt struck the refuse-can with violence, and Gipsy beheldthe advance of overwhelming forces. They rushed upon him from twodirections, cutting off the steps of the porch. Undaunted, theformidable cat raked Duke's nose again, somewhat more lingeringly, andprepared to depart with his fishbone. He had little fear for himself, because he was inclined to think that, unhampered, he could whipanything on earth; still, things seemed to be growing rather warm and hesaw nothing to prevent his leaving. 

And though he could laugh in the face of so unequal an antagonist asDuke, Gipsy felt that he was never at his best or able to do himselffull justice unless he could perform that feline operation inaccuratelyknown as "spitting". To his notion, this was an absolute essentialto combat; but, as all cats of the slightest pretensions to techniqueperfectly understand, it can neither be well done nor produce the besteffects unless the mouth be opened to its utmost capacity so as toexpose the beginnings of the alimentary canal, down which--at least thatis the intention of the threat--the opposing party will soon be passing. And Gipsy could not open his mouth without relinquishing his fishbone. 

Therefore, on small accounts he decided to leave the field to hisenemies and to carry the fishbone elsewhere. He took two giant leaps. The first landed him upon the edge of the porch. There, without aninstant's pause, he gathered his fur-sheathed muscles, concentratedhimself into one big steel spring, and launched himself superbly intospace. He made a stirring picture, however brief, as he left the solidporch behind him and sailed upward on an ascending curve into the sunlitair. His head was proudly up; he was the incarnation of menacing powerand of self-confidence. It is possible that the whitefish's spinalcolumn and flopping tail had interfered with his vision, and inlaunching himself he may have mistaken the dark, round opening ofthe cistern for its dark, round cover. In that case, it was a leapcalculated and executed with precision, for as the boys clamoured theirpleased astonishment, Gipsy descended accurately into the orifice andpassed majestically from public view, with the fishbone still in hismouth and his haughty head still high. 

There was a grand splash!

CHAPTER XIII. CONCERNING TROUSERS

Duke, hastening to place himself upon the stone slab, raged at his enemyin safety; and presently the indomitable Gipsy could be heard from thedarkness below, turning on the bass of his siren, threatening thewater that enveloped him, returning Duke's profanity with interest, andcursing the general universe. 

"You hush!" Penrod stormed, rushing at Duke. "You go 'way from here! YouDUKE!"

And Duke, after prostrating himself, decided that it would be a reliefto obey and to consider his responsibilities in this matter at an end. He withdrew beyond a corner of the house, thinking deeply. 

"Why'n't you let him bark at the ole cat?" Sam Williams inquired, sympathizing with the oppressed. "I guess you'd want to bark if a cathad been treatin' you the way this one did Duke. "

"Well, we got to get this cat out o' here, haven't we?" Penrod demandedcrossly. 

"What fer?" Herman asked. "Mighty mean cat! If it was me, I let 'at olecat drownd. "

"My goodness, " Penrod cried. "What you want to let it drown for?Anyways, we got to use this water in our house, haven't we? You don'ts'pose people like to use water that's got a cat drowned in it, doyou? It gets pumped up into the tank in the attic and goes all over thehouse, and I bet you wouldn't want to see your father and mother usin'water a cat was drowned in. I guess I don't want my father and moth--"

"Well, how CAN we get it out?" Sam asked, cutting short this virtuousoration. "It's swimmin' around down there, " he continued, peering intothe cistern, "and kind of roaring, and it must of dropped its fishbone, 'cause it's spittin' just awful. I guess maybe it's mad 'cause it fellin there. "

"I don't know how it's goin' to be got out, " said Penrod; "but I knowit's GOT to be got out, and that's all there is to it! I'm not goin' tohave my father and mother--"

"Well, once, " said Sam, "once when a kitten fell down OUR cistern, Papatook a pair of his trousers, and he held 'em by the end of one leg, andlet 'em hang down through the hole till the end of the other leg was inthe water, and the kitten went and clawed hold of it, and he pulled itright up, easy as anything. Well, that's the way to do now, 'cause ifa kitten could keep hold of a pair of trousers, I guess this ole catcould. It's the biggest cat _I_ ever saw! All you got to do is to goand ast your mother for a pair of your father's trousers, and we'll havethis ole cat out o' there in no time. "

Penrod glanced toward the house perplexedly. 

"She ain't home, and I'd be afraid to--"

"Well, take your own, then, " Sam suggested briskly. 

"You take 'em off in the stable, and wait in there, and I and Herman'llget the cat out. "

Penrod had no enthusiasm for this plan; but he affected to consider it. 

"Well, I don't know 'bout that, " he said, and then, after gazingattentively into the cistern and making some eye measurements of hisknickerbockers, he shook his head. "They'd be too short. They wouldn'tbe NEAR long enough!"

"Then neither would mine, " said Sam promptly. 

"Herman's would, " said Penrod. 

"No, suh!" Herman had recently been promoted to long trousers, and heexpressed a strong disinclination to fall in with Penrod's idea. "MyMammy sit up late nights sewin' on 'ese britches fer me, makin' 'emouten of a pair o' pappy's, an' they mighty good britches. Ain' goin'have no wet cat climbin' up 'em! No, suh!"

Both boys began to walk toward him argumentatively, while he movedslowly backward, shaking his head and denying them. 

"I don't keer how much you talk!" he said. "Mammy gave my OLE britchesto Verman, an' 'ese here ones on'y britches I got now, an' I'm go' tokeep 'em on me--not take 'em off an' let ole wet cat splosh all over'em. My Mammy, she sewed 'em fer ME, I reckon--d'in' sew 'em fer nocat!"

"Oh, PLEASE, come on, Herman!" Penrod begged pathetically. "You don'twant to see the poor cat drown, do you?"

"Mighty mean cat!" Herman said. "Bet' let 'at ole pussy-cat 'lone whurit is. "

"Why, it'll only take a minute, " Sam urged. "You just wait inside thestable and you'll have 'em back on again before you could say 'JackRobinson. '"

"I ain' got no use to say no Jack Robason, " said Herman. "An' I ain' go'to han' over my britches fer NO cat!"

"Listen here, Herman, " Penrod began pleadingly. "You can watch us everyminute through the crack in the stable door, can't you? We ain't goin'to HURT 'em any, are we? You can see everything we do, can't you? Lookat here, Herman: you know that little saw you said you wished it wasyours, in the carpenter shop? Well, honest, if you'll just let us takeyour trousers till we get this poor ole cat out the cistern, I'll giveyou that little saw. "

Herman was shaken; he yearned for the little saw. 

"You gimme her to keep?" he asked cautiously. "You gimme her befo' Ihan' over my britches?"

"You'll see!" Penrod ran into the stable, came back with the little saw, and placed it in Herman's hand. Herman could resist no longer, and twominutes later he stood in the necessary negligee within the shelter ofthe stable door, and watched, through the crack, the lowering of thesurrendered garment into the cistern. His gaze was anxious, and surelynothing could have been more natural, since the removal had exposedHerman's brown legs, and, although the weather was far from inclement, November is never quite the month for people to be out of doors entirelywithout leg-covering. Therefore, he marked with impatience that Sam andPenrod, after lowering the trousers partway to the water, had withdrawnthem and fallen into an argument. 

"Name o' goo'ness!" Herman shouted. "I ain' got no time fer you all doso much talkin'. If you go' git 'at cat out, why'n't you GIT him?"

"Wait just a minute, " Penrod called, and he came running to the stable, seized upon a large wooden box, which the carpenters had fitted witha lid and leather hinges, and returned with it cumbersomely to thecistern. "There!" he said. "That'll do to put it in. It won't get out o'that, I bet you. "

"Well, I'd like to know what you want to keep it for, " Sam saidpeevishly, and, with the suggestion of a sneer, he added, "I s'pose youthink somebody'll pay about a hunderd dollars reward or something, onaccount of a cat!"

"I don't, either!" Penrod protested hotly. "I know what I'm doin', Itell you. "

"Well, what on earth--"

"I'll tell you some day, won't I?" Penrod cried. "I got my reasons forwantin' to keep this cat, and I'm goin' to keep it. YOU don't haf toke--"

"Well, all right, " Sam said shortly. "Anyways, it'll be dead if youdon't hurry. "

"It won't, either, " Penrod returned, kneeling and peering down uponthe dark water. "Listen to him! He's growlin' and spittin' away likeanything! It takes a mighty fine-blooded cat to be as fierce as that. Ibet you most cats would 'a' given up and drowned long ago. The water'sawful cold, and I expect he was perty supprised when he lit in it. "

"Herman's makin' a fuss again, " Sam said. "We better get the ole cat outo' there if we're goin' to. "

"Well, this is the way we'll do, " Penrod said authoritatively: "I'll letyou hold the trousers, Sam. You lay down and keep hold of one leg, andlet the other one hang down till its end is in the water. Then you kindof swish it around till it's somewheres where the cat can get hold ofit, and soon as he does, you pull it up, and be mighty careful so's itdon't fall off. Then I'll grab it and stick it in the box and slam thelid down. "

Rather pleased to be assigned to the trousers, Sam accordingly extendedhimself at full length upon the slab and proceeded to carry out Penrod'sinstructions. Meanwhile, Penrod, peering from above, inquired anxiouslyfor information concerning this work of rescue. 

"Can you see it, Sam? Why don't it grab hold? What's it doin' now, Sam?"

"It's spittin' at Herman's trousers, " said Sam. "My gracious, but it's afierce cat! If it's mad all the time like this, you better not ever tryto pet it much. Now it's kind o' sniffin' at the trousers. It acks to meas if it was goin' to ketch hold. Yes, it's stuck one claw in 'em--OW!"

Sam uttered a blood-curdling shriek and jerked convulsively. The nextinstant, streaming and inconceivably gaunt, the ravening Gipsy appearedwith a final bound upon Sam's shoulder. It was not in Gipsy's characterto be drawn up peaceably; he had ascended the trousers and Sam's armwithout assistance and in his own way. Simultaneously--for this was anotable case of everything happening at once--there was a muffled, soggysplash, and the unfortunate Herman, smit with prophecy in his seclusion, uttered a dismal yell. Penrod laid hands upon Gipsy, and, after astruggle suggestive of sailors landing a man-eating shark, succeeded ingetting him into the box, and sat upon the lid thereof. 

Sam had leaped to his feet, empty handed and vociferous. 

"Ow ow, OUCH!" he shouted, as he rubbed his suffering arm and shoulder. Then, exasperated by Herman's lamentations, he called angrily: "Oh, what_I_ care for your ole britches? I guess if you'd 'a' had a cat climb upYOU, you'd 'a' dropped 'em a hunderd times over!"

However, upon excruciating entreaty, he consented to explore thesurface of the water with a clothes-prop, but reported that the lucklesstrousers had disappeared in the depths, Herman having forgotten toremove some "fishin' sinkers" from his pockets before making the fatedloan. 

Penrod was soothing a lacerated wrist in his mouth. 

"That's a mighty fine-blooded cat, " he remarked. "I expect it'd gotaway from pretty near anybody, 'specially if they didn't know much aboutcats. Listen at him, in the box, Sam. I bet you never heard a cat growlas loud as that in your life. I shouldn't wonder it was part panther orsumpthing. "

Sam began to feel more interest and less resentment. 

"I tell you what we can do, Penrod, " he said: "Let's take it in thestable and make the box into a cage. We can take off the hinges andslide back the lid a little at a time, and nail some o' those laths overthe front for bars. "

"That's just exackly what I was goin' to say!" Penrod exclaimed. "Ialready thought o' that, Sam. Yessir, we'll make it just like a reg'larcircus-cage, and our good ole cat can look out from between the barsand growl. It'll come in pretty handy if we ever decide to have anothershow. Anyways, we'll have her in there, good and tight, where we canwatch she don't get away. I got a mighty good reason to keep this cat, Sam. You'll see. "

"Well, why don't you--" Sam was interrupted by n vehement appeal fromthe stable. "Oh, we're comin'!" he shouted. "We got to bring our cat inits cage, haven't we?"

"Listen, Herman, " Penrod called absent-mindedly. "Bring us some bricks, or something awful heavy to put on the lid of our cage, so we can carryit without our good ole cat pushin' the lid open. "

Herman explained with vehemence that it would not be right for him toleave the stable upon any errand until just restorations had been made. He spoke inimically of the cat that had been the occasion of his loss, and he earnestly requested that operations with the clothes-prop beresumed in the cistern. Sam and Penrod declined, on the ground thatthis was absolutely proven to be of no avail, and Sam went to look forbricks. 

These two boys were not unfeeling. They sympathized with Herman; butthey regarded the trousers as a loss about which there was no use inmaking so much outcry. To them, it was part of an episode that ought tobe closed. They had done their best, and Sam had not intended to dropthe trousers; that was something no one could have helped, and thereforeno one was to be blamed. What they were now interested in was theconstruction of a circus-cage for their good ole cat. 

"It's goin' to be a cage just exactly like circus-cages, Herman, " Penrodsaid, as he and Sam set the box down on the stable floor. "You can helpus nail the bars and--"

"I ain' studyin' 'bout no bars!" Herman interrupted fiercely. "What goodyou reckon nailin' bars go' do me if Mammy holler fer me? You white boyssutn'y show me bad day! I try treat people nice, 'n'en they go th'ow mybritches down cistern!

"I did not!" Sam protested. "That ole cat just kicked 'em out o' my handwith its hind feet while its front ones were stickin' in my arm. I betYOU'D of--"

"Blame it on cat!" Herman sneered. "'At's nice! Jes' looky here minute:Who'd I len' 'em britches to? D' I len' 'em britches to thishere cat?No, suh; you know I didn'! You know well's any man I len' 'em britchesto you--an' you tuck an' th'owed 'em down cistern!"

"Oh, PLEASE hush up about your old britches!" Penrod said plaintively. "I got to think how we're goin' to fix our cage up right, and you makeso much noise I can't get my mind on it. Anyways, didn't I give you thatlittle saw?"

"Li'l saw!" Herman cried, unmollified. "Yes; an' thishere li'l saw go'do me lot o' good when I got to go home!"

"Why, it's only across the alley to your house, Herman!" said Sam. "Thatain't anything at all to step over there, and you've got your littlesaw. "

"Aw right! You jes' take off you' closes an' step 'cross the alley, "said Herman bitterly. "I give you li'l saw to carry!"

Penrod had begun to work upon the cage. 

"Now listen here, Herman, " he said: "if you'll quit talkin' so much, andkind of get settled down or sumpthing, and help us fix a good cage forour panther, well, when mamma comes home about five o'clock, I'll go andtell her there's a poor boy got his britches burned up in a fire, and how he's waitin' out in the stable for some, and I'll tell her Ipromised him. Well, she'll give me a pair I wore for summer; honest shewill, and you can put 'em on as quick as anything. "

"There, Herman, " said Sam; "now you're all right again!"

"WHO all right?" Herman complained. "I like feel sump'm' roun' my laigsbefo' no five o'clock!"

"Well, you're sure to get 'em by then, " Penrod promised. "It ain'twinter yet, Herman. Come on and help saw these laths for the bars, Herman, and Sam and I'll nail 'em on. It ain't long till five o'clock, Herman, and then you'll just feel fine!"

Herman was not convinced; but he found himself at a disadvantage in theargument. The question at issue seemed a vital one to him--and yet histwo opponents evidently considered it of minor importance. Obviously, they felt that the promise for five o'clock had settled the whole matterconclusively; but to Herman this did not appear to be the fact. However, he helplessly suffered himself to be cajoled back into carpentry, thoughhe was extremely ill at ease and talked a great deal of his misfortune. He shivered and grumbled, and, by his passionate urgings, compelledPenrod to go into the house so many times to see what time it was by thekitchen clock that both his companions almost lost patience with him. 

"There!" said Penrod, returning from performing this errand for thefourth time. "It's twenty minutes after three, and I'm not goin' into look at that ole clock again if I haf to die for it! I never heardanybody make such a fuss in my life, and I'm gettin' tired of it. Mustthink we want to be all night fixin' this cage for our panther! If youask me to go and see what time it is again, Herman, I'm a-goin' to takeback about askin' mamma at five o'clock, and THEN where'll you be?"

"Well, it seem like mighty long aft'noon to me, " Herman sighed. "I jes'like to know what time it is gettin' to be now!"

"Look out!" Penrod warned him. "You heard what I was just tellin' youabout how I'd take back--"

"Nemmine, " Herman said hurriedly. "I wasn' astin' you. I jes' sayin'sump'm' kind o' to myse'f like. "

CHAPTER XIV. CAMERA WORK IN THE JUNGLE

The completed cage, with Gipsy behind the bars, framed a spectaclesufficiently thrilling and panther-like. Gipsy raved, "spat", struckvirulently at taunting fingers, turned on his wailing siren for minutesat a time, and he gave his imitation of a dromedary almost continuously. These phenomena could be intensified in picturesqueness, the boysdiscovered, by rocking the cage a little, tapping it with a hammer, or raking the bars with a stick. Altogether, Gipsy was having a livelyafternoon. 

There came a vigorous rapping on the alley door of the stable, andVerman was admitted. 

"Yay, Verman!" cried Sam Williams. "Come and look at our good olepanther!"

Another curiosity, however, claimed Verman's attention. His eyes openedwide, and he pointed at Herman's legs. 

"Wha' ma' oo? Mammy hay oo hip ap hoe-woob. "

"Mammy tell ME git 'at stove-wood?" Herman interpreted resentfully. "How'm I go' git 'at stove-wood when my britches down bottom 'atcistern, I like you answer ME please? You shet 'at do' behime you!"

Verman complied, and again pointing to his brother's legs, requested tobe enlightened. 

"Sin' I tole you once they down bottom 'at cistern, " Herman shouted, much exasperated. "You wan' know how come so, you ast Sam Williams. Hesay thishere cat tuck an' th'owed 'em down there!"

Sam, who was busy rocking the cage, remained cheerfully absorbed in thatoccupation. 

"Come look at our good ole panther, Verman, " he called. "I'll get thiscircus-cage rockin' right good, an' then--"

"Wait a minute, " said Penrod; "I got sumpthing I got to think about. Quit rockin' it! I guess I got a right to think about sumpthing withouthavin' to go deaf, haven't I?"

Having obtained the quiet so plaintively requested, he knit his brow andgazed intently upon Verman, then upon Herman, then upon Gipsy. Evidentlyhis idea was fermenting. He broke the silence with a shout. 

"_I_ know, Sam! I know what we'll do NOW! I just thought of it, and it'sgoin' to be sumpthing I bet there aren't any other boys in this towncould do, because where would they get any good ole panther like we got, and Herman and Verman? And they'd haf to have a dog, too--and we gotour good ole Dukie, I guess. I bet we have the greatest ole time thisafternoon we ever had in our lives!"

His enthusiasm roused the warm interest of Sam--and Verman, thoughHerman, remaining cold and suspicious, asked for details. 

"An' I like to hear if it's sump'm', " he concluded, "what's go' git memy britches back outen 'at cistern!"

"Well, it ain't exackly that, " said Penrod. "It's different from that. What I'm thinkin' about, well, for us to have it the way it ought to be, so's you and Verman would look like natives--well, Verman ought to takeoff his britches, too. "

"Mo!" said Verman, shaking his head violently. "Mo!"

"Well, wait a minute, can't you?" Sam Williams said. "Give Penrod achance to say what he wants to, first, can't you? Go on, Penrod. "

"Well, you know, Sam, " said Penrod, turning to this sympathetic auditor;"you remember that movin'-pitcher show we went to, 'Fortygraphing WildAnimals in the Jungle'. Well, Herman wouldn't have to do a thing more tolook like those natives we saw that the man called the 'beaters'. Theywere dressed just about like the way he is now, and if Verman--"

"MO!" said Verman. 

"Oh, WAIT a minute, Verman!" Sam entreated. "Go on, Penrod. "

"Well, we can make a mighty good jungle up in the loft, " Penrodcontinued eagerly. "We can take that ole dead tree that's out in thealley and some branches, and I bet we could have the best jungle youever saw. And then we'd fix up a kind of place in there for our panther, only, of course, we'd haf to keep him in the cage so's he wouldn't runaway; but we'd pretend he was loose. And then you remember how theydid with that calf? Well, we'd have Duke for the tied-up calf for thepanther to come out and jump on, so they could fortygraph him. Hermancan be the chief beater, and we'll let Verman be the other beaters, andI'll--"

"Yay!" shouted Sam Williams. "I'll be the fortygraph man!"

"No, " said Penrod; "you be the one with the gun that guards thefortygraph man, because I'm the fortygraph man already. You can fix up amighty good gun with this carpenter shop, Sam. We'll make spears forour good ole beaters, too, and I'm goin' to make me a camera out o' thatlittle starch-box and a bakin'-powder can that's goin' to be a mightygood ole camera. We can do lots more things--"

"Yay!" Sam cried. "Let's get started!" He paused. "Wait a minute, Penrod. Verman says he won't--"

"Well, he's got to!" said Penrod. 

"I momp!" Verman insisted, almost distinctly. 

They began to argue with him; but, for a time, Verman remained firm. They upheld the value of dramatic consistency, declaring that a beaterdressed as completely as he was "wouldn't look like anything at all". Hewould "spoil the whole biznuss", they said, and they praised Hermanfor the faithful accuracy of his costume. They also insisted that thegarment in question was much too large for Verman, anyway, having beenso recently worn by Herman and turned over to Verman with insufficientalteration, and they expressed surprise that "anybody with any sense"should make such a point of clinging to a misfit. 

Herman sided against his brother in this controversy, perhaps because acertain loneliness, of which he was censcious, might be assuaged by thecompany of another trouserless person--or it may be that his motive wasmore sombre. Possibly he remembered that Verman's trousers were his ownformer property and might fit him in case the promise for five o'clockturned out badly. At all events, Verman finally yielded under greatpressure, and consented to appear in the proper costume of the multitudeof beaters it now became his duty to personify. 

Shouting, the boys dispersed to begin the preparation of their junglescene. Sam and Penrod went for branches and the dead tree, while Hermanand Verman carried the panther in his cage to the loft, where thefirst thing that Verman did was to hang his trousers on a nail in aconspicuous and accessible spot near the doorway. And with the arrivalof Penrod and Sam, panting and dragging no inconsiderable thicket afterthem, the coloured brethren began to take a livelier interest in things. Indeed, when Penrod, a little later, placed in their hands two spears, pointed with tin, their good spirits were entirely restored, and theyeven began to take a pride in being properly uncostumed beaters. 

