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THE

NEW YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY

PRESENTED BY

— QatLrl^L.Tlella

^ February IS, 1930

THE WORKS OF
BOOTH TARKINGTON

SEAWOOD EDITION

THIS EDITION IS STRICTLY LIMITED TO 1075
NUMBERED AND REGISTERED COPIES EACH
WITH A PORTRAIT SIGNED BY THE AUTHOR

IN VOLUME ONE.

^A-^

IP'J-

After original tketek
by Booth Tarlnnoton

J. .

THE WORKS OF

BOOTH TARKINGTON

PENKOD AND SAM

VOLUME
VI

GABDEN CITT NEW TORE

DOCBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
MCMXXII i_ T.

••— '^iiw

• iisum

THE N7/.V VO.?K

PUBLIC Li

4704

ASTOR, LENOX AND

TILDEN FOUNDATIONS

K 1930 L

COPTMGHT, 1916, BY

DOITBLEDAT, PAGE & OQMPANT

ALL RIOHT8 BESEBVED, INCLUDING THAT OF

TBANSLATION INTO FOBEIGN LANGUAGES,

INCLUDING THE BCANDINAYIAN

• FOLITAN MAGAZINE)

PBINTED IN THE UNITED STATES

THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY, N. Y.

• V

• ^ • ^

• *. * ♦ I

*■ .

SD8ANAH

•— • * hMmi

THE K"-.V VO:^X

PUBLIC IISSAaY

ASTOR, LENOX AND

TILDEN FOUMDATlONS

K 1930 L

COPTRIOHT, 1916, BY

DOITBLEDAT, PAGE & OQMPANT

ALL RIGHTS BE8EBVED, INCLUDINO THAT OF

TRANSLATION INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES,

INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN

• FOLITAN MAGAZINE)

PBINTEO IN THE UNITED STATES

THE COUNTBT LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY, N. Y.

► • •

SDSANAH

CONTENTS

CHAPTER VACS

I. Penrod and Sam 3

n. The Bonded Prisoner 20

m. The Militarist 34

IV. Bingism 43

V. Theln-Or-In 64

VI. Georgie Becomes a Member ... 79

Vn. Whitey 101

Vm. Salvage 109

IX. Reward of Merit 120

X. Conscience 137

XI. The Tonic 149

Xn. Gipsy 164

Xm. G>nceming Trousers 174

XrV. Camera Work in the Jungle .188

XV. A Model Letter to a Friend ... 202

XVI. Wednesday Madness 218

CONTENTS

XVIL Penrod's Busy Day 282

XVin. On Account of the Weather . . 257

XIX. Creative Art 271

XX. The Departing Guest .... 282

XXI. Yearnings 289

XXn. The Horn of Fame SOS

XXm. The Party . . . . . **. . 323

XXIV. The Heart of Maijorie Jones . . 345

FENBOD AND SAM

CHAPTER I

PENROD AND SAM

DURING the daylight hours of several au-
tumn Saturdays there had been severe out-
breaks of eavahy in the Schofield neigh-
bourhood. The sabres were of wood; the steeds were
imaginary, and both were employed in a game called
"bonded prisoner** by its inventors. Masters Penrod
Schofield and Samuel Williams. The pastime was
not intricate. When two enemies met, they fenced
spectacularly until the person of one or the other was
touched by the opposing weapon; then, when the en-
suing claims of foul play had been disallowed and the
subsequent argument settled, the combatant touched
was considered to be a prisoner until such time as he
might be touched by the hilt of a sword belonging to
one of his own party, which aflFected his release and
restored to him the full enjoyment of hostile activity.
Pending such rescue, however, he was obliged to ac-
company the forces of his captor whithersoever their
strategical necessities l^d them, which included many

4 PENROD AND SAM

strange places. For the game was exciting, and, at
its highest pitch, would sweep out of an alley into a
stable, out of that stable and into a yard, out of that
yard and into a house, and through that house with
the sound (and effect upon furniture) of trampling
herds. In fact, this very similarity must have been
in the mind of the distressed coloured woman in Mrs.
Williams' kitchen, when she declared that she might
" jes' as well try to cook right spang in the middle o'
the stock-yards/'

All up and down the neighbourhood the campaigns
were waged, accompanied by the martial clashing of
wood upon wood and by many clamorous arguments.

"You're a prisoner, Roddy Bitts!''

**Iamnot!"

"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 V felt
it, wouldn't I?"

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

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

No, you won't! If you can't show any sens^

€€•

PENROD AND SAM 5

about it, we'll do it over, and I guess you'll see
whether you feel it or not! There! Now^ I guess

you-

"Aw, squash!"