Sam's gun and Penrod's camera were entirely satisfactory, especially thelatter. The camera was so attractive, in fact, that the hunter and thechief beater and all the other beaters immediately resigned and insistedupon being photographers. Each had to be given a "turn" before thejungle project could be resumed. 

"Now, for goodnesses' sakes, " said Penrod, taking the camera fromVerman, "I hope you're done, so's we can get started doin something likewe ought to! We got to have Duke for a tied-up calf. We'll have to bringhim and tie him out here in front the jungle, and then the panther'llcome out and jump on him. Wait, and I'll go bring him. "

Departing upon this errand, Penrod found Duke enjoying the decliningrays of the sun in the front yard. 

"Hyuh, Duke!" called his master, in an indulgent tone. "Come on, goodole Dukie! Come along!"

Duke rose conscientiously and followed him. 

"I got him, men!" Penrod called from the stairway. "I got our goodole calf all ready to be tied up. Here he is!" And he appeared in thedoorway with the unsuspecting little dog beside him. 

Gipsy, who had been silent for some moments, instantly raised hisbanshee battlecry, and Duke yelped in horror. Penrod made a wild effortto hold him; but Duke was not to be detained. Unnatural strength andactivity came to him in his delirium, and, for the second or two thatthe struggle lasted, his movements were too rapid for the eyes of thespectators to follow--merely a whirl and blur in the air could be seen. Then followed a sound of violent scrambling and Penrod sprawled alone atthe top of the stairs. 

"Well, why'n't you come and help me?" he demanded indignantly. "Icouldn't get him back now if I was to try a million years!"

"What we goin' to do about it?" Sam asked. 

Penrod rose and dusted his knees. "We got to get along without anytied-up calf--that's certain! But I got to take those fortygraphs SOMEway or other!"

"Me an' Verman aw ready begin 'at beatin', " Herman suggested. "You toleus we the beaters. "

"Well, wait a minute, " said Penrod, whose feeling for realism in dramawas always alert. "I want to get a mighty good pitcher o' that olepanther this time. " As he spoke, he threw open the wide door intendedfor the delivery of hay into the loft from the alley below. "Now, bringthe cage over here by this door so's I can get a better light; it'sgettin' kind of dark over where the jungle is. We'll pretend there isn'tany cage there, and soon as I get him fortygraphed, I'll holler, 'Shoot, men!' Then you must shoot, Sam--and Herman, you and Verman must hammeron the cage with your spears, and holler: 'Hoo! Hoo!' and pretend you'respearin' him. "

"Well, we aw ready!" said Herman. "Hoo! Hoo!"

"Wait a minute, " Penrod interposed, frowningly surveying the cage. "Igot to squat too much to get my camera fixed right. " He assumed varioussolemn poses, to be interpreted as those of a photographer studying hissubject. "No, " he said finally; "it won't take good that way. "

"My gootness!" Herman exclaimed. "When we goin' begin 'at beatin'?"

"Here!" Apparently Penrod had solved a weighty problem. "Bring thatbusted ole kitchen chair, and set the panther up on it. There! THAT'Sthe ticket! This way, it'll make a mighty good pitcher!" He turned toSam importantly. "Well, Jim, is the chief and all his beaters here?"

"Yes, Bill; all here, " Sam responded, with an air of loyalty. 

"Well, then, I guess we're ready, " said Penrod, in his deepest voice. "Beat, men. "

Herman and Verman were anxious to beat. They set up the loudest uproarof which they were capable. "Hoo! Hoo! Hoo!" they bellowed, flailingthe branches with their spears and stamping heavily upon the floor. Sam, carried away by the elan of the performance, was unable to resistjoining them. "Hoo! Hoo! Hoo!" he shouted. "Hoo! Hoo! Hoo!" And as thedust rose from the floor to their stamping, the three of them producedsuch a din and hoo-hooing as could be made by nothing on earth exceptboys. 

"Back, men!" Penrod called, raising his voice to the utmost. "Back foryour lives. The PA-A-ANTHER! Now I'm takin' his pitcher. Click, click!Shoot, men; shoot!"

"Bing! Bing!" shouted Sam, levelling his gun at the cage, while Hermanand Verman hammered upon it, and Gipsy cursed boys, the world and theday he was born. "Bing! Bing! Bing!"

"You missed him!" screamed Penrod. "Give me that gun!" And snatching itfrom Sam's unwilling hand, he levelled it at the cage. 

"BING!" he roared. 

Simultaneously there was the sound of another report; but this was anactual one and may best be symbolized by the statement that it was awhack. The recipient was Herman, and, outrageously surprised and pained, he turned to find himself face to face with a heavily built colouredwoman who had recently ascended the stairs and approached thepreoccupied hunters from the rear. In her hand was a lath, and, even asHerman turned, it was again wielded, this time upon Verman. 

"MAMMY!"

"Yes; you bettuh holler, 'Mammy!"' she panted. "My goo'ness, if yo'pappy don' lam you to-night! Ain' you got no mo' sense 'an to let whiteboys 'suede you play you Affikin heathums? Whah you britches?"

"Yonnuh Verman's, " quavered Herman. 

"Whah y'own?"

Choking, Herman answered bravely:

"'At ole cat tuck an' th'owed 'em down cistern!"

Exasperated almost beyond endurance, she lifted the lath again. Butunfortunately, in order to obtain a better field of action, she movedbackward a little, coming in contact with the bars of the cage, acircumstance that she overlooked. More unfortunately still, the longingof the captive to express his feelings was such that he would havewelcomed the opportunity to attack an elephant. He had been strikingand scratching at inanimate things and at boys out of reach for the pasthour; but here at last was his opportunity. He made the most of it. 

"I learn you tell me cat th'owed--OOOOH!"

The coloured woman leaped into the air like an athlete, and, turningwith a swiftness astounding in one of her weight, beheld the semaphoricarm of Gipsy again extended between the bars and hopefully reaching forher. Beside herself, she lifted her right foot briskly from the ground, and allowed the sole of her shoe to come in contact with Gipsy's cage. 

The cage moved from the tottering chair beneath it. It passed throughthe yawning hay-door and fell resoundingly to the alley below, where--asPenrod and Sam, with cries of dismay, rushed to the door and lookeddown--it burst asunder and disgorged a large, bruised and chastenedcat. Gipsy paused and bent one strange look upon the broken box. Then heshook his head and departed up the alley, the two boys watching him tillhe was out of sight. 

Before they turned, a harrowing procession issued from thecarriage-house doors beneath them. Herman came first, hurriedlycompleting a temporary security in Verman's trousers. Verman followed, after a little reluctance that departed coincidentally with someinspiriting words from the rear. He crossed the alley hastily, and hisMammy stalked behind, using constant eloquence and a frequent lath. Theywent into the small house across the way and closed the door. 

Then Sam turned to Penrod. 

"Penrod, " he said thoughtfully, "was it on account of fortygraphing inthe jungle you wanted to keep that cat?"

"No; that was a mighty fine-blooded cat. We'd of made some money. "

Sam jeered. 

"You mean when we'd sell tickets to look at it in its cage?"

Penrod shook his head, and if Gipsy could have overheard and understoodhis reply, that atrabilious spirit, almost broken by the events of theday, might have considered this last blow the most overwhelming of all. 

"No, " said Penrod; "when she had kittens. "

CHAPTER XV. A MODEL LETTER TO A FRIEND

On Monday morning Penrod's faith in the coming of another Saturdaywas flaccid and lustreless. Those Japanese lovers who were promised areunion after ten thousand years in separate hells were brighter withhope than he was. On Monday Penrod was virtually an agnostic. 

Nowhere upon his shining morning face could have been read any eageranticipation of useful knowledge. Of course he had been told that schoolwas for his own good; in fact, he had been told and told and told, butthe words conveying this information, meaningless at first, assumed, with each repetition, more and more the character of dull andunsolicited insult. 

He was wholly unable to imagine circumstances, present or future, underwhich any of the instruction and training he was now receiving couldbe of the slightest possible use or benefit to himself; and when he wasinformed that such circumstances would frequently arise in his laterlife, he but felt the slur upon his coming manhood and its power toprevent any such unpleasantness. 

If it were possible to place a romantic young Broadway actor and athleteunder hushing supervision for six hours a day, compelling him tobend his unremittent attention upon the city directory of Sheboygan, Wisconsin, he could scarce be expected to respond genially to frequentstatements that the compulsion was all for his own good. On thecontrary, it might be reasonable to conceive his response as taking theform of action, which is precisely the form that Penrod's smoulderingimpulse yearned to take. 

To Penrod school was merely a state of confinement, envenomed bymathematics. For interminable periods he was forced to listen toinformation concerning matters about which he had no curiosity whatever;and he had to read over and over the dullest passages in books thatbored him into stupors, while always there overhung the preposteroustask of improvising plausible evasions to conceal the fact that hedid not know what he had no wish to know. Likewise, he must always beprepared to avoid incriminating replies to questions that he felt nobodyhad a real and natural right to ask him. And when his gorge rose and hisinwards revolted, the hours became a series of ignoble misadventures andpetty disgraces strikingly lacking in privacy. 

It was usually upon Wednesday that his sufferings culminated; thenervous strength accumulated during the holiday hours at the end of theweek would carry him through Monday and Tuesday; but by Wednesday itseemed ultimately proven that the next Saturday actually never wascoming, "this time", and the strained spirit gave way. Wednesday was theday averaging highest in Penrod's list of absences; but the time camewhen he felt that the advantages attendant upon his Wednesday "sickheadache" did not compensate for its inconveniences. 

For one thing, this illness had become so symmetrically recurrent thateven the cook felt that he was pushing it too far, and the liveliness ofher expression, when he was able to leave his couch and take the air inthe backyard at about ten o'clock, became more disagreeable to himwith each convalescence. There visibly increased, too, about the wholehousehold, an atmosphere of uncongeniality and suspicion so pronouncedthat every successive illness was necessarily more severe, and at lastthe patient felt obliged to remain bedded until almost eleven, fromtime to time giving forth pathetic little sounds eloquent of anguishtriumphing over Stoic endurance, yet lacking a certain conviction ofutterance. 

Finally, his father enacted, and his mother applied, a new anddistinctly special bit of legislation, explaining it with simple candourto the prospective beneficiary. 

"Whenever you really ARE sick, " they said, "you can go out and play assoon as you're well--that is, if it happens on Saturday. But when you'resick on a school-day, you'll stay in bed till the next morning. This isgoing to do you good, Penrod. "

Physically, their opinion appeared to be affirmed, for Wednesday afterWednesday passed without any recurrence of the attack; but the spiritualstrain may have been damaging. And it should be added that if Penrod'shigher nature did suffer from the strain, he was not unique. For, confirming the effect of Wednesday upon boys in general, it is probablethat, if full statistics concerning cats were available, they wouldshow that cats dread Wednesdays, and that their fear is shared byother animals, and would be shared, to an extent by windows, if windowspossessed nervous systems. Nor must this probable apprehension onthe part of cats and the like be thought mere superstition. Cats havesuperstitions, it is true; but certain actions inspired by the sight ofa boy with a missile in his hand are better evidence of the workings oflogic upon a practical nature than of faith in the supernatural. 

Moreover, the attention of family physicians and specialists should bedrawn to these significant though obscure phenomena; for the sufferingof cats is a barometer of the nerve-pressure of boys, and it maybe accepted as sufficiently established that Wednesday--afterschool-hours--is the worst time for cats. 

After the promulgation of that parental edict, "You'll stay in bed tillthe next morning", four weeks went by unflawed by a single absence fromthe field of duty; but, when the fifth Wednesday came, Penrod held soredebate within himself before he finally rose. In fact, after rising, and while actually engaged with his toilet, he tentatively emittedthe series of little moans that was his wonted preliminary to a quietholiday at home; and the sound was heard (as intended) by Mr. Schofield, who was passing Penrod's door on his way to breakfast. 

"ALL right!" the father said, making use of peculiar and unnecessaryemphasis. "Stay in bed till to-morrow morning. Castor-oil, this time, too. "

Penrod had not hoped much for his experiment; nevertheless hisrebellious blood was sensibly inflamed by the failure, and heaccompanied his dressing with a low murmuring--apparently a bitterdialogue between himself and some unknown but powerful patron. 

Thus he muttered:

"Well, they better NOT!" "Well, what can I DO about it?" "Well, I'D show'em!" "Well, I WILL show 'em!" "Well, you OUGHT to show 'em; that's theway _I_ do! I just shake 'em around, and say, 'Here! I guess you don'tknow who you're talkin' to like that! You better look out!'" "Well, that's the way _I_'m goin' to do!" "Well, go on and DO it, then!" "Well, I AM goin'--"

The door of the next room was slightly ajar; now it swung wide, andMargaret appeared. 

"Penrod, what on earth are you talking about?"

"Nothin'. None o' your--"

"Well, hurry to breakfast, then; it's getting late. "

Lightly she went, humming a tune, leaving the door of her room open, andthe eyes of Penrod, as he donned his jacket, chanced to fall upon herdesk, where she had thoughtlessly left a letter--a private missive justbegun, and intended solely for the eyes of Mr. Robert Williams, a seniorat a far university. 

In such a fashion is coincidence the architect of misfortune. Penrod'sclass in English composition had been instructed, the previous day, toconcoct at home and bring to class on Wednesday morning, "a model letterto a friend on some subject of general interest. " Penalty for omissionto perform this simple task was definite; whosoever brought no letterwould inevitably be "kept in" after school, that afternoon, untilthe letter was written, and it was precisely a premonition of thismisfortune that had prompted Penrod to attempt his experimental moaningupon his father, for, alas! he had equipped himself with no modelletter, nor any letter whatever. 

In stress of this kind, a boy's creed is that anything is worth a try;but his eye for details is poor. He sees the future too sweepingly andtoo much as he would have it seldom providing against inconsistencies ofevidence that may damage him. For instance, there is a well-knowncase of two brothers who exhibited to their parents, with patheticconfidence, several imported dried herring on a string, as a proof thatthe afternoon had been spent, not at a forbidden circus, but with hookand line upon the banks of a neighbouring brook. 

So with Penrod. He had vital need of a letter, and there before hiseyes, upon Margaret's desk, was apparently the precise thing he needed!

From below rose the voice of his mother urging him to thebreakfast-table, warning him that he stood in danger of tardiness atschool; he was pressed for time, and acted upon an inspiration thatfailed to prompt him even to read the letter. 

Hurriedly he wrote "Dear freind" at the top of the page Margaret hadpartially filled. Then he signed himself "Yours respectfuly, PenrodSchofield" at the bottom, and enclosed the missive within a batteredvolume entitled, "Principles of English Composition. " With that andother books compacted by a strap, he descended to a breakfast somewhatoppressive but undarkened by any misgivings concerning a "letter to afriend on some subject of general interest. " He felt that a difficultyhad been encountered and satisfactorily disposed of; the matter couldnow be dismissed from his mind. He had plenty of other difficulties totake its place. 

No; he had no misgivings, nor was he assailed by anything unpleasantin that line, even when the hour struck for the class in Englishcomposition. If he had been two or three years older, experience mighthave warned him to take at least the precaution of copying his offering, so that it would appear in his own handwriting when he "handed it in";but Penrod had not even glanced at it. 

"I think, " Miss Spence said, "I will ask several of you to read yourletters aloud before you hand them in. Clara Raypole, you may readyours. "

Penrod was bored but otherwise comfortable; he had no apprehensionthat he might be included in the "several, " especially as Miss Spence'sbeginning with Clara Raypole, a star performer, indicated that herselection of readers would be made from the conscientious and proficientdivision at the head of the class. He listened stoically to thebeginning of the first letter, though he was conscious of a dullresentment, inspired mainly by the perfect complacency of Miss Raypole'svoice. 

"'Dear Cousin Sadie, '" she began smoothly, "'I thought I would writeyou to-day on some subject of general interest, and so I thought Iwould tell you about the subject of our court-house. It is a very finebuilding situated in the centre of the city, and a visit to the buildingafter school hours well repays for the visit. Upon entrance we find uponour left the office of the county clerk and upon our right a number ofwindows affording a view of the street. And so we proceed, finding onboth sides much of general interest. The building was begun in 1886A. D. And it was through in 1887 A. D. It is four stories high and madeof stone, pressed brick, wood, and tiles, with a tower, or cupola, onehundred and twenty-seven feet seven inches from the ground. Among othersubjects of general interest told by the janitor, we learn that thearchitect of the building was a man named Flanner, and the foundationsextend fifteen feet five inches under the ground. '"

Penrod was unable to fix his attention upon these statistics; he beganmoodily to twist a button of his jacket and to concentrate a new-bornand obscure but lasting hatred upon the court-house. Miss Raypole's glibvoice continued to press upon his ears; but, by keeping his eyes fixedupon the twisting button he had accomplished a kind of self-hypnosis, ormental anaesthesia, and was but dimly aware of what went on about him. 

The court-house was finally exhausted by its visitor, who resumed herseat and submitted with beamish grace to praise. Then Miss Spence said, in a favourable manner:

"Georgie Bassett, you may read your letter next. "

The neat Georgie rose, nothing loath, and began: "'Dear Teacher--'"

There was a slight titter, which Miss Spence suppressed. Georgie was notat all discomfited. 

"'My mother says, '" he continued, reading his manuscript, "'we shouldtreat our teacher as a friend, and so _I_ will write YOU a letter. '"

This penetrated Penrod's trance, and he lifted his eyes to fix them uponthe back of Georgie Bassett's head in a long and inscrutable stare. Itwas inscrutable, and yet if Georgie had been sensitive to thought waves, it is probable that he would have uttered a loud shriek; but he remainedplacidly unaware, continuing:

"'I thought I would write you about a subject of general interest, andso I will write you about the flowers. There are many kinds of flowers, spring flowers, and summer flowers, and autumn flowers, but no winterflowers. Wild flowers grow in the woods, and it is nice to hunt them inspringtime, and we must remember to give some to the poor and hospitals, also. Flowers can be made to grow in flower-beds and placed in vases inhouses. There are many names for flowers, but _I_ call them "nature'sornaments. --'"

Penrod's gaze had relaxed, drooped to his button again, and his lethargywas renewed. The outer world grew vaguer; voices seemed to drone at adistance; sluggish time passed heavily--but some of it did pass. 

"Penrod!"

Miss Spence's searching eye had taken note of the bent head and thetwisting button. She found it necessary to speak again. 

"Penrod Schofield!"

He came languidly to life. 

"Ma'am?"

"You may read your letter. "

"Yes'm. "

And he began to paw clumsily among his books, whereupon Miss Spence'sglance fired with suspicion. 

"Have you prepared one?" she demanded. 

"Yes'm, " said Penrod dreamily. 

"But you're going to find you forgot to bring it, aren't you?"

"I got it, " said Penrod, discovering the paper in his "Principles ofEnglish Composition. "

"Well, we'll listen to what you've found time to prepare, " she said, adding coldly, "for once!"

The frankest pessimism concerning Penrod permeated the whole room; eventhe eyes of those whose letters had not met with favour turned upon himwith obvious assurance that here was every prospect of a performancethat would, by comparison, lend a measure of credit to the worstpreceding it. But Penrod was unaffected by the general gaze; he rose, still blinking from his lethargy, and in no true sense wholly alive. 

He had one idea: to read as rapidly as possible, so as to be done withthe task, and he began in a high-pitched monotone, reading with a blindmind and no sense of the significance of the words. 

"'Dear friend, "' he declaimed. "'You call me beautiful, but I am notreally beautiful, and there are times when I doubt if I am even pretty, though perhaps my hair is beautiful, and if it is true that my eyes arelike blue stars in heaven--'"

Simultaneously he lost his breath and there burst upon him a perceptionof the results to which he was being committed by this calamitousreading. And also simultaneous the outbreak of the class intocachinnations of delight, severely repressed by the perplexed butindignant Miss Spence. 

"Go on!" she commanded grimly, when she had restored order. 

"Ma'am?" he gulped, looking wretchedly upon the rosy faces all abouthim. 

"Go on with the description of yourself, " she said. "We'd like to hearsome more about your eyes being like blue stars in heaven. "

Here many of Penrod's little comrades were forced to clasp their facestightly in both hands; and his dismayed gaze, in refuge, sought thetreacherous paper in his hand. 

What it beheld there was horrible. 

"Proceed!" Miss Spence said. 

"'I--often think, '" he faltered, "'and a-a tree-more th-thrills my bein'when I REcall your last words to me--that last--that last--that--'"

"GO ON!"

"'That last evening in the moonlight when you--you--you--'"

"Penrod, " Miss Spence said dangerously, "you go on, and stop thatstammering. "

"'You--you said you would wait for--for years to--to--to--to--"

"PENROD!"

"'To win me!'" the miserable Penrod managed to gasp. "'I should nothave pre--premitted--permitted you to speak so until we have our--ourparents' con-consent; but oh, how sweet it--'" He exhaled a sighof agony, and then concluded briskly, "'Yours respectfully, PenrodSchofield. '"

But Miss Spence had at last divined something, for she knew theSchofield family. 

"Bring me that letter!" she said. 

And the scarlet boy passed forward between rows of mystified butimmoderately uplifted children. 

Miss Spence herself grew rather pink as she examined the missive, andthe intensity with which she afterward extended her examination tocover the complete field of Penrod Schofield caused him to find a remotecentre of interest whereon to rest his embarrassed gaze. She let himstand before her throughout a silence, equalled, perhaps, by the tenserpauses during trials for murder, and then, containing herself, shesweepingly gestured him to the pillory--a chair upon the platform, facing the school. 

Here he suffered for the unusual term of an hour, with many jocular andcunning eyes constantly upon him; and, when he was released at noon, horrid shouts and shrieks pursued him every step of his homeward way. For his laughter-loving little schoolmates spared him not--neither boynor girl. 

"Yay, Penrod!" they shouted. "How's your beautiful hair?" And, "Hi, Penrod! When you goin' to get your parents' consent?" And, "Say, bluestars in heaven, how's your beautiful eyes?" And, "Say, Penrod, how'syour tree-mores?" "Does your tree-mores thrill your bein', Penrod?" Andmany other facetious inquiries, hard to bear in public. 

And when he reached the temporary shelter of his home, he experiencedno relief upon finding that Margaret was out for lunch. He was as deeplyembittered toward her as toward any other, and, considering her largelyresponsible for his misfortune, he would have welcomed an opportunity toshow her what he thought of her. 

CHAPTER XVI. WEDNESDAY MADNESS

How long he was "kept in" after school that afternoon is not a matter ofrecord; but it was long. Before he finally appeared upon the street, hehad composed an ample letter on a subject of general interest, namely"School Life", under the supervision of Miss Spencer. He had alsoreceived some scorching admonitions in respect to honourable behaviourregarding other people's letters; and Margaret's had been returned tohim with severe instructions to bear it straight to the original owneraccompanied by full confession and apology. As a measure of insurancethat these things be done, Miss Spence stated definitely her intentionto hold a conversation by telephone with Margaret that evening. Altogether, the day had been unusually awful, even for Wednesday, andPenrod left the school-house with the heart of an anarchist throbbingin his hot bosom. It were more accurate, indeed, to liken him to theanarchist's characteristic weapon; for as Penrod came out to the streethe was, in all inward respects, a bomb, loaded and ticking. 

He walked moodily, with a visible aspect of soreness. A murmuroussound was thick about his head, wherefore it is to be surmised that hecommuned with his familiar, and one vehement, oft-repeated phrase beatlike a tocsin of revolt upon the air: "Daw-gone 'em!"

He meant everybody--the universe. 

Particularly included, evidently, was a sparrow, offensively cheerfulupon a lamp-post. This self-centred little bird allowed a pebble to passoverhead and remained unconcerned, but, a moment later, feeling a jarbeneath his feet, and hearing the tinkle of falling glass, he decidedto leave. Similarly, and at the same instant, Penrod made the samedecision, and the sparrow in flight took note of a boy likewise inflight. 

The boy disappeared into the nearest alley and emerged therefrom, breathless, in the peaceful vicinity of his own home. He entered thehouse, clumped upstairs and down, discovered Margaret reading a book inthe library, and flung the accursed letter toward her with loathing. 

"You can take the old thing, " he said bitterly. "_I_ don't want it!"

And before she was able to reply, he was out of the room. The nextmoment he was out of the house. 

"Daw-GONE 'em!" he said. 

And then, across the street, his soured eye fell upon his true comradeand best friend leaning against a picket fence and holding desultoryconverse with Mabel Rorebeck, an attractive member of the FridayAfternoon Dancing Class, that hated organization of which Sam and Penrodwere both members. Mabel was a shy little girl; but Penrod had a vagueunderstanding that Sam considered her two brown pig-tails beautiful. 

Howbeit, Sam had never told his love; he was, in fact, sensitive aboutit. This meeting with the lady was by chance, and, although it affordedexquisite moments, his heart was beating in an unaccustomed manner, andhe was suffering from embarrassment, being at a loss, also, for subjectsof conversation. It is, indeed, no easy matter to chat easily with aperson, however lovely and beloved, who keeps her face turned the otherway, maintains one foot in rapid and continuous motion through an arcseemingly perilous to her equilibrium, and confines her responses, bothaffirmative and negative, to "Uh-huh. "

Altogether, Sam was sufficiently nervous without any help from Penrod, and it was with pure horror that he heard his own name and Mabel'sshrieked upon the ambient air with viperish insinuation. 

"Sam-my and May-bul! OH, oh!"

Sam started violently. Mabel ceased to swing her foot, and both, encarnadined, looked up and down and everywhere for the invisible butwell-known owner of that voice. It came again, in taunting mockery:

 "Sammy's mad, and I am glad, And I know what will please him: A bottle o' wine to make him shine, And Mabel Rorebeck to squeeze him!"

"Fresh ole thing!" said Miss Rorebeck, becoming articulate. Andunreasonably including Sam in her indignation, she tossed her head athim with an unmistakable effect of scorn. She began to walk away. 

"Well, Mabel, " Sam said plaintively, following, "it ain't MY fault. _I_didn't do anything. It's Penrod. "

"I don't care, " she began pettishly, when the viperish voice was againlifted:

"Oh, oh, oh! Who's your beau? Guess _I_ know: Mabel and Sammy, oh, oh, oh! _I_ caught you!"

Then Mabel did one of those things that eternally perplex the slowersex. She deliberately made a face, not at the tree behind which Penrodwas lurking, but at the innocent and heart-wrung Sam. "You needn't comelimpin' after me, Sam Williams!" she said, though Sam was approachingupon two perfectly sound legs. And then she ran away at the top of herspeed. 

"Run, rigger, run!" Penrod began inexcusably. But Sam cut thepersecutions short at this point. Stung to fury, he charged upon thesheltering tree in the Schofields' yard. 

Ordinarily, at such a juncture, Penrod would have fled, keeping his owntemper and increasing the heat of his pursuer's by back-flung jeers. Butthis was Wednesday, and he was in no mood to run from Sam. He steppedaway from the tree, awaiting the onset. 

"Well, what you goin' to do so much?" he said. 

Sam did not pause to proffer the desired information. "'Tcha got'nySENSE!" was the total extent of his vocal preliminaries before flinginghimself headlong upon the taunter; and the two boys went to the groundtogether. Embracing, they rolled, they pommelled, they hammered, theykicked. Alas, this was a fight. 

They rose, flailing a while, then renewed their embrace, and, grunting, bestowed themselves anew upon our ever too receptive Mother Earth. Oncemore upon their feet, they beset each other sorely, dealing manygreat blows, ofttimes upon the air, but with sufficient frequency uponresentful flesh. Tears were jolted to the rims of eyes, but technicallythey did not weep. "Got'ny sense, " was repeated chokingly many, manytimes; also, "Dern ole fool!" and, "I'll SHOW you!"

The peacemaker who appeared upon the animated scene was Penrod'sgreat-uncle Slocum. This elderly relative had come to call upon Mrs. Schofield, and he was well upon his way to the front door when themutterings of war among some shrubberies near the fence caused him todeflect his course in benevolent agitation. 

"Boys! Boys! Shame, boys!" he said; but, as the originality of theseexpressions did not prove striking enough to attract any greatattention from the combatants, he felt obliged to assume a share inthe proceedings. It was a share entailing greater activity than he hadanticipated, and, before he managed to separate the former friends, he intercepted bodily an amount of violence to which he was whollyunaccustomed. Additionally, his attire was disarranged; his hat was nolonger upon his head, and his temper was in a bad way. In fact, as hishat flew off, he made use of words that under less extreme circumstanceswould have caused both boys to feel a much profounder interest than theydid in great-uncle Slocum. 

"I'll GET you!" Sam babbled. "Don't you ever dare to speak to me again, Penrod Schofield, long as you live, or I'll whip you worse'n I have thistime!"

Penrod squawked. For the moment he was incapable of coherent speech, and then, failing in a convulsive attempt to reach his enemy, his furyculminated upon an innocent object that had never done him the slightestharm. Great-uncle Slocum's hat lay upon the ground close by, and Penrodwas in the state of irritation that seeks an outlet too blindly--aspeople say, he "HAD to do SOMETHING!" He kicked great-uncle Slocum's hatwith such sweep and precision that it rose swiftly, and, breasting theautumn breeze, passed over the fence and out into the street. 

Great-uncle Slocum uttered a scream of anguish, and, immediately ceasingto peacemake, ran forth to a more important rescue; but the conflict wasnot renewed. Sanity had returned to Sam Williams; he was awed by thiscolossal deed of Penrod's and filled with horror at the thaught that hemight be held as accessory to it. Fleetly he fled, pursued as far asthe gate by the whole body of Penrod, and thereafter by Penrod's voicealone. 

"You BETTER run! You wait till I catch you! You'll see what you get nexttime! Don't you ever speak to me again as long as you--"

Here he paused abruptly, for great-uncle Slocum had recovered his hatand was returning toward the gate. After one glance at great-uncleSlocum, Penrod did not linger to attempt any explanation--there aretimes when even a boy can see that apologies would seem out of place. Penrod ran round the house to the backyard. 

Here he was enthusiastically greeted by Duke. "You get away fromme!" Penrod said hoarsely, and with terrible gestures he repulsed thefaithful animal, who retired philosophically to the stable, while hismaster let himself out of the back gate. Penrod had decided to absenthimself from home for the time being. 

The sky was gray, and there were hints of coming dusk in the air; itwas an hour suited to his turbulent soul, and he walked with a sombreswagger. "Ran like a c'ardy-calf!" he sniffed, half aloud, alluding tothe haste of Sam Williams in departure. "All he is, ole c'ardy-calf!"

Then, as he proceeded up the alley, a hated cry smote his ears: "Hi, Penrod! How's your tree-mores?" And two jovial schoolboy faces appearedabove a high board fence. "How's your beautiful hair, Penrod?" theyvociferated. "When you goin' to git your parents' consent? What makesyou think you're only pretty, ole blue stars?"

Penrod looked about feverishly for a missile, and could find none tohis hand, but the surface of the alley sufficed; he made mud balls andfiercely bombarded the vociferous fence. Naturally, hostile mud ballspresently issued from behind this barricade; and thus a campaigndeveloped that offered a picture not unlike a cartoonist's sketch ofa political campaign, wherein this same material is used for thedecoration of opponents. But Penrod had been unwise; he was outnumbered, and the hostile forces held the advantageous side of the fence. 

Mud balls can be hard as well as soggy; some of those that reachedPenrod were of no inconsiderable weight and substance, and they made himgrunt despite himself. Finally, one, at close range, struck him inthe pit of the stomach, whereupon he clasped himself about the middlesilently, and executed some steps in seeming imitation of a quaintIndian dance. 

His plight being observed through a knothole, his enemies climbed uponthe fence and regarded him seriously. 

"Aw, YOU'RE all right, ain't you, old tree-mores?" inquired one. 

"I'll SHOW you!" bellowed Penrod, recovering his breath; and he hurleda fat ball--thoughtfully retained in hand throughout his agony--to sucheffect that his interrogator disappeared backward from the fence withouthaving taken any initiative of his own in the matter. His comradeimpulsively joined him upon the ground, and the battle continued. 

Through the gathering dusk it went on. It waged but the hotter asdarkness made aim more difficult--and still Penrod would not be drivenfrom the field. Panting, grunting, hoarse from returning insults, fighting on and on, an indistinguishable figure in the gloom, he heldthe back alley against all comers. 

For such a combat darkness has one great advantage; but it has anequally important disadvantage--the combatant cannot see to aim; onthe other hand, he cannot see to dodge. And all the while Penrodwas receiving two for one. He became heavy with mud. Plastered, impressionistic and sculpturesque, there was about him a quality of thetragic, of the magnificent. He resembled a sombre masterpiece by Rodin. No one could have been quite sure what he was meant for. 

Dinner bells tinkled in houses. Then they were rung from kitchen doors. Calling voices came urging from the distance, calling boys' names intothe darkness. They called and a note of irritation seemed to mar theirbeauty. 

Then bells were rung again--and the voices renewed appeals more urgent, much more irritated. They called and called and called. 

THUD! went the mud balls. 

Thud! Thud! Blunk!

"OOF!" said Penrod. 

. .. Sam Williams, having dined with his family at their usual hour, seven, slipped unostentatiously out of the kitchen door, as soon as hecould, after the conclusion of the meal, and quietly betook himself tothe Schofields' corner. 

Here he stationed himself where he could see all avenues of approachto the house, and waited. Twenty minutes went by, and then Sam becamesuddenly alert and attentive, for the arc-light revealed a small, grotesque figure slowly approaching along the sidewalk. It was brown incolour, shaggy and indefinite in form; it limped excessively, and pausedto rub itself, and to meditate. 

Peculiar as the thing was, Sam had no doubt as to its identity. Headvanced. 

"'Lo, Penrod, " he said cautiously, and with a shade of formality. 

Penrod leaned against the fence, and, lifting one leg, tested theknee-joint by swinging his foot back and forth, a process evidentlyprovocative of a little pain. Then he rubbed the left side of hisencrusted face, and, opening his mouth to its whole capacity asan aperture, moved his lower jaw slightly from side to side, thustriumphantly settling a question in his own mind as to whether or no asuspected dislocation had taken place. 

Having satisfied himself on these points, he examined both shinsdelicately by the sense of touch, and carefully tested the capacities ofhis neck-muscles to move his head in a wonted manner. Then he respondedsomewhat gruffly: "'Lo!" "Where you been?" Sam said eagerly, hisformality vanishing. 

"Havin' a mud-fight. "

"I guess you did!" Sam exclaimed, in a low voice. "What you goin' totell your--"

"Oh, nothin'. "

"Your sister telephoned to our house to see if I knew where you were, "said Sam. "She told me if I saw you before you got home to tell yousumpthing; but not to say anything about it. She said Miss Spence hadtelephoned to her, but she said for me to tell you it was all rightabout that letter, and she wasn't goin' to tell your mother and fatheron you, so you needn't say anything about it to 'em. "

"All right, " said Penrod indifferently. 

"She says you're goin' to be in enough trouble without that, " Sam wenton. "You're goin' to catch fits about your Uncle Slocum's hat, Penrod. "

"Well, I guess I know it. "

"And about not comin' home to dinner, too. Your mother telephoned twiceto Mamma while we were eatin' to see if you'd come in our house. Andwhen they SEE you--MY, but you're goin' to get the DICKENS, Penrod!"

Penrod seemed unimpressed, though he was well aware that Sam's prophecywas no unreasonable one. 

"Well, I guess I know it, " he repeated casually. And he moved slowlytoward his own gate. 

His friend looked after him curiously--then, as the limping figurefumbled clumsily with bruised fingers at the latch of the gate, theresounded a little solicitude in Sam's voice. 

"Say, Penrod, how--how do you feel?"

"What?"

"Do you feel pretty bad?"

"No, " said Penrod, and, in spite of what awaited him beyond the lightedportals just ahead, he spoke the truth. His nerves were rested, and hissoul was at peace. His Wednesday madness was over. 

"No, " said Penrod; "I feel bully!"

CHAPTER XVII. PENROD'S BUSY DAY

Although the pressure had thus been relieved and Penrod found peace withhimself, nevertheless there were times during the rest of that weekwhen he felt a strong distaste for Margaret. His schoolmates frequentlyreminded him of such phrases in her letter as they seemed least able toforget, and for hours after each of these experiences he was unable tocomport himself with human courtesy when constrained (as at dinner) toremain for any length of time in the same room with her. But by Sundaythese moods had seemed to pass; he attended church in her closecompany, and had no thought of the troubles brought upon him by hercorrespondence with a person who throughout remained unknown to him. 

Penrod slumped far down in the pew with his knees against the back ofthat in front, and he also languished to one side, so that the peoplesitting behind were afforded a view of him consisting of a little hairand one bored ear. The sermon--a noble one, searching and eloquent--wasbut a persistent sound in that ear, though, now and then, Penrod'sattention would be caught by some detached portion of a sentence, whenhis mind would dwell dully upon the phrases for a little while and lapseinto a torpor. At intervals his mother, without turning her head, wouldwhisper, "Sit up, Penrod, " causing him to sigh profoundly and move hisshoulders about an inch, this mere gesture of compliance exhausting allthe energy that remained to him. 

The black backs and gray heads of the elderly men in the congregationoppressed him; they made him lethargic with a sense of long lives ofrepellent dullness. But he should have been grateful to the lady withthe artificial cherries upon her hat. His gaze lingered there, wanderedaway, and hopelessly returned again and again, to be a little refreshedby the glossy scarlet of the cluster of tiny globes. He was not sofortunate as to be drowsy; that would have brought him some relief--andyet, after a while, his eyes became slightly glazed; he saw dimly, andwhat he saw was distorted. 

The church had been built in the early 'Seventies, and it containedsome naive stained glass of that period. The arch at the top of a windowfacing Penrod was filled with a gigantic Eye. Of oyster-white and rawblues and reds, inflamed by the pouring sun, it had held an awful placein the infantile life of Penrod Schofield, for in his tenderer years heaccepted it without question as the literal Eye of Deity. He had beeninformed that the church was the divine dwelling--and there was the Eye!

Nowadays, being no longer a little child, he had somehow come to knowbetter without being told, and, though the great flaming Eye was nolonger the terrifying thing it had been to him during his childhood, itnevertheless retained something of its ominous character. It made himfeel spied upon, and its awful glare still pursued him, sometimes, ashe was falling asleep at night. When he faced the window his feeling wasone of dull resentment. 

His own glazed eyes, becoming slightly crossed with an ennui that waspeculiarly intense this morning, rendered the Eye more monstrous than itwas. It expanded to horrible size, growing mountainous; it turned intoa volcano in the tropics, and yet it stared at him, indubitably an Eyeimplacably hostile to all rights of privacy forever. Penrod blinked andclinched his eyelids to be rid of this dual image, and he managed toshake off the volcano. Then, lowering the angle of his glance, he sawsomething most remarkable--and curiously out of place. 

An inverted white soup-plate was lying miraculously balanced upon theback of a pew a little distance in front of him, and upon the upturnedbottom of the soup-plate was a brown cocoanut. Mildly surprised, Penrod yawned, and, in the effort to straighten his eyes, came to lifetemporarily. The cocoanut was revealed as Georgie Bassett's head, and the soup-plate as Georgie's white collar. Georgie was sitting upstraight, as he always did in church, and Penrod found this verticalrectitude unpleasant. He knew that he had more to fear from the Eyethan Georgie had, and he was under the impression (a correct one) thatGeorgie felt on intimate terms with it and was actually fond of it. 

Penrod himself would have maintained that he was fond of it, if he hadbeen asked. He would have said so because he feared to say otherwise;and the truth is that he never consciously looked at the Eyedisrespectfully. He would have been alarmed if he thought the Eye hadany way of finding out how he really felt about it. When not off hisguard, he always looked at it placatively. 

By and by, he sagged so far to the left that he had symptoms of a"stitch in the side", and, rousing himself, sat partially straight forseveral moments. Then he rubbed his shoulders slowly from side to sideagainst the back of the seat, until his mother whispered, "Don't dothat, Penrod. "

Upon this, he allowed himself to slump inwardly till the curve in theback of his neck rested against the curved top of the back of the seat. It was a congenial fit, and Penrod again began to move slowly from sideto side, finding the friction soothing. Even so slight a pleasure wasdenied him by a husky, "Stop that!" from his father. 

Penrod sighed, and slid farther down. He scratched his head, his leftknee, his right biceps and his left ankle, after which he scratchedhis right knee, his right ankle and his left biceps. Then he said, "Oh, hum!" unconsciously, but so loudly that there was a reproving stir inthe neighbourhood of the Schofield pew, and his father looked at himangrily. 

Finally, his nose began to trouble him. It itched, and after scratchingit, he rubbed it harshly. Another "Stop that!" from his father proved ofno avail, being greeted by a desperate-sounding whisper, "I GOT to!"

And, continuing to rub his nose with his right hand, Penrod began tosearch his pockets with his left. The quest proving fruitless, herubbed his nose with his left hand and searched with his right. Thenhe abandoned his nose and searched feverishly with both hands, goingthrough all of his pockets several times. 

"What DO you want?" whispered his mother. 

But Margaret had divined his need, and she passed him her ownhandkerchief. This was both thoughtful and thoughtless--the latterbecause Margaret was in the habit of thinking that she became faint incrowds, especially at the theatre or in church, and she had just soakedher handkerchief with spirits of ammonia from a small phial she carriedin her muff. 

Penrod hastily applied the handkerchief to his nose and even morehastily exploded. He sneezed stupendously; he choked, sneezedagain, wept, passed into a light convulsion of coughing and sneezingtogether--a mergence of sound that attracted much attention--and, aftera few recurrent spasms, convalesced into a condition marked by silenttears and only sporadic instances of sneezing. 

By this time his family were unanimously scarlet--his father and motherwith mortification, and Margaret with the effort to control the almostirresistible mirth that the struggles and vociferations of Penrod hadinspired within her. And yet her heart misgave her, for his bloodshotand tearful eyes were fixed upon her from the first and remained uponher, even when half-blinded with his agony; and their expression--asterrible as that of the windowed Eye confronting her--was not for aninstant to be misunderstood. Absolutely, he believed that she had handedhim the ammonia-soaked handkerchief deliberately and with malice, andwell she knew that no power on earth could now or at any time henceforthpersuade him otherwise. 

"Of course I didn't mean it, Penrod, " she said, at the first opportunityupon their homeward way. "I didn't notice--that is, I didn't think--"Unfortunately for the effect of sincerity she hoped to produce, hervoice became tremulous and her shoulders moved suspiciously. 

"Just you wait! You'll see!" he prophesied, in a voice now choking, notwith ammonia, but with emotion. "Poison a person, and then laugh in hisface!"

He spake no more until they had reached their own house, though she madesome further futile efforts at explanation and apology. 

And after brooding abysmally throughout the meal that followed, hedisappeared from the sight of his family, having answered with onefrightful look his mother's timid suggestion that it was almost timefor Sunday-school. He retired to his eyry--the sawdust box in the emptystable--and there gave rein to his embittered imaginings, incidentallyforming many plans for Margaret. 

Most of these were much too elaborate; but one was so alluring that hedwelt upon it, working out the details with gloomy pleasure, even afterhe had perceived its defects. It involved some postponement--in fact, until Margaret should have become the mother of a boy about Penrod'spresent age. This boy would be precisely like Georgie Bassett--Penrodconceived that as inevitable--and, like Georgie, he would be hismother's idol. Penrod meant to take him to church and force him to blowhis nose with an ammonia-soaked handkerchief in the presence of the Eyeand all the congregation. 

Then Penrod intended to say to this boy, after church, "Well, that'sexackly what your mother did to me, and if you don't like it, you betterlook out!"

And the real Penrod in the sawdust box clenched his fists. "Come ahead, then!" he muttered. "You talk too much!" Whereupon, the Penrod of hisdream gave Margaret's puny son a contemptuous thrashing under the eyesof his mother, who besought in vain for mercy. This plan was finallydropped, not because of any lingering nepotism within Penrod, butbecause his injury called for action less belated. 

One after another, he thought of impossible things; one after another, he thought of things merely inane and futile, for he was trying todo something beyond his power. Penrod was never brilliant, or evensuccessful, save by inspiration. 