Strangely enough, theundoubted champion proved
to be the youngest and darkest of all the combatants,
one Yerman, coloured, brother to Herman, and sub-
stantially under the size to which his nine years en-
titled him. Verman was unfortunately tongue-tied,
but he was valiant beyond all others, and, in spite of
every handicap, he became at once the chief support
of his own party and the despair of the opposition.

On the third Saturday this opposition had been
worn down by the successive captures of Maiurice
Levy and Georgie Bassett until it consisted of only
Sam Williams and Penrod. Hence, it behooved these
two to be wary, lest they be wiped out altogether; and
Sam was dismayed indeed, upon cautiously scouting
round a comer of his own stable, to find himself face
to face with the valorous and skilful Verman, who was
acting as an outpost, or picket, of the enemy.

Verman unmediately fell upon Sam, horse and
foot, and Sam would have fled but dared not, for fear
he might be touched from the rear. Therefore, he de-
fended himself as best he could, and there followed a

6 PENROD AND SAM

lusty whaddng, in the course of which Verman's hat,
a relic and too large> 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 the occasion. "Yes, you are; that's the
rule, Verman. I touched your hat with my sword, and
your hat's just the same as you."

"Imm mop!" Verman insisted.

"Yes, it is," said Sam, ahready warmly convinced
(by his own statement) that he was in the right.
** Listen here! If I hit you on the shoe, it would be
the same as hitting yow, wouldn't it? I guess it'd
count if I hit 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 im-
pediment cooperated with a native amiability to
render him far less effective than in the actual combat.
He chuckled, and ceded the point.

"Aw wi," he said, and cheerfully followed his cap-
tor to a hidden place among some bushes in the front
yard, where Fenrod lurked.

PENROD AND SAM

^^Looky what I got!'' Sam said importantly, push-
ing his captive into this retreat. *^NoWy 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
b^an to laugh uproariously.

"Stop that noise!" Penrod conmianded. "You
want to bekray us? What you laughin' at?"

"Ep mack im nmnmup," Verman giggled.

"What's he mean?" asked Sam.

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," said Penrod. "They'll get
him back for the main and simple reason we can't
stay here all day, can we? And they'd find us any-
how, if we tried to. There's so many of 'em against
just us two, they can run in and touch him soon
as they get up to us — and then he^U be after us
again and "

"Listen here!" Sam interrupted. "Why can't we
put some real bonds on him? We could put bonds on

8 PENROD AND SAM

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 reason we haven't got any rope or
anything to make the bonds with, have we? I wish
we had some o' that stuflf they give sick people. Then,
I bet they wouldn'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," Penrod explained. "That's the main and
simple reason they can't wake up, and you can cut off
their ole legs— or their arms, or anything you want
to."

" Hoy ! " exclaimed Verman, in a serious tone. His
laughter ceased instantly, and he b^an to utter a
protest sufficiently intelligible.

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

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

His comrade agreed, and there was a thoughtful
silence, but presently Penrod's countenance bright-
ened.

"I know!" he exclaimed. "7 know what we'll do
with him. Why, I thought of it just as easy I I can

PENROD AND SAM 9

most always think of things like that, for the main
and simple reason — ^well, I thought of it just as
soon '*

"Well, what is it?" Sam demanded crossly. Pen-
rod's reiteration of his new-fomid phrase, "for the
main and simple reason," had been growing more and
more irksome to his friend all day, though Sam was
not definitely aware that the phrase was the cause of
his annoyance. " What are we goin' to do with him,
you know so much?"

Penrod rose and peered over the tops of the bushes,
shading his eyes with his hand, a gesture which was un-
necessary but had a good appearance. He looked all
round about him in this manner, finally vouchsafing a
report to the impatient Sam.

"No enemies in sight — ^just for the main and simple
reason I expect they're all in the alley and in Georgie
Bassett's backyard."

"I bet they're not!" Sam said scornfully, his irri-
tation much increased. " How do you know so much
about it?"

"Just for the main and simple reason," Penrod re-
pKed, with dignified finahty.

And at that, Sam felt a powerful impulse to do
violence upon the person of his comrade-in-arms.

10 PENROD AND SAM

The emotion which prompted this impulse was so
primitive and straightforward that it almost resulted
in action, but Sam had a vague sense that he must
control it as long as he could.

"Bugs!" he said.

Fenrod was sensitive, and this cold word hurt him.
However, he was under the domination of his strategic
idea, and he subordinated private grievance to the
conmion weal. "Get up!" he commanded. "You
getup,too,Verman. You got to — ^it's the rule. Now
here — ^I'll show you what we're goin' to do. Stoop
over, and botho' you do just exackly like / do.
You watch m^, because this biz'nuss has got to be
done right /*'.