At four o'clock he came into the house, still nebulous, and as he passedthe open door of the library he heard a man's voice, not his father's. 

"To me, " said this voice, "the finest lines in all literature are thosein Tennyson's 'Maud'--

"'Had it lain for a century dead, My dust would hear her and beat, Andblossom in purple and red, There somewhere around near her feet. '

"I think I have quoted correctly, " continued the voice nervously, "but, at any rate, what I wished to--ah--say was that I often think of thoseah--words; but I never think of them without thinking of--of--of YOU. I--ah--"

The nervous voice paused, and Penrod took an oblique survey of the room, himself unobserved. Margaret was seated in an easy chair and her facewas turned away from Penrod, so that her expression of the momentremained unknown to him. Facing her, and leaning toward her withperceptible emotion, was Mr. Claude Blakely--a young man with whomPenrod had no acquaintance, though he had seen him, was aware of hisidentity, and had heard speech between Mrs. Schofield and Margaret whichindicated that Mr. Blakely had formed the habit of calling frequently atthe house. This was a brilliantly handsome young man; indeed, his facewas so beautiful that even Penrod was able to perceive something aboutit which might be explicably pleasing--at least to women. And Penrodremembered that, on the last evening before Mr. Robert Williams'sdeparture for college, Margaret had been peevish because Penrod hadgenially spent the greater portion of the evening with Robert andherself upon the porch. Margaret made it clear, later, that she stronglypreferred to conduct her conversations with friends unassisted--and asPenrod listened to the faltering words of Mr. Claude Blakely, he feltinstinctively that, in a certain contingency, Margaret's indignationwould be even more severe to-day than on the former occasion. 

Mr. Blakely coughed faintly and was able to continue. 

"I mean to say that when I say that what Tennyson says--ah--seems to--toapply to--to a feeling about you--"

At this point, finding too little breath in himself to proceed, in spiteof the fact that he had spoken in an almost inaudible tone, Mr. Blakelystopped again. 

Something about this little scene was making a deep impression uponPenrod. What that impression was, he could not possibly have stated;but he had a sense of the imminence of a tender crisis, and he perceivedthat the piquancy of affairs in the library had reached a point whichwould brand an intentional interruption as the act of a cold-bloodedruffian. Suddenly it was as though a strong light shone upon him: hedecided that it was Mr. Blakely who had told Margaret that her eyeswere like blue stars in heaven--THIS was the person who had caused thehateful letter to be written! That decided Penrod; his inspiration, solong waited for, had come. 

"I--I feel that perhaps I am not plain, " said Mr. Blakely, andimmediately became red, whereas he had been pale. He was at least modestenough about his looks to fear that Margaret might think he had referredto them. "I mean, not plain in another sense--that is, I mean not that_I_ am not plain in saying what I mean to you--I mean, what you mean toME! I feel--"

This was the moment selected by Penrod. He walked carelessly into thelibrary, inquiring in a loud, bluff voice:

"Has anybody seen my dog around here anywheres?"

Mr. Blakely had inclined himself so far toward Margaret, and he wassitting so near the edge of the chair, that only a really wonderful bitof instinctive gymnastics landed him upon his feet instead of upon hisback. As for Margaret, she said, "Good gracious!" and regarded Penrodblankly. 

"Well, " said Penrod breezily, "I guess it's no use lookin' for him--heisn't anywheres around. I guess I'll sit down. " Herewith, he sank intoan easy chair, and remarked, as in comfortable explanation, "I'm kind oftired standin' up, anyway. "

Even in this crisis, Margaret was a credit to her mother's training. 

"Penrod, have you met Mr. Blakely?"

"What?"

Margaret primly performed the rite. 

"Mr. Blakely, this is my little brother Penrod. "

Mr. Blakely was understood to murmur, "How d'ye do?"

"I'm well, " said Penrod. 

Margaret bent a perplexed gaze upon him, and he saw that she had notdivined his intentions, though the expression of Mr. Blakely was alreadybeginning to be a little compensation for the ammonia outrage. Then, as the protracted silence which followed the introduction began to be asevere strain upon all parties, Penrod felt called upon to relieve it. 

"I didn't have anything much to do this afternoon, anyway, " he said. Andat that there leaped a spark in Margaret's eye; her expression becamesevere. 

"You should have gone to Sunday-school, " she told him crisply. 

"Well, I didn't!" said Penrod, with a bitterness so significant ofsufferings connected with religion, ammonia, and herself, that Margaret, after giving him a thoughtful look, concluded not to urge the point. 

Mr. Blakely smiled pleasantly. "I was looking out of the window a minuteago, " he said, "and I saw a dog run across the street and turn thecorner. "

"What kind of a lookin' dog was it?" Penrod inquired, with languor. 

"Well, " said Mr. Blakely, "it was a--it was a nice-looking dog. "

"What colour was he?"

"He was--ah--white. That is, I think--"

"It wasn't Duke, " said Penrod. "Duke's kind of brownish-gray-like. "

Mr. Blakely brightened. 

"Yes, that was it, " he said. "This dog I saw first had another dog withhim--a brownish-gray dog. "

"Little or big?" Penrod asked, without interest. 

"Why, Duke's a little dog!" Margaret intervened. "Of COURSE, if it waslittle, it must have been Duke. "

"It WAS little, " said Mr. Blakely too enthusiastically. "It was a littlebit of a dog. I noticed it because it was so little. "

"Couldn't 'a' been Duke, then, " said Penrod. "Duke's a kind of amiddle-sized dog. " He yawned, and added: "I don't want him now. I wantto stay in the house this afternoon, anyway. And it's better for Duke tobe out in the fresh air. "

Mr. Blakely coughed again and sat down, finding little to say. It wasevident, also, that Margaret shared his perplexity; and another silencebecame so embarrassing that Penrod broke it. 

"I was out in the sawdust-box, " he said, "but it got kind of chilly. "Neither of his auditors felt called upon to offer any comment, andpresently he added, "I thought I better come in here where it's warmer. "

"It's too warm, "' said Margaret, at once. "Mr. Blakely, would you mindopening a window?"

"By all means!" the young man responded earnestly, as he rose. "MaybeI'd better open two?"

"Yes, " said Margaret; "that would be much better. "

But Penrod watched Mr. Blakely open two windows to their widest, andbetrayed no anxiety. His remarks upon the relative temperatures ofthe sawdust-box and the library had been made merely for the sake ofcreating sound in a silent place. When the windows had been open forseveral minutes, Penrod's placidity, though gloomy, denoted anything butdiscomfort from the draft, which was powerful, the day being windy. 

It was Mr. Blakely's turn to break a silence, and he did it sounexpectedly that Margaret started. He sneezed. 

"Perhaps--" Margaret began, but paused apprehensively. "Perhaps-per-per--" Her apprehensions became more and more poignant; hereyes seemed fixed upon some incredible disaster; she appeared to inflatewhile the catastrophe she foresaw became more and more imminent. All atonce she collapsed, but the power decorum had over her was attested bythe mildness of her sneeze after so threatening a prelude. 

"Perhaps I'd better put one of the windows down, " Mr. Blakely suggested. 

"Both, I believe, " said Margaret. "The room has cooled off, now, Ithink. "

Mr. Blakely closed the windows, and, returning to a chair near Margaret, did his share in the production of another long period of quiet. Penrodallowed this one to pass without any vocal disturbance on his part. Itmay be, however, that his gaze was disturbing to Mr. Blakely, upon whoseperson it was glassily fixed with a self-forgetfulness that was almostmorbid. 

"Didn't you enjoy the last meeting of the Cotillion Club?" Margaret saidfinally. 

And upon Mr. Blakely's answering absently in the affirmative, shesuddenly began to be talkative. He seemed to catch a meaning in herfluency, and followed her lead, a conversation ensuing which at firsthad all the outward signs of eagerness. They talked with warm interestof people and events unknown to Penrod; they laughed enthusiasticallyabout things beyond his ken; they appeared to have arranged a perfectway to enjoy themselves, no matter whether he was with them or elsewherebut presently their briskness began to slacken; the appearance ofinterest became perfunctory. Within ten minutes the few last scatteringsemblances of gayety had passed, and they lapsed into the longest andmost profound of all their silences indoors that day. Its effect uponPenrod was to make him yawn and settle himself in his chair. 

Then Mr. Blakely, coming to the surface out of deep inward communings, snapped his finger against the palm of his hand impulsively. 

"By George!" he exclaimed, under his breath. 

"What is it?" Margaret asked. "Did you remember something?"

"No, it's nothing, " he said. "Nothing at all. But, by the way, it seemsa pity for you to be missing the fine weather. I wonder if I couldpersuade you to take a little walk?"

Margaret, somewhat to the surprise of both the gentlemen present, lookeduncertain. 

"I don't know, " she said. 

Mr. Blakely saw that she missed his point. 

"One can talk better in the open, don't you think?" he urged, with asignificant glance toward Penrod. 

Margaret also glanced keenly at Penrod. "Well, perhaps. " And then, "I'llget my hat, " she said. 

Penrod was on his feet before she left the room. He stretched himself. 

"I'll get mine, too, " he said. 

But he carefully went to find it in a direction different from thattaken by his sister, and he joined her and her escort not till they wereat the front door, whither Mr. Blakely--with a last flickering of hopehad urged a flight in haste. 

"I been thinkin' of takin' a walk, all afternoon, " said Penrodpompously. "Don't matter to me which way we go. "

The exquisite oval of Mr. Claude Blakely's face merged into outlinesmore rugged than usual; the conformation of his jaw became perceptible, and it could be seen that he had conceived an idea which wascrystallizing into a determination. 

"I believe it happens that this is our first walk together, " he said toMargaret, as they reached the pavement, "but, from the kind of tennisyou play, I judge that you could go a pretty good gait. Do you likewalking fast?"

She nodded. "For exercise. "

"Shall we try it then?"

"You set the pace, " said Margaret. "I think I can keep up. "

He took her at her word, and the amazing briskness of their start seemeda little sinister to Penrod, though he was convinced that he coulddo anything that Margaret could do, and also that neither she nor hercomely friend could sustain such a speed for long. On the contrary, theyactually increased it with each fleeting block they covered. 

"Here!" he panted, when they had thus put something more than ahalf-mile behind them. "There isn't anybody has to have a doctor, Iguess! What's the use our walkin' so fast?"

In truth, Penrod was not walking, for his shorter legs permitted noactual walking at such a speed; his gait was a half-trot. 

"Oh, WE'RE out for a WALK!" Mr. Blakely returned, a note of gayetybeginning to sound in his voice. "Marg--ah--Miss Schofield, keep yourhead up and breathe through your nose. That's it! You'll find I wasright in suggesting this. It's going to turn out gloriously! Now, let'smake it a little faster. "

Margaret murmured inarticulately, for she would not waste her breath ina more coherent reply. Her cheeks were flushed; her eyes were brimmingwith the wind, but when she looked at Penrod, they were brimming withsomething more. Gurgling sounds came from her. 

Penrod's expression had become grim. He offered no second protest, mainly because he, likewise, would not waste his breath, and if hewould, he could not. Of breath in the ordinary sense breath, breathedautomatically--he had none. He had only gasps to feed his straininglungs, and his half-trot, which had long since become a trot, waschanged for a lope when Mr. Blakely reached his own best burst of speed. 

And now people stared at the flying three. The gait of Margaret andMr. Blakely could be called a walk only by courtesy, while Penrod's wasbecoming a kind of blind scamper. At times he zigzagged; other times, he fell behind, wabbling. Anon, with elbows flopping and his facesculptured like an antique mask, he would actually forge ahead, and thencarom from one to the other of his companions as he fell back again. 

Thus the trio sped through the coming of autumn dusk, outflying thefallen leaves that tumbled upon the wind. And still Penrod held to thetask that he had set himself. The street lamps flickered into life, buton and on Claude Blakely led the lady, and on and on reeled thegrim Penrod. Never once was he so far from them that they could haveexchanged a word unchaperoned by his throbbing ear. 

"OH!" Margaret cried, and, halting suddenly, she draped herself about alamp-post like a strip of bunting. "Guh-uh-guh-GOODNESS!" she sobbed. 

Penrod immediately drooped to the curb-stone, which he reached, by purefortune, in a sitting position. Mr. Blakely leaned against a fence, andsaid nothing, though his breathing was eloquent. "We--we must go--gohome, " Margaret gasped. "We must, if--if we can drag ourselves!"

Then Penrod showed them what mettle they he'd tried to crack. A paroxysmof coughing shook him; he spoke through it sobbingly:

"'Drag!' 'S jus' lul-like a girl! Ha-why I walk--OOF!--faster'n thatevery day--on my--way to school. " He managed to subjugate a tendency tonausea. "What you--want to go--home for?" he said. "Le's go on!"

In the darkness Mr. Claude Blakely's expression could not be seen, nor was his voice heard. For these and other reasons, his opinions andsentiments may not be stated. 

. .. Mrs. Schofield was looking rather anxiously forth from her frontdoor when the two adult figures and the faithful smaller one came up thewalk. 

"I was getting uneasy, " she said. "Papa and I came in and found thehouse empty. It's after seven. Oh, Mr. Blakely, is that you?"

"Good-evening, " he said. "I fear I must be keeping an engagement. Good-night. Good-night, Miss Schofield. "

"Good-night. "

"Well, good-night, " Penrod called, staring after him. But Mr. Blakelywas already too far away to hear him, and a moment later Penrod followedhis mother and sister into the house. 

"I let Della go to church, " Mrs. Schofield said to Margaret. "You and Imight help Katie get supper. "

"Not for a few minutes, " Margaret returned gravely, looking at Penrod. "Come upstairs, mamma; I want to tell you something. "

Penrod cackled hoarse triumph and defiance. 

"Go on! Tell! What _'I_ care? You try to poison a person in churchagain, and then laugh in his face, you'll see what you get!"

But after his mother had retired with Margaret to the latter's room, hebegan to feel disturbed in spite of his firm belief that his causewas wholly that of justice victorious. Margaret had insidious ways ofstating a case; and her point of view, no matter how absurd or unjust, was almost always adopted by Mr. And Mrs. Schofield in cases ofcontroversy. 

Penrod became uneasy. Perceiving himself to be in danger, he decidedthat certain measures were warranted. Unquestionably, it would be wellto know beforehand in what terms Margaret would couch the chargeswhich he supposed he must face in open court--that is to say, at thesupper-table. He stole softly up the stairs, and, flattening himselfagainst the wall, approached Margaret's door, which was about an inchajar. 

He heard his mother making sounds which appalled him--he took them forsobs. And then Margaret's voice rang out in a peal of insane laughter. Trembling, he crept nearer the door. Within the room Margaret wasclinging to her mother, and both were trying to control their hilarity. 

"He did it all to get even!" Margaret exclaimed, wiping her eyes. "Hecame in at just the right time. That GOOSE was beginning to talk hissilly, soft talk--the way he does with every girl in town--and he wasalmost proposing, and I didn't know how to stop him. And then Penrodcame in and did it for me. I could have hugged Penrod, mamma, I actuallycould! And I saw he meant to stay to get even for that ammonia--and, oh, I worked so hard to make him think I wanted him to GO! Mamma, mamma, ifyou could have SEEN that walk! That GOOSE kept thinking he could wearPenrod out or drop him behind, but I knew he couldn't so long as Penrodbelieved he was worrying us and getting even. And that GOOSE thought IWANTED to get rid of Penrod, too; and the conceited thing said it wouldturn out 'gloriously, ' meaning we'd be alone together pretty soon--I'dlike to shake him! You see, I pretended so well, in order to make Penrodstick to us, that GOOSE believed I meant it! And if he hadn't tried towalk Penrod off his legs, he wouldn't have wilted his own collar andworn himself out, and I think he'd have hung on until you'd have had toinvite him to stay to supper, and he'd have stayed on all evening, andI wouldn't have had a chance to write to Robert Williams. Mamma, therehave been lots of times when I haven't been thankful for Penrod, butto-day I could have got down on my knees to you and papa for giving mesuch a brother!"

In the darkness of the hall, as a small but crushed and broken formstole away from the crack in the door, a gigantic Eye seemed toform--seemed to glare down upon Penrod--warning him that the way ofvengeance is the way of bafflement, and that genius may not prevailagainst the trickeries of women. 

"This has been a NICE day!" Penrod muttered hoarsely. 

CHAPTER XVIII. ON ACCOUNT OF THE WEATHER

There is no boredom (not even an invalid's) comparable to that of a boywho has nothing to do. When a man says he has nothing to do, he speaksidly; there is always more than he can do. Grown women never say theyhave nothing to do, and when girls or little girls say they have nothingto do, they are merely airing an affectation. But when a boy has nothingto do, he has actually nothing at all to do; his state is pathetic, andwhen he complains of it his voice is haunting. 

Mrs. Schofield was troubled by this uncomfortable quality in the voiceof her son, who came to her thrice, in his search for entertainment oreven employment, one Saturday afternoon during the February thaw. Fewfacts are better established than that the February thaw is the pooresttime of year for everybody. But for a boy it is worse than poorest; itis bankrupt. The remnant streaks of old soot-speckled snow left againstthe north walls of houses have no power to inspire; rather, they aredreary reminders of sports long since carried to satiety. One careslittle even to eat such snow, and the eating of icicles, also, has cometo be a flaccid and stale diversion. There is no ice to bear a skate, there is only a vast sufficiency of cold mud, practically useless. Sunshine flickers shiftily, coming and going without any honest purpose;snow-squalls blow for five minutes, the flakes disappearing as theytouch the earth; half an hour later rain sputters, turns to snow andthen turns back to rain--and the sun disingenuously beams out again, only to be shut off like a rogue's lantern. And all the wretched while, if a boy sets foot out of doors, he must be harassed about his overcoatand rubbers; he is warned against tracking up the plastic lawn andsharply advised to stay inside the house. Saturday might as well beSunday. 

Thus the season. Penrod had sought all possible means to pass the time. A full half-hour of vehement yodelling in the Williams' yard had failedto bring forth comrade Sam; and at last a coloured woman had opened awindow to inform Penrod that her intellect was being unseated by hisvocalizations, which surpassed in unpleasantness, she claimed, everysound in her previous experience and, for the sake of definiteness, shestated her age to be fifty-three years and four months. She added thatall members of the Williams family had gone out of town to attend thefuneral of a relative, but she wished that they might have remainedto attend Penrod's, which she confidently predicted as imminent if theneighbourhood followed its natural impulse. 

Penrod listened for a time, but departed before the conclusion of theoration. He sought other comrades, with no success; he even went to thelength of yodelling in the yard of that best of boys, Georgie Bassett. Here was failure again, for Georgie signalled to him, through a closedwindow, that a closeting with dramatic literature was preferable to thesociety of a playmate; and the book that Georgie exhibited was openlylabelled, "300 Choice Declamations. " Georgie also managed to conveyanother reason for his refusal of Penrod's companionship, the visitorbeing conversant with lip-reading through his studies at the "movies. "

"TOO MUDDY!"

Penrod went home. 

"Well, " Mrs. Schofield said, having almost exhausted a mother's powersof suggestion, "well, why don't you give Duke a bath?" She was that fardepleted when Penrod came to her the third time. 

Mothers' suggestions are wonderful for little children but sometimeslack lustre when a boy approaches twelve an age to which the ideas of aSwede farm-hand would usually prove more congenial. However, the dim andmelancholy eye of Penrod showed a pale gleam, and he departed. He gaveDuke a bath. 

The entertainment proved damp and discouraging for both parties. Dukebegan to tremble even before he was lifted into the water, and after hisfirst immersion he was revealed to be a dog weighing about one-fourthof what an observer of Duke, when Duke was dry, must have guessed hisweight to be. His wetness and the disclosure of his extreme fleshlyinsignificance appeared to mortify him profoundly. He wept. But, presently, under Penrod's thorough ministrations--for the young masterwas inclined to make this bath last as long as possible--Duke pluckedup a heart and began a series of passionate attempts to close theinterview. As this was his first bath since September, the effects werelavish and impressionistic, both upon Penrod and upon the bathroom. However, the imperious boy's loud remonstrances contributed to bringabout the result desired by Duke. 

Mrs. Schofield came running, and eloquently put an end to Duke's winterbath. When she had suggested this cleansing as a pleasant means ofpassing the time, she assumed that it would take place in a washtub inthe cellar; and Penrod's location of the performance in her own bathroomwas far from her intention. 

Penrod found her language oppressive, and, having been denied the rightto rub Duke dry with a bath-towel--or even with the cover of a table inthe next room--the dismal boy, accompanied by his dismal dog, set forth, by way of the kitchen door, into the dismal weather. With no purposein mind, they mechanically went out to the alley, where Penrod leanedmorosely against the fence, and Duke stood shivering close by, hisfigure still emaciated and his tail absolutely withdrawn from view. 

There was a cold, wet wind, however; and before long Duke found hiscondition unendurable. He was past middle age and cared little forexercise; but he saw that something must be done. Therefore, he madea vigorous attempt to dry himself in a dog's way. Throwing himself, shoulders first, upon the alley mud, he slid upon it, back downward;he rolled and rolled and rolled. He began to feel lively and rolledthe more; in every way he convinced Penrod that dogs have no regardfor appearances. Also, having discovered an ex-fish near the Herman andVerman cottage, Duke confirmed an impression of Penrod's that dogs havea peculiar fancy in the matter of odours that they like to wear. 

Growing livelier and livelier, Duke now wished to play with hismaster. Penrod was anything but fastidious; nevertheless, under thecircumstances, he withdrew to the kitchen, leaving Duke to play byhimself, outside. 

Della, the cook, was comfortably making rolls and entertaining a callerwith a cup of tea. Penrod lingered a few moments, but found even hisattention to the conversation ill received, while his attempts totake part in it met outright rebuff. His feelings were hurt; he passedbroodingly to the front part of the house, and flung himself wearilyinto an armchair in the library. With glazed eyes he stared at shelvesof books that meant to him just what the wallpaper meant, and hesighed from the abyss. His legs tossed and his arms flopped; he got up, scratched himself exhaustively, and shuffled to a window. Ten desolateminutes he stood there, gazing out sluggishly upon a soggy world. Duringthis time two wet delivery-wagons and four elderly women under umbrellaswere all that crossed his field of vision. Somewhere in the world, hethought, there was probably a boy who lived across the street froma jail or a fire-engine house, and had windows worth looking out of. Penrod rubbed his nose up and down the pane slowly, continuously, andwithout the slightest pleasure; and he again scratched himself whereverit was possible to do so, though he did not even itch. There was nothingin his life. 

Such boredom as he was suffering can become agony, and an imaginativecreature may do wild things to escape it; many a grown person has takento drink on account of less pressure than was upon Penrod during thatintolerable Saturday. 

A faint sound in his ear informed him that Della, in the kitchen, haduttered a loud exclamation, and he decided to go back there. However, since his former visit had resulted in a rebuff that still rankled, hepaused outside the kitchen door, which was slightly ajar, and listened. He did this idly, and with no hope of hearing anything interesting orhelpful. 

"Snakes!" Della exclaimed. "Didja say the poor man was seein' snakes, Mrs. Cullen?"

"No, Della, " Mrs. Cullen returned dolorously; "jist one. Flora says heniver see more th'n one--jist one big, long, ugly-faced horrible blackone; the same one comin' back an' makin' a fizzin' n'ise at um iv'rytime he had the fit on um. 'Twas alw'ys the same snake; an' he'd hollerat Flora. 'Here it comes ag'in, oh, me soul!' he'd holler. 'The big, black, ugly-faced thing; it's as long as the front fence!' he'd holler, 'an' it's makin' a fizzin' n'ise at me, an' breathin' in me face!' he'dholler. 'Fer th' love o' hivin', Flora, ' he'd holler, 'it's got a littleblack man wit' a gassly white forehead a-pokin' of it along wit' abroom-handle, an' a-sickin' it on me, the same as a boy sicks a dog ona poor cat. Fer the love o' hivin', Flora, ' he'd holler, 'cantcha frightit away from me before I go out o' me head?'"

"Poor Tom!" said Della with deep compassion. "An' the poor man out ofhis head all the time, an' not knowin' it! 'Twas awful fer Flora to sitthere an' hear such things in the night like that!"

"You may believe yerself whin ye say it!" Mrs. Cullen agreed. "Right thevery night the poor soul died, he was hollerin' how the big black snakeand the little black man wit' the gassly white forehead a-pokin' it wit'a broomstick had come fer um. 'Fright 'em away, Flora!' he was croakin', in a v'ice that hoarse an' husky 'twas hard to make out what he says. 'Fright 'em away, Flora!' he says. ''Tis the big, black, ugly-facedsnake, as black as a black stockin' an' thicker round than me leg atthe thigh before I was wasted away!' he says, poor man. 'It's makin' thefizzin' n'ise awful to-night, ' he says. 'An' the little black man wit'the gassly white forehead is a-laughin', ' he says. 'He's a-laughin'an' a-pokin' the big, black, fizzin', ugly-faced snake wit' hisbroomstick--"

Della was unable to endure the description. 

"Don't tell me no more, Mrs. Cullen!" she protested. "Poor Tom! Ithought Flora was wrong last week whin she hid the whisky. 'Twas takin'it away from him that killed him--an' him already so sick!"

"Well, " said Mrs. Cullen, "he hardly had the strengt' to drink much, she tells me, after he see the big snake an' the little black divil thefirst time. Poor woman, she says he talked so plain she sees 'em bothherself, iv'ry time she looks at the poor body where it's laid out. Shesays--"

"Don't tell me!" cried the impressionable Della. "Don't tell me, Mrs. Cullen! I can most see 'em meself, right here in me own kitchen! PoorTom! To think whin I bought me new hat, only last week, the first timeI'd be wearin' it'd be to his funeral. To-morrow afternoon, it is?"

"At two o'clock, " said Mrs. Cullen. "Ye'll be comin' to th' houseto-night, o' course, Della?"

"I will, " said Della. "After what I've been hearin' from ye, I'm 'mostafraid to come, but I'll do it. Poor Tom! I remember the day him an'Flora was married--"

But the eavesdropper heard no more; he was on his way up the backstairs. Life and light--and purpose had come to his face once more. 

Margaret was out for the afternoon. Unostentatiously, he went to herroom, and for the next few minutes occupied himself busily therein. Hewas so quiet that his mother, sewing in her own room, would not haveheard him except for the obstinacy of one of the drawers in Margaret'sbureau. Mrs. Schofield went to the door of her daughter's room. 

"What are you doing, Penrod?"

"Nothin'. "

"You're not disturbing any of Margaret's things, are you?"

"No, ma'am, " said the meek lad. 

"What did you jerk that drawer open for?"

"Ma'am?"

"You heard me, Penrod. "

"Yes, ma'am. I was just lookin' for sumpthing. "

"For what?" Mrs. Schofield asked. "You know that nothing of yours wouldbe in Margaret's room, Penrod, don't you?"

"Ma'am?"

"What was it you wanted?" she asked, rather impatiently. 

"I was just lookin' for some pins. "

"Very well, " she said, and handed him two from the shoulder of herblouse. 

"I ought to have more, " he said. "I want about forty. "

"What for?"

"I just want to MAKE sumpthing, Mamma, " he said plaintively. "Mygoodness! Can't I even want to have a few pins without everybody makin'such a fuss about it you'd think I was doin' a srime!"

"Doing a what, Penrod?"

"A SRIME!" he repeated, with emphasis; and a moment's reflectionenlightened his mother. 

"Oh, a crime!" she exclaimed. "You MUST quit reading the murder trialsin the newspapers, Penrod. And when you read words you don't know how topronounce you ought to ask either your papa or me. "

"Well, I am askin' you about sumpthing now, " Penrod said. "Can't Ieven have a few PINS without stoppin' to talk about everything in thenewspapers, Mamma?"

"Yes, " she said, laughing at his seriousness; and she took him to herroom, and bestowed upon him five or six rows torn from a paper of pins. "That ought to be plenty, " she said, "for whatever you want to make. "

And she smiled after his retreating figure, not noting that he lookedsoftly bulky around the body, and held his elbows unnaturally tight tohis sides. She was assured of the innocence of anything to be made withpins, and forbore to press investigation. For Penrod to be playing withpins seemed almost girlish. Unhappy woman, it pleased her to have herson seem girlish!

Penrod went out to the stable, tossed his pins into the wheelbarrow, then took from his pocket and unfolded six pairs of long blackstockings, indubitably the property of his sister. (Evidently Mrs. Schofield had been a little late in making her appearance at the door ofMargaret's room. )

Penrod worked systematically; he hung the twelve stockings over thesides of the wheelbarrow, and placed the wheelbarrow beside a largepacking-box that was half full of excelsior. One after another, hestuffed the stockings with excelsior, till they looked like twelve longblack sausages. Then he pinned the top of one stocking securely over thestuffed foot of another, pinning the top of a third to the foot of thesecond, the top of a fourth to the foot of the third--and continuedoperations in this fashion until the twelve stockings were the semblanceof one long and sinuous black body, sufficiently suggestive to anynormal eye. 

He tied a string to one end of this unpleasant-looking thing, led itaround the stable, and, by vigorous manipulations, succeeded in makingit wriggle realistically; but he was not satisfied, and, droppingthe string listlessly, sat down in the wheelbarrow to ponder. Penrodsometimes proved that there were within him the makings of an artist;he had become fascinated by an idea, and could not be content untilthat idea was beautifully realized. He had meant to create a big, long, ugly-faced horrible black snake with which to interest Della and herfriend, Mrs. Cullen; but he felt that results, so far, were too crudefor exploitation. Merely to lead the pinned stockings by a string waslittle to fulfill his ambitious vision. 

Finally, he rose from the wheelbarrow. 

"If I only had a cat!" he said dreamily. 

CHAPTER XIX. CREATIVE ART

He went forth, seeking. 

The Schofield household was catless this winter but there was a nicewhite cat at the Williams'. Penrod strolled thoughtfully over to theWilliams's yard. 

He was entirely successful, not even having been seen by the sensitivecoloured woman, aged fifty-three years and four months. 

But still Penrod was thoughtful. The artist within him was unsatisfiedwith his materials: and upon his return to the stable he placed thecat beneath an overturned box, and once more sat down in the inspiringwheelbarrow, pondering. His expression, concentrated and yet a littleanxious, was like that of a painter at work upon a portrait that may ormay not turn out to be a masterpiece. The cat did not disturb him by herpurring, though she was, indeed, already purring. She was one of thosecozy, youngish cats--plump, even a little full-bodied, perhaps, andrather conscious of the figure--that are entirely conventional anddomestic by nature, and will set up a ladylike housekeeping anywherewithout making a fuss about it. If there be a fault in these cats, overcomplacency might be the name for it; they err a shade too sureof themselves, and their assumption that the world means to treat themrespectfully has just a little taint of the grande dame. Consequently, they are liable to great outbreaks of nervous energy from within, engendered by the extreme surprises that life sometimes holds in storefor them. They lack the pessimistic imagination. 

Mrs. Williams's cat was content upon a strange floor and in theconfining enclosure of a strange box. She purred for a time, thentrustfully fell asleep. 'Twas well she slumbered; she would need all herpowers presently. 

She slumbered, and dreamed not that she would wake to mingle with eventsthat were to alter her serene disposition radically and cause her tobecome hasty-tempered and abnormally suspicious for the rest of herlife. 

Meanwhile, Penrod appeared to reach a doubtful solution of his problem. His expression was still somewhat clouded as he brought from thestoreroom of the stable a small fragment of a broken mirror, two paintbrushes and two old cans, one containing black paint and the otherwhite. He regarded himself earnestly in the mirror; then, with somereluctance, he dipped a brush into one of the cans, and slowly paintedhis nose a midnight black. He was on the point of spreading thisdecoration to cover the lower part of his face, when he paused, brushhalfway between can and chin. 

What arrested him was a sound from the alley--a sound of drumming upontin. The eyes of Penrod became significant of rushing thoughts; hisexpression cleared and brightened. He ran to the alley doors and flungthem open. 

"Oh, Verman!" he shouted. 

Marching up and down before the cottage across the alley, Verman plainlyconsidered himself to be an army. Hanging from his shoulders by a stringwas an old tin wash-basin, whereon he beat cheerily with two dry bones, once the chief support of a chicken. Thus he assuaged his ennui. 

"Verman, come on in here, " Penrod called. "I got sumpthing for you to doyou'll like awful well. "

Verman halted, ceased to drum, and stared. His gaze was not fixedparticularly upon Penrod's nose, however, and neither now nor later didhe make any remark or gesture referring to this casual eccentricity. Heexpected things like that upon Penrod or Sam Williams. And as for Penrodhimself, he had already forgotten that his nose was painted. 

"Come on, Verman!"

Verman continued to stare, not moving. He had received such invitationsbefore, and they had not always resulted to his advantage. Within thatstable things had happened to him the like of which he was anxious toavoid in the future. 

"Oh, come ahead, Verman!" Penrod urged, and, divining logic in thereluctance confronting him, he added, "This ain't goin' to be anythinglike last time, Verman. I got sumpthing just SPLENDUD for you to do!"

Verman's expression hardened; he shook his head decisively. 

"Mo, " he said. 

"Oh, COME on, Verman?" Penrod pleaded. "It isn't anything goin' to HURTyou, is it? I tell you it's sumpthing you'd give a good deal to GET todo, if you knew what it is. "

"Mo!" said Verman firmly. "I mome maw woo!"

Penrod offered arguments. 

"Look, Verman!" he said. "Listen here a minute, can't you? How d'youknow you don't want to until you know what it is? A person CAN'T knowthey don't want to do a thing even before the other person tells 'emwhat they're goin' to get 'em to do, can they? For all you know, thisthing I'm goin' to get you to do might be sumpthing you wouldn't missdoin' for anything there is! For all you know, Verman, it might besumpthing like this: well, f'rinstance, s'pose I was standin' here, and you were over there, sort of like the way you are now, and I says, 'Hello, Verman!' and then I'd go on and tell you there was sumpthingI was goin' to get you to do; and you'd say you wouldn't do it, evenbefore you heard what it was, why where'd be any sense to THAT? For allyou know, I might of been goin' to get you to eat a five-cent bag o'peanuts. "

Verman had listened obdurately until he heard the last few words; butas they fell upon his ear, he relaxed, and advanced to the stable doors, smiling and extending his open right hand. 

"Aw wi, " he said. "Gi'm here. "

"Well, " Penrod returned, a trifle embarrassed, "I didn't say it WASpeanuts, did I? Honest, Verman, it's sumpthing you'll like better'n afew old peanuts that most of 'em'd prob'ly have worms in 'em, anyway. All I want you to do is--"

But Verman was not favourably impressed; his face hardened again. 

"Mo!" he said, and prepared to depart. 

"Look here, Verman, " Penrod urged. "It isn't goin' to hurt you just tocome in here and see what I got for you, is it? You can do that much, can't you?"

Surely such an appeal must have appeared reasonable, even to Verman, especially since its effect was aided by the promising words, "See whatI got for you. " Certainly Verman yielded to it, though perhaps a littlesuspiciously. He advanced a few cautious steps into the stable. 

"Look!" Penrod cried, and he ran to the stuffed and linked stockings, seized the leading-string, and vigorously illustrated his furtherremarks. "How's that for a big, long, ugly-faced horr'ble black olesnake, Verman? Look at her follow me all round anywhere I feel likegoin'! Look at her wiggle, will you, though? Look how I make her doanything I tell her to. Lay down, you ole snake, you--See her lay downwhen I tell her to, Verman? Wiggle, you ole snake, you! See her wiggle, Verman?"

"Hi!" Undoubtedly Verman felt some pleasure. 

"Now, listen, Verman!" Penrod continued, hastening to make the most ofthe opportunity. "Listen! I fixed up this good ole snake just for you. I'm goin' to give her to you. "

"HI!"

On account of a previous experience not unconnected with cats, andlikely to prejudice Verman, Penrod decided to postpone mentioning Mrs. Williams's pet until he should have secured Verman's cooperation in theenterprise irretrievably. 

"All you got to do, " he went on, "is to chase this good ole snakearound, and sort o' laugh and keep pokin' it with the handle o' thatrake yonder. I'm goin' to saw it off just so's you can poke your goodole snake with it, Verman. "

"Aw wi, " said Verman, and, extending his open hand again, he uttered ahopeful request. "Peamup?"

His host perceived that Verman had misunderstood him. "Peanuts!" heexclaimed. "My goodness! I didn't say I HAD any peanuts, did I? I onlysaid s'pose f'rinstance I DID have some. My goodness! You don't expeckme to go round here all day workin' like a dog to make a good ole snakefor you and then give you a bag o' peanuts to hire you to play with it, do you, Verman? My goodness!"

Verman's hand fell, with a little disappointment. 

"Aw wi, " he said, consenting to accept the snake without the bonus. 

"That's the boy! NOW we're all right, Verman; and pretty soon I'm goin'to saw that rake-handle off for you, too; so's you can kind o' guideyour good ole snake around with it; but first--well, first there's justone more thing's got to be done. I'll show you--it won't take but aminute. " Then, while Verman watched him wonderingly, he went to the canof white paint and dipped a brush therein. "It won't get on your clo'esmuch, or anything, Verman, " he explained. "I only just got to--"

But as he approached, dripping brush in hand, the wondering look was allgone from Verman; determination took its place. 

"Mo!" he said, turned his back, and started for outdoors. 

"Look here, Verman, " Penrod cried. "I haven't done anything to you yet, have I? It isn't goin' to hurt you, is it? You act like a little teenybit o' paint was goin' to kill you. What's the matter of you? I onlyjust got to paint the top part of your face; I'm not goin' to TOUCH theother part of it--nor your hands or anything. All _I_ want--"

"MO!" said Verman from the doorway. 

"Oh, my goodness!" moaned Penrod; and in desperation he drew forth fromhis pocket his entire fortune. "All right, Verman, " he said resignedly. "If you won't do it any other way, here's a nickel, and you can go andbuy you some peanuts when we get through. But if I give you this money, you got to promise to wait till we ARE through, and you got to promiseto do anything I tell you to. You goin' to promise?"

The eyes of Verman glistened; he returned, gave bond, and, grasping thecoin, burst into the rich laughter of a gourmand. 

Penrod immediately painted him dead white above the eyes, all round hishead and including his hair. It took all the paint in the can. 

Then the artist mentioned the presence of Mrs. Williams's cat, explainedin full his ideas concerning the docile animal, and the long blacksnake, and Della and her friend, Mrs. Cullen, while Verman listened withanxiety, but remained true to his oath. 

They removed the stocking at the end of the long black snake, and cutfour holes in the foot and ankle of it. They removed the excelsior, placed Mrs. Williams's cat in the stocking, shook her down into thelower section of it; drew her feet through the four holes there, leavingher head in the toe of the stocking; then packed the excelsior down ontop of her, and once more attached the stocking to the rest of the long, black snake. 

How shameful is the ease of the historian! He sits in his dressing-gownto write: "The enemy attacked in force--" The tranquil pen, moving in acloud of tobacco smoke, leaves upon the page its little hieroglyphics, serenely summing up the monstrous deeds and sufferings of men of action. How cold, how niggardly, to state merely that Penrod and the paintedVerman succeeded in giving the long, black snake a motive power, ortractor, apparently its own but consisting of Mrs. Williams's cat!

She was drowsy when they lifted her from the box; she was still drowsywhen they introduced part of her into the orifice of the stocking; butshe woke to full, vigorous young life when she perceived that theirpurpose was for her to descend into the black depths of that stockinghead first. 

Verman held the mouth of the stocking stretched, and Penrod manipulatedthe cat; but she left her hearty mark on both of them before, in amoment of unfortunate inspiration, she humped her back while she wasupside down, and Penrod took advantage of the concavity to increase iteven more than she desired. The next instant she was assisted downwardinto the gloomy interior, with excelsior already beginning to block themeans of egress. 

Gymnastic moments followed; there were times when both boys hurledthemselves full-length upon the floor, seizing the animated stockingwith far-extended hands; and even when the snake was a complete thing, with legs growing from its unquestionably ugly face, either Penrodor Verman must keep a grasp upon it, for it would not be soothed, andrefused, over and over, to calm itself, even when addressed as, "Poorpussy!" and "Nice 'ittle kitty!"

Finally, they thought they had their good ole snake "about quieteddown", as Penrod said, because the animated head had remained in oneplace for an unusual length of time, though the legs produced a rathersinister effect of crouching, and a noise like a distant planing-millcame from the interior--and then Duke appeared in the doorway. He wasstill feeling lively. 

CHAPTER XX. THE DEPARTING GUEST

By the time Penrod returned from chasing Duke to the next corner, Vermanhad the long, black snake down from the rafter where its active head hadtaken refuge, with the rest of it dangling; and both boys agreed thatMrs. Williams's cat must certainly be able to "see SOME, anyway", through the meshes of the stocking. 

"Well, " said Penrod, "it's gettin' pretty near dark, what with all thisbother and mess we been havin' around here, and I expeck as soon as Iget this good ole broom-handle fixed out of the rake for you, Verman, it'll be about time to begin what we had to go and take all this troubleFOR. "

. .. . Mr. Schofield had brought an old friend home to dinner with him:"Dear old Joe Gilling, " he called this friend when introducing him toMrs. Schofield. Mr. Gilling, as Mrs. Schofield was already informed bytelephone, had just happened to turn up in town that day, and had calledon his classmate at the latter's office. The two had not seen each otherin eighteen years. 

Mr. Gilling was a tall man, clad highly in the mode, and brought to apolished and powdered finish by barber and manicurist; but his colourwas peculiar, being almost unhumanly florid, and, as Mrs. Schofieldafterward claimed to have noticed, his eyes "wore a nervous, apprehensive look", his hands were tremulous, and his manner was "queerand jerky"--at least, that is how she defined it. 

She was not surprised to hear him state that he was travelling for hishealth and not upon business. He had not been really well for severalyears, he said. 

At that, Mr. Schofield laughed and slapped him heartily on the back. 

"Oh, mercy!" Mr. Gilling cried, leaping in his chair. "What IS thematter?"

"Nothing!" Mr. Schofield laughed. "I just slapped you the way we used toslap each other on the campus. What I was going to say was that you haveno business being a bachelor. With all your money, and nothing to do buttravel and sit around hotels and clubs, no wonder you've grown bilious. "

"Oh, no; I'm not bilious, " Mr. Gilling said uncomfortably. "I'm notbilious at all. "

"You ought to get married, " Mr. Schofield returned. "You ought--" Hepaused, for Mr. Gilling had jumped again. "What's the trouble, Joe?"

"Nothing. I thought perhaps--perhaps you were going to slap me on theback again. "

"Not this time, " Mr. Schofield said, renewing his laughter. "Well, isdinner about ready?" he asked, turning to his wife. "Where are Margaretand Penrod?"

"Margaret's just come in, " Mrs. Schofield answered. "She'll be down in aminute, and Penrod's around somewhere. "

"Penrod?" Mr. Gilling repeated curiously, in his nervous, serious way. "What is Penrod?"

And at this, Mrs. Schofield joined in her husband's laughter. Mr. Schofield explained. 

"Penrod's our young son, " he said. "He's not much for looks, maybe; buthe's been pretty good lately, and sometimes we're almost inclined to beproud of him. You'll see him in a minute, old Joe!"

Old Joe saw him even sooner. Instantly, as Mr. Schofield finished hislittle prediction, the most shocking uproar ever heard in that houseburst forth in the kitchen. Distinctly Irish shrieks unlimited came fromthat quarter--together with the clashing of hurled metal and tin, theappealing sound of breaking china, and the hysterical barking of a dog. 

The library door flew open, and Mrs. Cullen appeared as a mingled streakcrossing the room from one door to the other. She was followed by aboy with a coal-black nose and between his feet, as he entered, thereappeared a big long, black, horrible snake, with frantic legs springingfrom what appeared to be its head; and it further fulfilled Mrs. Cullen's description by making a fizzin' noise. Accompanying the snake, and still faithfully endeavouring to guide it with the detached handleof a rake, was a small black demon with a gassly white forehead andgasslier white hair. Duke evidently still feeling his bath, was doingall in his power to aid the demon in making the snake step lively. A fewkitchen implements followed this fugitive procession through the librarydoorway. 

The long, black snake became involved with a leg of the heavy table inthe centre of the room. The head developed spasms of agility; there wereclangings and rippings, then the foremost section of the long, blacksnake detached itself, bounded into the air, and, after turning a numberof somersaults, became, severally, a torn stocking, excelsior, and alunatic cat. The ears of this cat were laid back flat upon its head andits speed was excessive upon a fairly circular track it laid out foritself in the library. Flying round this orbit, it perceived the opendoorway; passed through it, thence to the kitchen, and outward andonward--Della having left the kitchen door open in her haste as sheretired to the backyard. 

The black demon with the gassly white forehead and hair, finding himselfin the presence of grown people who were white all over, turned in histracks and followed Mrs. Williams's cat to the great outdoors. Dukepreceded Verman. Mrs. Cullen vanished. Of the apparition, only wreckageand a rightfully apprehensive Penrod were left. 

"But where, " Mrs. Schofield began, a few minutes later, looking suddenlymystified--"where--where--"

"Where what?" Mr. Schofield asked testily. "What are you talking about?"His nerves were jarred, and he was rather hoarse after what he had beensaying to Penrod. (That regretful necromancer was now upstairs doingunhelpful things to his nose over a washstand. ) "What do you mean by, 'Where, where, where?'" Mr. Schofield demanded. "I don't see any senseto it. "

"But where is your old classmate?" she cried. "Where's Mr. Gilling?"

She was the first to notice this striking absence. 

"By George!" Mr. Schofield exclaimed. "Where IS old Joe?"

Margaret intervened. "You mean that tall, pale man who was calling?" sheasked. 

"Pale, no!" said her father. "He's as flushed as--"

"He was pale when _I_ saw him, " Margaret said. "He had his hat andcoat, and he was trying to get out of the front door when I came runningdownstairs. He couldn't work the catch for a minute; but before I got tothe foot of the steps he managed to turn it and open the door. He wentout before I could think what to say to him, he was in such a hurry. Iguess everything was so confused you didn't notice--but he's certainlygone. "

Mrs. Schofield turned to her husband. 

"But I thought he was going to stay to dinner!" she cried. 

Mr. Schofield shook his head, admitting himself floored. Later, havingmentally gone over everything that might shed light on the curiousbehaviour of old Joe, he said, without preface:

"He wasn't at all dissipated when we were in college. "

Mrs. Schofield nodded severely. "Maybe this was just the best thingcould have happened to him, after all, " she said. 

"It may be, " her husband returned. "I don't say it isn't. BUT that isn'tgoing to make any difference in what I'm going to do to Penrod!"

CHAPTER XXI. YEARNINGS

The next day a new ambition entered into Penrod Schofield; it washeralded by a flourish of trumpets and set up a great noise within hisbeing. 

On his way home from Sunday-school he had paused at a corner to listento a brass band, which was returning from a funeral, playing a medley ofairs from "The Merry Widow, " and as the musicians came down the street, walking so gracefully, the sun picked out the gold braid upon theiruniforms and splashed fire from their polished instruments. Penrodmarked the shapes of the great bass horns, the suave sculpture of theirbrazen coils, and the grand, sensational flare of their mouths. And hesaw plainly that these noble things, to be mastered, needed no more thansome breath blown into them during the fingering of a few simple keys. Then obediently they gave forth those vast but dulcet sounds whichstirred his spirit as no other sounds could stir it quite. 

The leader of the band, walking ahead, was a pleasing figure, nothingmore. Penrod supposed him to be a mere decoration, and had neversympathized with Sam Williams' deep feeling about drum-majors. Thecornets, the trombones, the smaller horns were rather interesting, ofcourse; and the drums had charm, especially the bass drum, which mustbe partially supported by a youth in front; but, immeasurably above allthese, what fascinated Penrod was the little man with the monster horn. There Penrod's widening eyes remained transfixed--upon the horn, so dazzling, with its broad spaces of brassy highlights, and sooverwhelming, with its mouth as wide as a tub; that there was somethingalmost threatening about it. 

The little, elderly band-musician walked manfully as he blew his greathorn; and in that pompous engine of sound, the boy beheld a spectacleof huge forces under human control. To Penrod, the horn meant power, andthe musician meant mastery over power, though, of course, Penrod did notknow that this was how he really felt about the matter. 

Grandiloquent sketches were passing and interchanging before his mind'seye--Penrod, in noble raiment, marching down the staring street, his shoulders swaying professionally, the roar of the horn he boresubmerging all other sounds; Penrod on horseback, blowing the enormoushorn and leading wild hordes to battle, while Marjorie Jones looked onfrom the sidewalk; Penrod astounding his mother and father and sisterby suddenly serenading them in the library. "Why, Penrod, where DID youlearn to play like this?"

These were vague and shimmering glories of vision rather than definiteplans for his life work, yet he did with all his will determine to ownand play upon some roaring instrument of brass. And, after all, thiswas no new desire of his; it was only an old one inflamed to take a newform. Nor was music the root of it, for the identical desire is oftenuproarious among them that hate music. What stirred in Penrod was newneither in him nor in the world, but old--old as old Adam, old as thechildishness of man. All children have it, of course: they are allanxious to Make a Noise in the World. 

While the band approached, Penrod marked the time with his feet; then hefell into step and accompanied the musicians down the street, keeping asnear as possible to the little man with the big horn. There were four orfive other boys, strangers, also marching with the band, but these werelight spirits, their flushed faces and prancing legs proving that theywere merely in a state of emotional reaction to music. Penrod, on thecontrary, was grave. He kept his eyes upon the big horn, and, now andthen, he gave an imitation of it. His fingers moved upon invisible keys, his cheeks puffed out, and, from far down in his throat, he producedstrange sounds: "Taw, p'taw-p'taw! Taw, p'taw-p'taw! PAW!"

The other boys turned back when the musicians ceased to play, but Penrodmarched on, still keeping close to what so inspired him. He stayed withthe band till the last member of it disappeared up a staircase in anoffice-building, down at the business end of the street; and even afterthat he lingered a while, looking at the staircase. 

Finally, however, he set his face toward home, whither he marched in aprocession, the visible part of which consisted of himself alone. Allthe way the rhythmic movements of his head kept time with his marchingfeet and, also, with a slight rise and fall of his fingers at about themedian line of his abdomen. And pedestrians who encountered him in thispreoccupation were not surprised to hear, as he passed, a few explosivelittle vocalizations: "Taw, p'taw-p'taw! TAW! Taw-aw-HAW!"

These were the outward symptoms of no fleeting impulse, but of steadfastdesire; therefore they were persistent. The likeness of the great basshorn remained upon the retina of his mind's eye, losing nothing of itsbrazen enormity with the passing of hours, nor abating, in his mind'sear, one whit of its fascinating blatancy. Penrod might have forgottenalmost anything else more readily; for such a horn has this doublecompulsion: people cannot possibly keep themselves from looking at itspossessor--and they certainly have GOT to listen to him!

Penrod was preoccupied at dinner and during the evening, now and thencausing his father some irritation by croaking, "Taw, p'taw-p'taw!"while the latter was talking. And when bedtime came for the son of thehouse, he mounted the stairs in a rhythmic manner, and p'tawed himselfthrough the upper hall as far as his own chamber. 

Even after he had gone to bed, there came a revival of thesemanifestations. His mother had put out his light for him and hadreturned to the library downstairs; three-quarters of an hour hadelapsed since then, and Margaret was in her room, next to his, when acontinuous low croaking (which she was just able to hear) suddenly brokeout into loud, triumphal blattings:

"TAW, p'taw-p'taw-aw-HAW! P'taw-WAW-aw! Aw-PAW!"

"Penrod, " Margaret called, "stop that! I'm trying to write letters. Ifyou don't quit and go to sleep, I'll call papa up, and you'll SEE!"

The noise ceased, or, rather, it tapered down to a desultory faintcroaking which finally died out; but there can be little doubt thatPenrod's last waking thoughts were of instrumental music. And inthe morning, when he woke to face the gloomy day's scholastic tasks, something unusual and eager fawned in his face with the return ofmemory. "Taw-p'taw!" he began. "PAW!"

All day, in school and out, his mind was busy with computations--notsuch as are prescribed by mathematical pedants, but estimates of howmuch old rags and old iron would sell for enough money to buy a horn. Happily, the next day, at lunch, he was able to dismiss this problemfrom his mind: he learned that his Uncle Joe would be passing throughtown, on his way from Nevada, the following afternoon, and all theSchofield family were to go to the station to see him. Penrod would beexcused from school. 

At this news his cheeks became pink, and for a moment he was breathless. Uncle Joe and Penrod did not meet often, but when they did, Uncle Joeinvariably gave Penrod money. Moreover, he always managed to do itprivately so that later there was no bothersome supervision. Last timehe had given Penrod a silver dollar. 

At thirty-five minutes after two, Wednesday afternoon, Uncle Joe'strain came into the station, and Uncle Joe got out and shouted among hisrelatives. At eighteen minutes before three he was waving to them fromthe platform of the last car, having just slipped a two-dollar bill intoPenrod's breast-pocket. And, at seven minutes after three, Penrod openedthe door of the largest "music store" in town. 

A tall, exquisite, fair man, evidently a musical earl, stood beforehim, leaning whimsically upon a piano of the highest polish. The sightabashed Penrod not a bit--his remarkable financial condition even madehim rather peremptory. 

"See here, " he said brusquely: "I want to look at that big horn in thewindow. "

"Very well, " said the earl; "look at it. " And leaned more luxuriouslyupon the polished piano. 

"I meant--" Penrod began, but paused, something daunted, while anunnamed fear brought greater mildness into his voice, as he continued, "I meant--I--How much IS that big horn?"

"How much?" the earl repeated. 

"I mean, " said Penrod, "how much is it worth?"

"I don't know, " the earl returned. "Its price is eighty-five dollars. "

"Eighty-fi--" Penrod began mechanically, but was forced to pause andswallow a little air that obstructed his throat, as the differencebetween eighty-five and two became more and more startling. Hehad entered the store, rich; in the last ten seconds he had becomepoverty-stricken. Eighty-five dollars was the same as eighty-fivemillions. 

"Shall I put it aside for you, " asked the salesman-earl, "while you lookaround the other stores to see if there's anything you like better?"

"I guess--I guess not, " said Penrod, whose face had grown red. Heswallowed again, scraped the floor with the side of his right shoe, scratched the back of his neck, and then, trying to make his mannercasual and easy, "Well I can't stand around here all day, " he said. "Igot to be gettin' on up the street. "

"Business, I suppose?"

Penrod, turning to the door, suspected jocularity, but he found himselfwithout recourse; he was nonplussed. 

"Sure you won't let me have that horn tied up in nice wrapping-paper incase you decide to take it?"

Penrod was almost positive that the spirit of this question wassatirical; but he was unable to reply, except by a feeble shake of thehead--though ten minutes later, as he plodded forlornly his homewardway, he looked over his shoulder and sent backward a few words of moroserepartee:

"Oh, I am, am I?" he muttered, evidently concluding a conversationwhich he had continued mentally with the salesman. "Well, you're doubleanything you call me, so that makes you a smart Aleck twice! Ole doublesmart Aleck!"

After that, he walked with the least bit more briskness, but not much. No wonder he felt discouraged: there are times when eighty-five dollarscan be a blow to anybody! Penrod was so stunned that he actuallyforgot what was in his pocket. He passed two drug stores, and they hadabsolutely no meaning to him. He walked all the way without spending acent. 

At home he spent a moment in the kitchen pantry while the cook wasin the cellar; then he went out to the stable and began some reallypathetic experiments. His materials were the small tin funnel which hehad obtained in the pantry, and a short section of old garden hose. Heinserted the funnel into one end of the garden hose, and made it fast bywrappings of cord. Then he arranged the hose in a double, circular coil, tied it so that it would remain coiled, and blew into the other end. 

He blew and blew and blew; he set his lips tight together, as he hadobserved the little musician with the big horn set his, and blewand sputtered, and sputtered and blew, but nothing of the slightestimportance happened in the orifice of the funnel. Still he blew. Hebegan to be dizzy; his eyes watered; his expression became as horribleas a strangled person's. He but blew the more. He stamped his feet andblew. He staggered to the wheelbarrow, sat, and blew--and yet the funneluttered nothing; it seemed merely to breathe hard. 

It would not sound like a horn, and, when Penrod finally gave up, he hadto admit piteously that it did not look like a horn. No boy over ninecould have pretended that it was a horn. 

He tossed the thing upon the floor, and leaned back in the wheelbarrow, inert. 

"Yay, Penrod!"

Sam Williams appeared in the doorway, and, behind Sam, Master RoderickMagsworth Bitts, Junior. 

"Yay, there!"

Penrod made no response. 

The two came in, and Sam picked up the poor contrivance Penrod hadtossed upon the floor. 

"What's this ole dingus?" Sam asked. 

"Nothin'. "

"Well, what's it for?"

"Nothin', " said Penrod. "It's a kind of a horn. "

"What kind?"

"For music, " said Penrod simply. 

Master Bitts laughed loud and long; he was derisive. "Music!" he yipped. "I thought you meant a cow's horn! He says it's a music-horn, Sam? Whatyou think o' that?"

Sam blew into the thing industriously. 

"It won't work, " he announced. 

"Course it won't!" Roddy Bitts shouted. "You can't make it go withoutyou got a REAL horn. I'm goin' to get me a real horn some day beforelong, and then you'll see me goin' up and down here playin' it likesixty! I'll--"

"'Some day before long!'" Sam mocked. "Yes, we will! Why'n't you get itto-day, if you're goin' to?"

"I would, " said Roddy. "I'd go get the money from my father right now, only he wouldn't give it to me. "

Sam whooped, and Penrod, in spite of his great depression, uttered a fewjibing sounds. 

"I'd get MY father to buy me a fire-engine and team o' HORSES, " Sambellowed, "only he wouldn't!"

"Listen, can't you?" cried Roddy. "I mean he would most any time, but not this month. I can't have any money for a month beginning lastSaturday, because I got paint on one of our dogs, and he came in thehouse with it on him, and got some on pretty near everything. If ithadn't 'a' been for that--"

"Oh, yes!" said Sam. "If it hadn't 'a' been for that! It's alwaysSUMPTHING!"

"It is not!"

"Well, then, why'n't you go GET a real horn?"

Roddy's face had flushed with irritation. 

"Well, didn't I just TELL you--" he began, but paused, while the renewalof some interesting recollection became visible in his expression. "Why, I COULD, if I wanted to, " he said more calmly. "It wouldn't be a newone, maybe. I guess it would be kind of an old one, but--"

"Oh, a toy horn!" said Sam. "I expect one you had when you were threeyears old, and your mother stuck it up in the attic to keep till you'redead, or sumpthing!"

"It's not either any toy horn, " Roddy insisted. "It's a reg'lar horn fora band, and I could have it as easy as anything. "

The tone of this declaration was so sincere that it roused the lethargicPenrod. 

"Roddy, is that true?" he sat up to inquire piercingly. 

"Of course it is!" Master Bitts returned. "What you take me for? I couldgo get that horn this minute if I wanted to. "

"A real one--honest?"

"Well, didn't I say it was a real one?"

"Like in the BAND?"

"I said so, didn't I?"

"I guess you mean one of those little ones, " said Penrod. 

"No, sir!" Roddy insisted stoutly; "it's a big one! It winds around in abig circle that would go all the way around a pretty fat man. "

"What store is it in?"

"It's not in any store, " said Roddy. "It's at my Uncle Ethelbert's. He'sgot this horn and three or four pianos and a couple o' harps and--"

"Does he keep a music store?"

"No. These harps and pianos and all such are old ones--awful old. "

"Oh, " said Sam, "he runs a second-hand store!"

"He does not!" Master Bitts returned angrily. "He doesn't do anything. He's just got 'em. He's got forty-one guitars. "

"Yay!" Sam whooped, and jumped up and down. "Listen to Roddy Bittsmakin' up lies!"

"You look out, Sam Williams!" said Roddy threateningly. "You look outhow you call me names!"

"What name'd I call you?"

"You just the same as said I told lies. That's just as good as callin'me a liar, isn't it?"

"No, " said Sam; "but I got a right to, if I want to. Haven't I, Penrod?"

"How?" Roddy demanded hotly. "How you got a right to?"

"Because you can't prove what you said. "

"Well, " said Roddy, "you'd be just as much of one if you can't provewhat I said WASN'T true. "

"No, sir! You either got to prove it or be a liar. Isn't that so, Penrod. 

"Yes, sir, " Penrod ruled, with a little importance, "that's the way itis, Roddy. "

"Well, then, " said Roddy, "come on over to my Uncle Ethelbert's, andI'll show you!"

"No, " said Sam. "I wouldn't walk over there just to find out sumpthingI already know isn't so. Outside of a music store there isn't anybody inthe world got forty-one guitars! I've heard lots o' people TALK, but Inever heard such a big l--"

"You shut up!" shouted Roddy. "You ole--"

Penrod interposed. 

"Why'n't you show us the horn, Roddy?" he asked. "You said you could getit. You show us the horn and we'll believe you. If you show us the horn, Sam'll haf to take what he said back; won't you, Sam?"

"Yes, " said Sam, and added. "He hasn't got any. He went and told a--"

Roddy's eyes were bright with rage; he breathed noisily. 

"I haven't?" he cried. "You just wait here, and I'll show you!"

And he ran furiously from the stable. 

CHAPTER XXII. THE HORN OF FAME

"Bet he won't come back!" said Sam. 

"Well, he might. "

"Well, if he does and he hasn't got any horn, I got a right to call himanything I want to, and he's got to stand it. And if he doesn't comeback, " Sam continued, as by the code, "then I got a right to call himwhatever I like next time I ketch him out. "

"I expect he'll have SOME kind of ole horn, maybe, " said Penrod. 

"No, " the skeptical Sam insisted, "he won't. "

But Roddy did. Twenty minutes elapsed, and both the waiting boys haddecided that they were legally entitled to call him whatever theythought fitting, when he burst in, puffing; and in his hands he bore ahorn. It was a "real" one, and of a kind that neither Penrod nor Sam hadever seen before, though they failed to realize this, because its shapewas instantly familiar to them. No horn could have been simpler: itconsisted merely of one circular coil of brass with a mouthpiece atone end for the musician, and a wide-flaring mouth of its own, for thenoise, at the other. But it was obviously a second-hand horn; dentsslightly marred it, here and there, and its surface was dull, rathergreenish. There were no keys; and a badly faded green cord and tasselhung from the coil. 

Even so shabby a horn as this electrified Penrod. It was not astupendous horn, but it was a horn, and when a boy has been sighing forthe moon, a piece of green cheese will satisfy him, for he can play thatit is the moon. 

"Gimme that HORN!" Penrod shouted, as he dashed for it. 

"YAY!" Sam cried, and sought to wrest it from him. Roddy joined thescuffle, trying to retain the horn; but Penrod managed to secure it. With one free hand he fended the others off while he blew into themouthpiece. 

"Let me have it, " Sam urged. "You can't do anything with it. Lemme takeit, Penrod. "

"No!" said Roddy. "Let ME! My goodness! Ain't I got any right to blow myown horn?"

They pressed upon Penrod, who frantically fended and frantically blew. At last he remembered to compress his lips, and force the air throughthe compression. 

A magnificent snort from the horn was his reward. He removed his lipsfrom the mouthpiece, and capered in pride. 

"Hah!" he cried. "Hear that? I guess _I_ can't play this good ole horn!Oh, no!"

During his capers, Sam captured the horn. But Sam had not made the bestof his opportunities as an observer of bands; he thrust the mouthpiecedeep into his mouth, and blew until his expression became one of agony. 

"No, no!" Penrod exclaimed. "You haven't got the secret of blowin' ahorn, Sam. What's the use your keepin' hold of it, when you don't knowany more about it 'n that? It ain't makin' a sound! You lemme have thatgood ole horn back, Sam. Haven't you got sense enough to see I know howto PLAY?"

Laying hands upon it, he jerked it away from Sam, who was a littlepiqued over the failure of his own efforts, especially as Penrod nowproduced a sonarous blat--quite a long one. Sam became cross. 

"My goodness!" Roddy Bitts said peevishly. "Ain't I ever goin' to geta turn at my own horn? Here you've had two turns, Penrod, and even SamWilliams--"

Sam's petulance at once directed itself toward Roddy partly because ofthe latter's tactless use of the word "even, " and the two engaged incontroversy, while Penrod was left free to continue the experimentswhich so enraptured him. 

"Your own horn!" Sam sneered. "I bet it isn't yours! Anyway, you can'tprove it's yours, and that gives me a right to call you any--"

"You better not! It is, too, mine. It's just the same as mine!"

"No, sir, " said Sam; "I bet you got to take it back where you got it, and that's not anything like the same as yours; so I got a perfect rightto call you whatev--"

"I do NOT haf to take it back where I got it, either!" Roddy cried, moreand more irritated by his opponent's persistence in stating his rightsin this matter. 

"I BET they told you to bring it back, " said Sam tauntingly. 

"They didn't, either! There wasn't anybody there. "

"Yay! Then you got to get it back before they know it's gone. "

"I don't either any such a thing! I heard my Uncle Ethelbert say Sundayhe didn't want it. He said he wished somebody'd take that horn off hishands so's he could buy sumpthing else. That's just exactly what hesaid. I heard him tell my mother. He said, 'I guess I prackly got togive it away if I'm ever goin' to get rid of it. ' Well, when my ownuncle says he wants to give a horn away, and he wishes he could get ridof it, I guess it's just the same as mine, soon as I go and take it, isn't it? I'm goin' to keep it. "

Sam was shaken, but he had set out to demonstrate those rights of hisand did not mean to yield them. 

"Yes; you'll have a NICE time, " he said, "next time your uncle goes toplay on that horn and can't find it. No, sir; I got a perfect ri--"

"My uncle don't PLAY on it!" Roddy shrieked. "It's an ole wore-out hornnobody wants, and it's mine, I tell you! I can blow on it, or bust it, or kick it out in the alley and leave it there, if I want to!"

"No, you can't!"

"I can, too!"

"No, you can't. You can't PROVE you can, and unless you prove it, I gota perf--"

Roddy stamped his foot. "I can, too!" he shrieked. "You ole durnjackass, I can, too! I can, can, can, can--"

Penrod suddenly stopped his intermittent production of blats, andintervened. "_I_ know how you can prove it, Roddy, " he said briskly. "There's one way anybody can always prove sumpthing belongs to them, so that nobody'd have a right to call them what they wanted to. You canprove it's yours, EASY!"

"How?"

"Well, " said Penrod, "if you give it away. "

"What you mean?" asked Roddy, frowning. 

"Well, look here, " Penrod began brightly. "You can't give anything awaythat doesn't belong to you, can you?"

"No. "

"So, then, " the resourceful boy continued, "f'r instance, if you givethis ole horn to me, that'd prove it was yours, and Sam'd haf to say itwas, and he wouldn't have any right to--"

"I won't do it!" said Roddy sourly. "I don't want to give you that horn. What I want to give you anything at all for?"

Penrod sighed, as if the task of reaching Roddy's mind with reason weretoo heavy for him. "Well, if you don't want to prove it, and ratherlet us have the right to call you anything we want to--well, all right, then, " he said. 

"You look out what you call me!" Roddy cried, only the more incensed, inspite of the pains Penrod was taking with him. "I don't haf to prove it. It's MINE!"

"What kind o' proof is that?" Sam Williams demanded severely. "You GOTto prove it and you can't do it!"

Roddy began a reply, but his agitation was so great that what he saidhad not attained coherency when Penrod again intervened. He had justremembered something important. 

"Oh, _I_ know, Roddy!" he exclaimed. "If you sell it, that'd prove itwas yours almost as good as givin' it away. What'll you take for it?"

"I don't want to sell it, " said Roddy sulkily. 

"Yay! Yay! YAY!" shouted the taunting Sam Williams, whose every word andsound had now become almost unbearable to Master Bitts. Sam was usuallyso good-natured that the only explanation of his conduct must lie in thefact that Roddy constitutionally got on his nerves. "He KNOWS he can'tprove it! He's a goner, and now we can begin callin' him anything we canthink of! I choose to call him one first, Penrod. Roddy, you're a--"

"Wait!" shouted Penrod, for he really believed Roddy's claims to beboth moral and legal. When an uncle who does not even play upon an oldsecond-hand horn wishes to get rid of that horn, and even complains ofhaving it on his hands, it seems reasonable to consider that the hornbecomes the property of a nephew who has gone to the trouble of carryingthe undesired thing out of the house. 

Penrod determined to deal fairly. The difference between this hornand the one in the "music-store" window seemed to him just about thedifference between two and eighty-five. He drew forth the green billfrom his pocket. 

"Roddy, " he said, "I'll give you two dollars for that horn. "

Sam Williams's mouth fell open; he was silenced indeed. But for amoment, the confused and badgered Roddy was incredulous; he had notdreamed that Penrod possessed such a sum. 

"Lemme take a look at that money!" he said. 

If at first there had been in Roddy's mind a little doubt about hispresent rights of ownership, he had talked himself out of it. Also, his financial supplies for the month were cut off, on account of thecareless dog. Finally, he thought that the horn was worth about fiftycents. 

"I'll do it, Penrod!" he said with decision. 

Thereupon Penrod shouted aloud, prancing up and down the carriage-housewith the horn. Roddy was happy, too, land mingled his voice withPenrod's. 

"Hi! Hi! Hi!" shouted Roddy Bitts. "I'm goin' to buy me an air-gun downat Fox's hardware store!"

And he departed, galloping. 

. .. He returned the following afternoon. School was over, and Penrodand Sam were again in the stable; Penrod "was practising" upon the horn, with Sam for an unenthusiastic spectator and auditor. Master Bitts' browwas heavy; he looked uneasy. 

"Penrod, " he began, "I got to--"

Penrod removed the horn briefly from his lips. 

"Don't come bangin' around here and interrup' me all the time, " he saidseverely. "I got to practice. "

And he again pressed the mouthpiece to his lips. He was not of thosewhom importance makes gracious. 

"Look here, Penrod, " said Roddy, "I got to have that horn back. "

Penrod lowered the horn quickly enough at this. 

"What you talkin' about?" he demanded. "What you want to come bangin'around here for and--"

"I came around here for that horn, " Master Bitts returned, and hismanner was both dogged and apprehensive, the apprehension being moreprevalent when he looked at Sam. "I got to have that horn, " he said. 

Sam, who had been sitting in the wheelbarrow, jumped up and began todance triumphantly. 

"Yay! It WASN'T his, after all! Roddy Bitts told a big l--"

"I never, either!" Roddy almost wailed. 

"Well, what you want the horn back for?" the terrible Sam demanded. 

"Well, 'cause I want it. I got a right to want it if I want to, haven'tI?"

Penrod's face had flushed with indignation. 

"You look here, Sam, " he began hotly. "Didn't you hear Roddy say thiswas his horn?"

"He said it!" Sam declared. "He said it a million times!"

"Well, and didn't he sell this horn to me?"

"Yes, SIR!"

"Didn't I pay him money cash down for it?"

"Two dollars!"

"Well, and ain't it my horn now, Sam?"

"You bet you!"

"YES, sir!" Penrod went on with vigour. "It's my horn now whether itbelonged to you or not, Roddy, because you SOLD it to me and I paid mygood ole money for it. I guess a thing belongs to th`, person that paidtheir own money for it, doesn't it? _I_ don't haf to give up my ownpropaty, even if you did come on over here and told us a big l--"

"_I_ NEVER!" shouted Roddy. "It was my horn, too, and I didn't tell anysuch a thing!" He paused; then, reverting to his former manner, saidstubbornly, "I got to have that horn back. I GOT to!"

"Why'n't you tell us what FOR, then?" Sam insisted. 

Roddy's glance at this persecutor was one of anguish. 

"I know my own biz'nuss!" he muttered. 

And while Sam jeered, Roddy turned to Penrod desperately. 

"You gimme that horn back! I got to have it. "

But Penrod followed Sam's lead. 

"Well, why can't you tell us what FOR?" he asked. 

Perhaps if Sam had not been there, Roddy could have unbosomed himself. He had no doubt of his own virtue in this affair, and he was consciousthat he had acted in good faith throughout--though, perhaps, a littleimpulsively. But he was in a predicament, and he knew that if he becamemore explicit, Sam could establish with undeniable logic those rightsabout which he had been so odious the day before. Such triumph forSam was not within Roddy's power to contemplate; he felt that he wouldrather die, or sumpthing. 

"I got to have that horn!" he reiterated woodenly. 

Penrod had no intention to humour this preposterous boy, and it wasonly out of curiosity that he asked, "Well, if you want the horn back, where's the two dollars?"

"I spent it. I bought an air-gun for a dollar and sixty-five cents, andthree sodies and some candy with the rest. I'll owe you the two dollars, Penrod. I'm willing to do that much. "

"Well, why don't you give him the air-gun, " asked the satirical Sam, "and owe him the rest?"

"I can't. Papa took the air-gun away from me because he didn't likesumpthing I did with it. I got to owe you the whole two dollars, Penrod. "

"Look here, Roddy, " said Penrod. "Don't you s'pose I'd rather keep thishorn and blow on it than have you owe me two dollars?"

There was something about this simple question which convinced Roddythat his cause was lost. His hopes had been but faint from the beginningof the interview. 

"Well--" said Roddy. For a time he scuffed the floor with his shoe. "Daw-gone it!" he said, at last; and he departed morosely. 

Penrod had already begun to "practice" again, and Mr. Williams, after vain appeals to be permitted to practice in turn, sank intothe wheelbarrow in a state of boredom, not remarkable under thecircumstances. Then Penrod contrived--it may have been accidental--toproduce at one blast two tones which varied in pitch. 

His pride and excitement were extreme though not contagious. "Listen, Sam!" he shouted. "How's THAT for high?"

The bored Sam made no response other than to rise languidly to his feet, stretch, and start for home. 

Left alone, Penrod's practice became less ardent; he needed the stimulusof an auditor. With the horn upon his lap he began to rub the greenishbrass surface with a rag. He meant to make this good ole two-dollar hornof his LOOK like sumpthing!

Presently, moved by a better idea, he left the horn in the stable andwent into the house, soon afterward appearing before his mother in thelibrary. 

"Mamma, " he said, complainingly, "Della won't--"

But Mrs. Schofield checked him. 

"Sh, Penrod; your father's reading the paper. "

Penrod glanced at Mr. Schofield, who sat near the window, reading by thelast light of the early sunset. 

"Well, I know it, " said Penrod, lowering his voice. "But I wish you'dtell Della to let me have the silver polish. She says she won't, and Iwant to--"

"Be quiet, Penrod, you can't have the silver polish. "

"But, mamma--"

"Not another word. Can't you see you're interrupting your father. Go on, papa. "

Mr. Schofield read aloud several despatches from abroad, and after eachone of them Penrod began in a low but pleading tone:

"Mamma, I want--"

"SH, Penrod!"

Mr. Schofield continued to read, and Penrod remained in the room, for hewas determined to have the silver polish. 

"Here's something curious, " said Mr. Schofield, as his eye fell upon aparagraph among the "locals. "

"What?"

"Valuable relic missing, " Mr. Schofield read. "It was reported at policeheadquarters to-day that a 'valuable object had been stolen from thecollection of antique musical instruments owned by E. Magsworth Bitts, 724 Central Avenue. The police insist that it must have been an insidejob, but Mr. Magsworth Bitts inclines to think it was the work of anegro, as only one article was removed and nothing else found to bedisturbed. The object stolen was an ancient hunting-horn dating fromthe eighteenth century and claimed to have belonged to Louis XV, King ofFrance. It was valued at about twelve hundred and fifty dollars. "

Mrs. Schofield opened her mouth wide. "Why, that IS curious!" sheexclaimed. 

She jumped up. "Penrod!"

But Penrod was no longer in the room. 

"What's the matter?" Mr. Schofield inquired. 

"Penrod!" said Mrs. Schofield breathlessly. "HE bought an old horn--likeone in old hunting-pictures--yesterday! He bought it with some moneyUncle Joe gave him! He bought it from Roddy Bitts!"

"Where'd he go?"

Together they rushed to the back porch. 

Penrod had removed the lid of the cistern; he was kneeling beside it, and the fact that the diameter of the opening into the cistern wasone inch less than the diameter of the coil of Louis the Fifteenth'shunting-horn was all that had just saved Louis the Fifteenth'shunting-horn from joining the drowned trousers of Herman. 

Such was Penrod's instinct, and thus loyally he had followed it. 

. .. He was dragged into the library, expecting anything whatever. Thedreadful phrases of the newspaper item rang through his head like thegongs of delirium: "Police headquarters!" "Work of a negro!" "King ofFrance!" "Valued at about twelve hundred and fifty dollars!"

Eighty-five dollars had dismayed him; twelve hundred and fifty wasunthinkable. Nightmares were coming to life before his eyes. 

But a light broke slowly; it came first to Mr. And Mrs. Schofield, andit was they who illuminated Penrod. Slowly, slowly, as they spoke moreand more pleasantly to him, it began to dawn upon him that this troublewas all Roddy's. 

And when Mr. Schofield went to take the horn to the house of Mr. Ethelbert Magsworth Bitts, Penrod sat quietly with his mother. Mr. Schofield was gone an hour and a half. Upon his solemn return hereported that Roddy's father had been summoned by telephone to bring hisson to the house of Uncle Ethelbert. Mr. Bitts had forthwith appearedwith Roddy, and, when Mr. Schofield came away, Roddy was still (afterhalf an hour's previous efforts) explaining his honourable intentions. Mr. Schofield indicated that Roddy's condition was agitated, and that hewas having a great deal of difficulty in making his position clear. 

Penrod's imagination paused outside the threshold of that room in Mr. Ethelbert Magsworth Bitts' house, and awe fell upon him when he thoughtof it. Roddy seemed to have disappeared within a shrouding mist wherePenrod's mind refused to follow him. 

"Well, he got back his ole horn!" said Sam after school the nextafternoon. "I KNEW we had a perfect right to call him whatever we wantedto! I bet you hated to give up that good ole horn, Penrod. "

But Penrod was serene. He was even a little superior. 

"Pshaw!" he said. "I'm goin' to learn to play on sumpthing better'n anyole horn. It's lots better, because you can carry it around with youanywhere, and you couldn't a horn. "

"What is it?" Sam asked, not too much pleased by Penrod's air ofsuperiority and high content. "You mean a jew's-harp?"

"I guess not! I mean a flute with all silver on it and everything. Myfather's goin' to buy me one. "

"I bet he isn't!"

"He is, too, " said Penrod; "soon as I'm twenty-one years old. "

CHAPTER XXIII. THE PARTY

 ____________________________ | | | Miss Amy Rennsdale | | | | At Home | | Saturday, the twenty-third | | from three to six | | | | R. S. V. P. Dancing | ----------------------------

This little card, delicately engraved, betokened the hospitalityincidental to the ninth birthday anniversary of Baby Rennsdale, youngestmember of the Friday Afternoon Dancing Class, and, by the same token, itrepresented the total social activity (during that season) of a certainlimited bachelor set consisting of Messrs. Penrod Schofield and SamuelWilliams. The truth must be faced: Penrod and Sam were seldom invited tosmall parties; they were considered too imaginative. But in the case ofso large an affair as Miss Rennsdale's, the feeling that their parentswould be sensitive outweighed fears of what Penrod and Sam might do atthe party. Reputation is indeed a bubble, but sometimes it is blown ofsticky stuff. 

The comrades set out for the fete in company, final maternal outpouringsupon deportment and the duty of dancing with the hostess evaporating intheir freshly cleaned ears. Both boys, however, were in a state ofmind, body, and decoration appropriate to the gala scene they wereapproaching. Their collars were wide and white; inside the pockets oftheir overcoats were glistening dancing-pumps, wrapped in tissue-paper;inside their jacket pockets were pleasant-smelling new white gloves, and inside their heads solemn timidity commingled with glitteringanticipations. Before them, like a Christmas tree glimpsed throughlace curtains, they beheld joy shimmering--music, ice-cream, macaroons, tinsel caps, and the starched ladies of their hearts Penrod and Samwalked demurely yet almost boundingly; their faces were shining butgrave--they were on their way to the Party!

"Look at there!" said Penrod. "There's Carlie Chitten!"

"Where?" Sam asked. 

"'Cross the street. Haven't you got any eyes?"

"Well, whyn't you say he was 'cross the street in the first place?"Sam returned plaintively. "Besides, he's so little you can't hardlysee him. " This was, of course, a violent exaggeration, though MasterChitten, not yet eleven years old, was an inch or two short for his age. "He's all dressed up, " Sam added. "I guess he must be invited. "

"I bet he does sumpthing, " said Penrod. 

"I bet he does, too, " Sam agreed. 

This was the extent of their comment upon the small person across thestreet; but, in spite of its non-committal character, the manner of bothcommentators seemed to indicate that they had just exchanged views uponan interesting and even curious subject. They walked along in silencefor several minutes, staring speculatively at Master Chitten. 

His appearance was pleasant and not remarkable. He was a handsome, darklittle boy, with quick eyes and a precociously reserved expression; hisair was "well-bred"; he was exquisitely neat, and he had a look of manlycompetence that grown people found attractive and reassuring. In short, he was a boy of whom a timid adult stranger would have inquired the waywith confidence. And yet Sam and Penrod had mysterious thoughts abouthim--obviously there was something subterranean here. 

They continued to look at him for the greater part of block, when, their progress bringing them in sight of Miss Amy Rennsdale's place ofresidence their attention was directed to a group of men bearing festalburdens--encased violins, a shrouded harp and other beckoning shapes. There were signs, too, that most of "those invited" intended to miss nomoment of this party; guests already indoors watched from the windowsthe approach of the musicians. Washed boys in black and white, and girlsin tender colours converged from various directions, making gayly forthe thrilling gateway--and the most beautiful little girl in all theworld, Marjorie Jones, of the amber curls, jumped from a carriage stepto the curbstone as Penrod and Sam came up. She waved to them. 

Sam responded heartily; but Penrod, feeling real emotion and seekingto conceal it, muttered, "'Lo, Marjorie!" gruffly, offering no furtherdemonstration. Marjorie paused a moment, expectant, and then, as he didnot seize the opportunity to ask her for the first dance, she triednot to look disappointed and ran into the house ahead of the two boys. Penrod was scarlet; he wished to dance the first dance with Marjorie, and the second and the third and all the other dances, and he stronglydesired to sit with her "at refreshments"; but he had been unable to askfor a single one of these privileges. It would have been impossible forhim to state why he was thus dumb, although the reason was simple andwholly complimentary to Marjorie: she had looked so overpoweringlypretty that she had produced in the bosom of her admirer a severe caseof stage fright. That was "all the matter with him"; but it was thebeginning of his troubles, and he did not recover until he and Samreached the "gentlemen's dressing-room", whither they were directed by apolite coloured man. 

Here they found a cloud of acquaintances getting into pumps and gloves, and, in a few extreme cases, readjusting hair before a mirror. Some evenwent so far--after removing their shoes and putting on their pumps--asto wash traces of blacking from their hands in the adjacent bathroombefore assuming their gloves. Penrod, being in a strange mood, was oneof these, sharing the basin with little Maurice Levy. 

"Carrie Chitten's here, " said Maurice, as they soaped their hands. 

"I guess I know it, " Penrod returned. "I bet he does sumpthing, too. "

Maurice shook his head ominously. "Well, I'm gettin' tired of it. I knowhe was the one stuck that cold fried egg in P'fesser Bartet's overcoatpocket at dancin'-school, and ole p'fesser went and blamed it on me. Then, Carlie, he cum up to me, th' other day, and he says, 'Smell mybuttonhole bokay. ' He had some vi'lets stickin' in his buttonhole, andI went to smell 'em and water squirted on me out of 'em. I guess I'vestood about enough, and if he does another thing I don't like, he betterlook out!"

Penrod showed some interest, inquiring for details, whereupon Mauriceexplained that if Master Chitten displeased him further, Master Chittenwould receive a blow upon one of his features. Maurice was simple andhomely about it, seeking rhetorical vigour rather than elegance; infact, what he definitely promised Master Chitten was "a bang on thesnoot. "

"Well, " said Penrod, "he never bothered ME any. I expect he knows toomuch for that!"

A cry of pain was heard from the dressing-room at this juncture, and, glancing through the doorway, Maurice and Penrod beheld Sam Williams inthe act of sucking his right thumb with vehemence, the while his browwas contorted and his eyes watered. He came into the bathroom and heldhis thumb under a faucet. 

"That darn little Carlie Chitten!" he complained. "He ast me to hold alittle tin box he showed me. He told me to hold it between my thumb andfingers and he'd show me sumpthing. Then he pushed the lid, and a bigneedle came out of a hole and stuck me half through my thumb. That's aNICE way to act, isn't it?"

Carlie Chitten's dark head showed itself cautiously beyond the casing ofthe door. 

"How's your thumb, Sam?" he asked. 

"You wait!" Sam shouted, turning furiously; but the smallprestidigitator was gone. With a smothered laugh, Carlie dashed throughthe groups of boys in the dressing-room and made his way downstairs, his manner reverting to its usual polite gravity before he entered thedrawing-room, where his hostess waited. Music sounding at about thistime, he was followed by the other boys, who came trooping down, leavingthe dressing-room empty. 

Penrod, among the tail-enders of the procession, made his dancing-schoolbow to Miss Rennsdale and her grown-up supporters (two maiden aunts anda governess) then he looked about for Marjorie, discovering her but tooeasily. Her amber curls were swaying gently in time to the music; shelooked never more beautiful, and her partner was Master Chitten!

A pang of great penetrative power and equal unexpectedness found themost vulnerable spot beneath the simple black of Penrod Schofield'sjacket. Straightway he turned his back upon the crash-covered floorswhere the dancers were, and moved gloomily toward the hall. But one ofthe maiden aunts Rennsdale waylaid him. 

"It's Penrod Schofield, isn't it?" she asked. "Or Sammy Williams? I'mnot sure which. Is it Penrod?"

"Ma'am?" he said. "Yes'm. "

"Well, Penrod, I can find a partner for you. There are several dearlittle girls over here, if you'll come with me. "

"Well--" He paused, shifted from one foot to the other, and lookedenigmatic. "I better not, " he said. He meant no offence; his trouble wasonly that he had not yet learned how to do as he pleased at a party and, at the same time, to seem polite about it. "I guess I don't want to, " headded. 

"Very well!" And Miss Rennsdale instantly left him to his own devices. 

He went to lurk in the wide doorway between the hall and thedrawing-room--under such conditions the universal refuge of his sex atall ages. There he found several boys of notorious shyness, and stoodwith them in a mutually protective group. Now and then one of them wouldlean upon another until repelled by action and a husky "What's matter'th you? Get off o' me!" They all twisted their slender necks uneasilyagainst the inner bands of their collars, at intervals, and sometimesexchanged facetious blows under cover. In the distance Penrod caughtglimpses of amber curls flashing to and fro, and he knew himself to beamong the derelicts. 

He remained in this questionable sanctuary during the next dance; but, edging along the wall to lean more comfortably in a corner, as the musicof the third sounded, he overheard part of a conversation that somewhatconcerned him. The participants were the governess of his hostess, MissLowe, and that one of the aunts Rennsdale who had offered to providehim with a partner. These two ladies were standing just in front of him, unconscious of his nearness. 

"I never, " Miss Rennsdale said, "never saw a more fascinating little boythan that Carlie Chitten. There'll be some heartaches when he grows up;I can't keep my eyes off him. "

"Yes; he's a charming boy, " Miss Lowe said. "His manners areremarkable. "

"He's a little man of the world, " the enthusiastic Miss Rennsdale wenton, "very different from such boys as Penrod Schofield!"

"Oh, PENROD!" Miss Lowe exclaimed. "Good gracious!"

"I don't see why he came. He declines to dance--rudely, too!"

"I don't think the little girls will mind that so much!" Miss Lowe said. "If you'd come to the dancing class some Friday with Amy and me, you'dunderstand why. "

They moved away. Penrod heard his name again mentioned between them asthey went, and, though he did not catch the accompanying remark, he wasinclined to think it unfavourable. He remained where he was, broodingmorbidly. 

He understood that the government was against him, nor was his judgmentat fault in this conclusion. He was affected, also, by the conduct ofMarjorie, who was now dancing gayly with Maurice Levy, a former rivalof Penrod's. The fact that Penrod had not gone near her did not make herculpability seem the less; in his gloomy heart he resolved not to askher for one single dance. He would not go near her. He would not go nearANY OF 'EM!

His eyes began to burn, and he swallowed heavily; but he was never oneto succumb piteously to such emotion, and it did not even enter his headthat he was at liberty to return to his own home. Neither he nor anyof his friends had ever left a party until it was officially concluded. What his sufferings demanded of him now for their alleviation was notdeparture but action!

Underneath the surface, nearly all children's parties contain a groupof outlaws who wait only for a leader to hoist the black flag. The groupconsists mainly of boys too shy to be at ease with the girls, butwho wish to distinguish themselves in some way; and there are others, ordinarily well behaved, whom the mere actuality of a party makesdrunken. The effect of music, too, upon children is incalculable, especially when they do not hear it often--and both a snare-drum and abass drum were in the expensive orchestra at the Rennsdale party. 

Nevertheless, the outlawry at any party may remain incipient unless achieftain appears; but in Penrod's corner were now gathering into oneanarchical mood all the necessary qualifications for leadership. Outof that bitter corner there stepped, not a Penrod Schofield subduedand hoping to win the lost favour of the Authorities, but a hot-heartedrebel determined on an uprising. 

Smiling a reckless and challenging smile, he returned to the clusterof boys in the wide doorway and began to push one and another of themabout. They responded hopefully with counter-pushes, and presently therewas a tumultuous surging and eddying in that quarter, accompanied bynoises that began to compete with the music. Then Penrod allowed himselfto be shoved out among the circling dancers, so that he collided withMarjorie and Maurice Levy, almost oversetting them. 

He made a mock bow and a mock apology, being inspired to invent a jargonphrase. 

"Excuse me, " he said, at the same time making vocal his own conceptionof a taunting laugh. "Excuse me, but I must 'a' got your bumpus!"

Marjorie looked grieved and turned away with Maurice; but the boys inthe doorway squealed with maniac laughter. 

"Gotcher bumpus! Gotcher bumpus!" they shrilled. And they began to pushothers of their number against the dancing couples, shouting, "'Scuseme! Gotcher bumpus!"

It became a contagion and then a game. As the dances went on, stringsof boys, led by Penrod, pursued one another across the rooms, howling, "Gotcher bumpus!" at the top of their lungs. They dodged and ducked, and seized upon dancers as shields; they caromed from one couple intoanother, and even into the musicians of the orchestra. Boys who weredancing abandoned their partners and joined the marauders, shrieking, "Gotcher bumpus!" Potted plants went down; a slender gilt chair refusedto support the hurled body of Master Roderick Magsworth Bitts, and thesound of splintering wood mingled with other sounds. Dancing becameimpossible; Miss Amy Rennsdale wept in the midst of the riot, andeverybody knew that Penrod Schofield had "started it". 

Under instructions, the leader of the orchestra, clapping his hands forattention, stepped to the centre of the drawing-room, and shouted, "A moment silence, if you bleace!"

Slowly the hubbub ceased; the virtuous and the wicked paused alike intheir courses to listen. Miss Amy Rennsdale was borne away to have hertearful face washed, and Marjorie Jones and Carlie Chitten and GeorgieBassett came forward consciously, escorted by Miss Lowe. The musicianwaited until the return of the small hostess; then he announced in aloud voice:

"A fency dence called 'Les Papillons', denced by Miss Amy Rennstul, MissChones, Mister Chorch Passett, ant Mister Jitten. Some young chentlemenhaf mate so much noise ant confoosion Miss Lowe wish me to ask bleace nomore such a nonsense. Fency dence, 'Les Papillons'. "

Thereupon, after formal salutations, Mr. Chitten took Marjorie's hand, Georgie Bassett took Miss Rennsdale's, and they proceeded to dance "LesPapillons" in a manner that made up in conscientiousness whatever itmay have lacked in abandon. The outlaw leader looked on, smiling asmile intended to represent careless contempt, but in reality he wasunpleasantly surprised. A fancy dance by Georgie Bassett and BabyRennsdale was customary at every party attended by members of theFriday Afternoon Dancing Class; but Marjorie and Carlie Chitten were newperformers, and Penrod had not heard that they had learned to dance "LesPapillons" together. He was the further embittered. 

Carlie made a false step, recovering himself with some difficulty, whereupon a loud, jeering squawk of laughter was heard from theinsurgent cluster, which had been awed to temporary quiet but stillmaintained its base in the drawing-room doorway. There was a general"SH!" followed by a shocked whispering, as well as a general turning ofeyes toward Penrod. But it was not Penrod who had laughed, though noone would have credited him with an alibi. The laughter came from twothroats that breathed as one with such perfect simultaneousness thatonly one was credited with the disturbance. These two throats belongedrespectively to Samuel Williams and Maurice Levy, who were standing in astrikingly Rosencrantz-and-Guildenstern attitude. 

"He got me with his ole tin-box needle, too, " Maurice muttered to Sam. "He was goin' to do it to Marjorie, and I told her to look out, and hesays, 'Here, YOU take it!' all of a sudden, and he stuck it in my handso quick I never thought. And then, BIM! his ole needle shot out andperty near went through my thumb-bone or sumpthing. He'll be sorrybefore this day's over!"

"Well, " said Sam darkly, "he's goin' to be sorry he stuck ME, anyway!"Neither Sam nor Maurice had even the vaguest plan for causing thedesired regret in the breast of Master Chitten; but both derived alittle consolation from these prophecies. And they, too, had alignedthemselves with the insurgents. Their motives were personal--CarlieChitten had wronged both of them, and Carlie was conspicuously in highfavour with the Authorities. Naturally Sam and Maurice were against theAuthorities. 

"Les Papillons" came to a conclusion. Carlie and Georgie bowed; MarjorieJones and Baby Rennsdale curtesied, and there was loud applause. Infact, the demonstration became so uproarious that some measure of it wasopen to suspicion, especially as hisses of reptilian venomousness werecommingled with it, and also a hoarse but vociferous repetition ofthe dastard words, "Carrie dances ROTTEN!" Again it was the work ofRosencrantz and Guildenstern; but the plot was attributed to another. 

"SHAME, Penrod Schofield!" said both the aunts Rennsdale publicly, andPenrod, wholly innocent, became scarlet with indignant mortification. Carlie Chitten himself, however, marked the true offenders. A slightflush tinted his cheeks, and then, in his quiet, self-contained way, heslipped through the crowd of girls and boys, unnoticed, into thehall, and ran noiselessly up the stairs and into the "gentlemen'sdressing-room", now inhabited only by hats, caps, overcoats, and thetemporarily discarded shoes of the dancers. Most of the shoes stood inrows against the wall, and Carlie examined these rows attentively, aftera time discovering a pair of shoes with patent leather tips. He knewthem; they belonged to Maurice Levy, and, picking them up, he went toa corner of the room where four shoes had been left together undera chair. Upon the chair were overcoats and caps that he was able toidentify as the property of Penrod Schofield and Samuel Williams; but, as he was not sure which pair of shoes belonged to Penrod and whichto Sam, he added both pairs to Maurice's and carried them into thebathroom. Here he set the plug in the tub, turned the faucets, and, after looking about him and discovering large supplies of all sorts in awall cabinet, he tossed six cakes of green soap into the tub. He letthe soap remain in the water to soften a little, and, returning to thedressing room, whiled away the time in mixing and mismating pairs ofshoes along the walls, and also in tying the strings of the mismatedshoes together in hard knots. 

Throughout all this, his expression was grave and intent; his brighteyes grew brighter, but he did not smile. Carlie Chitten was a singularboy, though not unique: he was an "only child", lived at a hotel, andfound life there favourable to the development of certain peculiaritiesin his nature. He played a lone hand, and with what precocious diplomacyhe played that curious hand was attested by the fact that Carlie wasbrilliantly esteemed by parents and guardians in general. 

It must be said for Carlie that, in one way, his nature was liberal. For instance, having come upstairs to prepare a vengeance upon Sam andMaurice in return for their slurs upon his dancing, he did not confinehis efforts to the belongings of those two alone. He provided every boyin the house with something to think about later, when shoes should beresumed; and he was far from stopping at that. Casting about him forsome material that he desired, he opened a door of the dressing-roomand found himself confronting the apartment of Miss Lowe. Upon a desk hebeheld the bottle of mucilage he wanted, and, having taken possession ofit, he allowed his eye the privilege of a rapid glance into a dressingtable drawer, accidentally left open. 

He returned to the dressing-room, five seconds later, carrying not onlythe mucilage but a "switch" worn by Miss Lowe when her hair was dressedin a fashion different from that which she had favoured for the party. This "switch" he placed in the pocket of a juvenile overcoat unknown tohim, and then he took the mucilage into the bathroom. There he rescuedfrom the water the six cakes of soap, placed one in each of the sixshoes, pounding it down securely into the toe of the shoe with thehandle of a back brush. After that, Carlie poured mucilage into all sixshoes impartially until the bottle was empty, then took them back totheir former positions in the dressing-room. Finally, with carefulforethought, he placed his own shoes in the pockets of his overcoat, andleft the overcoat and his cap upon a chair near the outer door of theroom. Then he went quietly downstairs, having been absent fromthe festivities a little less than twelve minutes. He had beenenergetic--only a boy could have accomplished so much in so short atime. In fact, Carlie had been so busy that his forgetting to turn offthe faucets in the bathroom is not at all surprising. 

No one had noticed his absence. That infectious pastime, "Gotcherbumpus", had broken out again, and the general dancing, which had beenresumed upon the conclusion of "Les Papillons", was once more becomingdemoralized. Despairingly the aunts Rennsdale and Miss Lowe broughtforth from the rear of the house a couple of waiters and commanded themto arrest the ringleaders, whereupon hilarious terror spread amongthe outlaw band. Shouting tauntingly at their pursuers, they fled--andbellowing, trampling flight swept through every quarter of the house. 

Refreshments quelled this outbreak for a time. The orchestra playeda march; Carlie Chitten and Georgie Bassett, with Amy Rennsdale andMarjorie, formed the head of a procession, while all the boys who hadretained their sense of decorum immediately sought partners and fell inbehind. The outlaws, succumbing to ice cream hunger, followed suit, one after the other, until all of the girls were provided with escorts. Then, to the moral strains of "The Stars and Stripes Forever", thechildren paraded out to the dining-room. Two and two they marched, except at the extreme tail end of the line, where, since there werethree more boys than girls at the party, the three left-over boys wereplaced. These three were also the last three outlaws to succumb andreturn to civilization from outlying portions of the house after thepursuit by waiters. They were Messieurs Maurice Levy, Samuel Williams, and Penrod Schofield. 

They took their chairs in the capacious dining-room quietly enough, though their expressions were eloquent of bravado, and they jostled oneanother and their neighbours intentionally, even in the act of sitting. However, it was not long before delectable foods engaged their wholeattention and Miss Amy Rennsdale's party relapsed into etiquette forthe following twenty minutes. The refection concluded with the mildexplosion of paper "crackers" that erupted bright-coloured, fantasticheadgear, and, during the snapping of the "crackers", Penrod heard thevoice of Marjorie calling from somewhere behind him, "Carrie and Amy, will you change chairs with Georgie Bassett and me--just for fun?" Thechairs had been placed in rows, back to back, and Penrod would noteven turn his head to see if Master Chitten and Miss Rennsdale acceptedMarjorie's proposal, though they were directly behind him and Sam; buthe grew red and breathed hard. A moment later, the liberty-cap that hehad set upon his head was softly removed, and a little crown of silverpaper put in its place. 

"PENROD?"

The whisper was close to his ear, and a gentle breath cooled the back ofhis neck. 

CHAPTER XXIV. THE HEART OF MARJORIE JONES

"Well, what you want?" Penrod asked, brusquely. 

Marjorie's wonderful eyes were dark and mysterious, like still water attwilight. 

"What makes you behave so AWFUL?" she whispered. 

"I don't either! I guess I got a right to do the way I want to, haven'tI?"

"Well, anyway, " said Marjorie, "you ought to quit bumping into people soit hurts. "

"Poh! It wouldn't hurt a fly!"

"Yes, it did. It hurt when you bumped Maurice and me that time. "

"It didn't either. WHERE'D it hurt you? Let's see if it--"

"Well, I can't show you, but it did. Penrod, are you going to keep on?"

Penrod's heart had melted within him; but his reply was pompous andcold. "I will if I feel like it, and I won't if I feel like it. You waitand see. "

But Marjorie jumped up and ran around to him abandoning her escort. All the children were leaving their chairs and moving toward thedancing-rooms; the orchestra was playing dance-music again. 

"Come on, Penrod!" Marjorie cried. "Let's go dance this together. Comeon!"

With seeming reluctance, he suffered her to lead him away. "Well, I'llgo with you; but I won't dance, " he said "I wouldn't dance with thePresident of the United States"

"Why, Penrod?"

"Well--because well, I won't DO it!"

"All right. I don't care. I guess I've danced plenty, anyhow. Let's goin here. " She led him into a room too small for dancing, used ordinarilyby Miss Amy Rennsdale's father as his study, and now vacant. For a whilethere was silence; but finally Marjorie pointed to the window and saidshyly:

"Look, Penrod, it's getting dark. The party'll be over pretty soon, andyou've never danced one single time!"

"Well, I guess I know that, don't I?"

He was unable to cast aside his outward truculence though it was but arelic. However, his voice was gentler, and Marjorie seemed satisfied. From the other rooms came the swinging music, shouts of "Gotcherbumpus!" sounds of stumbling, of scrambling, of running, of muffledconcus signs and squeals of dismay. Penrod's followers were renewing thewild work, even in the absence of their chief. 

"Penrod Schofield, you bad boy, " said Marjorie, "you started every bitof that! You ought to be ashamed of yourself. "

"_I_ didn't do anything, " he said--and he believed it. "Pick on me foreverything!"

"Well, they wouldn't if you didn't do so much, " said Marjorie. 

"They would, too. "

"They wouldn't, either. Who would?"

"That Miss Lowe, " he specified bitterly. "Yes, and Baby Rennsdale'saunts. If the house'd burn down, I bet they'd say Penrod Schofield didit! Anybody does anything at ALL, they say, 'Penrod Schofield, shame onyou!' When you and Carlie were dan--"

"Penrod, I just hate that little Carlie Chitten. P'fesser Bartet made melearn that dance with him; but I just hate him. "

Penrod was now almost completely mollified; nevertheless, he continuedto set forth his grievance. "Well, they all turned around to me and theysaid, 'Why, Penrod Schofield, shame on you!' And I hadn't done a singlething! I was just standin' there. They got to blame ME, though!"

Marjorie laughed airily. "Well, if you aren't the foolishest--"

"They would, too, " he asserted, with renewed bitterness. "If the housewas to fall down, you'd see! They'd all say--"

Marjorie interrupted him. She put her hand on the top of her head, looking a little startled. 

"What's that?" she said. 

"What's what?"

"Like rain!" Marjorie cried. "Like it was raining in here! A drop fellon my--"

"Why, it couldn't--" he began. But at this instant a drop fell upon hishead, too, and, looking up, they beheld a great oozing splotch upon theceiling. Drops were gathering upon it and falling; the tinted plasterwas cracking, and a little stream began to patter down and splash uponthe floor. Then there came a resounding thump upstairs, just above them, and fragments of wet plaster fell. 

"The roof must be leaking, " said Marjorie, beginning to be alarmed. 

"Couldn't be the roof, " said Penrod. "Besides there ain't any rainoutdoors. "

As he spoke, a second slender stream of water began to patter upon thefloor of the hall outside the door. 

"Good gracious!" Marjorie cried, while the ceiling above them shook aswith earthquake--or as with boys in numbers jumping, and a great uproarburst forth overhead. 

"I believe the house IS falling down, Penrod!" she quavered. 

"Well, they'll blame ME for it!" he said. "Anyways, we better get out o'here. I guess sumpthing must be the matter. "

His guess was accurate, so far as it went. The dance-music had swunginto "Home Sweet Home" some time before, the children were preparingto leave, and Master Chitten had been the first boy to ascend to thegentlemen's dressing-room for his cap, overcoat and shoes, hismotive being to avoid by departure any difficulty in case his earlieractivities should cause him to be suspected by the other boys. But inthe doorway he halted, aghast. 

The lights had not been turned on; but even the dim windows showedthat the polished floor gave back reflections no floor-polish had everequalled. It was a gently steaming lake, from an eighth to a quarter ofan inch deep. And Carlie realized that he had forgotten to turn off thefaucets in the bathroom. 

For a moment, his savoir faire deserted him, and he was filled withordinary, human-boy panic. Then, at a sound of voices behind him, helost his head and rushed into the bathroom. It was dark, but certainsensations and the splashing of his pumps warned him that the water wasdeeper in there. The next instant the lights were switched on in bothbathroom and dressing-room, and Carlie beheld Sam Williams in thedoorway of the former. 

"Oh, look, Maurice!" Sam shouted, in frantic excitement. "Somebody'slet the tub run over, and it's about ten feet deep! Carlie Chitten'ssloshin' around in here. Let's hold the door on him and keep him in!"

Carlie rushed to prevent the execution of this project; but he slippedand went swishing full length along the floor, creating a little surfbefore him as he slid, to the demoniac happiness of Sam and Maurice. They closed the door, however, and, as other boys rushed, shouting andsplashing, into the flooded dressing-room, Carlie began to hammer uponthe panels. Then the owners of shoes, striving to rescue them from theincreasing waters, made discoveries. 

The most dangerous time to give a large children's party is whenthere has not been one for a long period. The Rennsdale party had thatmisfortune, and its climax was the complete and convulsive madness ofthe gentlemen's dressing-room during those final moments supposed to begiven to quiet preparations, on the part of guests, for departure. 

In the upper hall and upon the stairway, panic-stricken little girlslistened, wild-eyed, to the uproar that went on, while waiters and maidservants rushed with pails and towels into what was essentially theworst ward in Bedlam. Boys who had behaved properly all afternoon nowgave way and joined the confraternity of lunatics. The floors of thehouse shook to tramplings, rushes, wrestlings, falls and collisions. Thewalls resounded to chorused bellowings and roars. There were pipingsof pain and pipings of joy; there was whistling to pierce the drums ofears; there were hootings and howlings and bleatings and screechings, while over all bleated the heathen battle-cry incessantly: "GOTCHERBUMPUS! GOTCHER BUMPUS!" For the boys had been inspired by the unusualwater to transform Penrod's game of "Gotcher bumpus" into an aquaticsport, and to induce one another, by means of superior force, dexterity, or stratagems, either to sit or to lie at full length in the flood, after the example of Carlie Chitten. 

One of the aunts Rennsdale had taken what charge she could of thedeafened and distracted maids and waiters who were working to stem thetide, while the other of the aunts Rennsdale stood with her nieceand Miss Lowe at the foot of the stairs, trying to say good-nightreassuringly to those of the terrified little girls who were able totear themselves away. This latter aunt Rennsdale marked a drippingfigure that came unobtrusively, and yet in a self-contained andgentlemanly manner, down the stairs. 

"Carlie Chitten!" she cried. "You poor dear child, you're soaking! Tothink those outrageous little fiends wouldn't even spare YOU!" As shespoke, another departing male guest came from behind Carlie and placedin her hand a snakelike article--a thing that Miss Lowe seized andconcealed with one sweeping gesture. 

"It's some false hair somebody must of put in my overcoat pocket, " saidRoderick Magsworth Bitts. "Well, 'g-night. Thank you for a very nicetime. "

"Good-night, Miss Rennsdale, " said Master Chitten demurely. "Thank youfor a--"

But Miss Rennsdale detained him. "Carrie, " she said earnestly, "you'rea dear boy, and I know you'll tell me something. It was all PenrodSchofield, wasn't it?"

"You mean he left the--"

"I mean, " she said, in a low tone, not altogether devoid of ferocity. "Imean it was Penrod who left the faucets running, and Penrod who tied theboys' shoes together, and filled some of them with soap and mucilage, and put Miss Lowe's hair in Roddy Bitts's overcoat. No; look me in theeye, Carlie! They were all shouting that silly thing he started. Didn'the do it?"

Carlie cast down thoughtful eyes. "I wouldn't like to tell, MissRennsdale, " he said. "I guess I better be going or I'll catch cold. Thank you for a very nice time. "

"There!" said Miss Rennsdale vehemently, as Carlie went on his way. "What did I tell you? Carlie Chitten's too manly to say it, but I justKNOW it was that terrible Penrod Schofield. "

Behind her, a low voice, unheard by all except the person to whom itspoke, repeated a part of this speech: "What did I tell you?"

This voice belonged to one Penrod Schofield. 

Penrod and Marjorie had descended by another stairway, and he nowconsidered it wiser to pass to the rear of the little party at the footof the stairs. As he was still in his pumps, his choked shoes occupyinghis overcoat pockets, he experienced no difficulty in reaching the frontdoor, and getting out of it unobserved, although the noise upstairs wasgreatly abated. Marjorie, however, made her curtseys and farewells in acreditable manner. 

"There!" Penrod said again, when she rejoined him in the darknessoutside. "What did I tell you? Didn't I say I'd get the blame of it, no matter if the house went and fell down? I s'pose they think I putmucilage and soap in my own shoes. "

Marjorie delayed at the gate until some eagerly talking little girls hadpassed out. The name "Penrod Schofield" was thick and scandalous amongthem. 

"Well, " said Marjorie, "_I_ wouldn't care, Penrod. 'Course, about soapand mucilage in YOUR shoes, anybody'd know some other boy must of put'em there to get even for what you put in his. "

Penrod gasped. 

"But I DIDN'T!" he cried. "I didn't do ANYTHING! That ole Miss Rennsdalecan say what she wants to, I didn't do--"

"Well, anyway, Penrod, " said Marjorie, softly, "they can't ever PROVE itwas you. "

He felt himself suffocating in a coil against which no struggle availed. 

"But I never DID it!" he wailed, helplessly. "I never did anything atall!"

She leaned toward him a little, and the lights from her waiting carriageillumined her dimly, but enough for him to see that her look was fondand proud, yet almost awed. 

"Anyway, Penrod, " she whispered, "_I_ don't believe there's any otherboy in the whole world could of done HALF as much!"

And with that, she left him, and ran out to the carriage. 

But Penrod remained by the gate to wait for Sam, and the burden of hissorrows was beginning to lift. In fact, he felt a great deal better, inspite of his having just discovered why Marjorie loved him.