Sam muttered something; he was becoming more
insiu'gent every moment, but he obeyed. Likewise,
Verman rose to his feet, ducked his head between his
shoulders, and trotted out to the sidewalk at Sam's
heels, both following Fenrod and assuming a stooping
position in imitation of him. Verman was delighted
with this phase of the game, and, also, he was pro-
foundly amused by Penrod's pomposity. Something
dim and deep within him perceived it to be cause
for such merriment that he had ado to master himself,
and was forced to bottle and cork his laughter with

PENROD AND SAM 11

both hands. They proved insuffid^it; sputterings
burst forth between his fingers.

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

Verman endeavoured to oblige, though giggles con-
tinued to leak from him at intervals, and the three
boys stole along the fence in single file, proceeding in
this fashion until they reached Fenrod's own front
gate. Here the leader ascertained, by a reconnais-
sance as far as the comer, that the hostile forces were
still looking for them in another direction. He re-
turned in a stealthy but important manner to his dis«
gruntled follower and the hilarious captive.

"Well," said Sam impatiently, "I guess I'm not
goin' to stand around here all day, I guess ! You got
anything you want to do, why'n't you go on andcfoit? "

Penrod's brow was already contorted to present the
appearance of detached and lofty concentration — ^a
histrionic failure, since it did not deceive the audience.
He raised a hushing hand.

"iSA /" he murmured. "I got to think."

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

Verman bent double, squealing and sputtering; in<
deed, he was ultimately forced to sit upon the ground,
so exhausting was the mirth to which he now gave

12 PENROD AND SAM

way. Penrod's composure was somewhat affected^
and he showed amioyance.

" Oh, I guess you won't laugh quite so much about a
minute from now, ole Mister Verman!" he said se-
verely. "You get up from there and do like I tell
you/*

"Well, why 'n't you tell him why he won't laugh
so much, then? " Sam demanded, as Verman rose.
"Why 'n't you do smnpthing and quit talkin' so much
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 irritating to Sam, he stole up the steps of the
porch, and after a moment's manipulation of the
knob of the big front door, contrived to operate the
fastenings, and pushed the door open.

"Come on," he whispered, beckoning. And the
three boys mounted the stairs to the floor above in
silence — save for a belated giggle on the part of Ver-
man, which was restrained upon a terrible gesture
from Penrod. Verman biuied his mouth as deeply as
possible in a ragged sleeve, and confined his demon-
strations to a heaving of the stomach and diaphragm.

PENROD AND SAM 18

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

** There/* he said, in a low and husky voice, "I ex-
pect you'll see what I'm goin' to do now!"

**Well, what?" asked the skeptical Sam. "If we
etay here very long your mother'U come and send us
downstairs. What's the good of "

''Wait, can't you?" Penrod wafled, in a whisper.
"My goodness!" And going to an inner door, he
threw it open, disclosing a clothes-closet hung with
p!retty garments of many kinds, while upon its floor
were two rows of shoes and slippers of great variety
and charm.

A significant thing is to be remarked concerning the
door of this somewhat intimate treasury : there was no
knob or krix^ upon the inner side, so that, when the
door was closed, it could be opened only from the out-
side.

"There!" said Penrod. "You get in there, Ver-
man, and I'D bet they won't get to touch you back out
o' bein' our pris'ner very soon, now I Oh, I guess
not!"

"Pshaw!" said Sam. "Is that all you were goin'
to do? Why, your mother'U come and make him get
out the first ^"

14 PENROD AND SAM

"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,
when the 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 or nothin'. 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 shoes and slippers, where he
presented an interesting effect of contrast. He was
still subject to hilarity — ^though endeavouring to sup-
press it by means of a patent-leather slipper — ^when
Penrod closed the door.

"There!" said Penrod, leading the way from the
room. "I guess now you see!"

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

" I thought of that just as easy ! " Penrod remarked,
probably prompted to this odious bit of comfJacency
by Sam's withholding the praise which might nat

PENROD AND SAM 15

urally have been expected. And he was moved to
add, "I guess it'd of been a pretty long while if we'd
had to wait for you to think of sumpthing as good as
that, Sam."

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

"Oh," responded Penrod, 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!" replied the goaded Sam.

"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 taUdn' to like that. I guess you need
a little sumpthing, for the main and simple "

Sam uttered an uncontrollable howl and sprang
upon Penrod, catching him round the waist. Simul-
taneously with this impact, the wooden swords spun
through the air, and were presently trodden under-
foot as the two boys wrestled to and fro.

Penrod was not altogether smprised by the onset of

16 PENROD AND SAM

his friend. He had been aware of Sam's increasing
irritation (though neither boy could have clearly
stated its cause) , and that very irritation produced a
corresponding emotion in the bosom of the irritator.
Mentally, Penrod was quite ready for the conflict —
nay, he welcomed it — ^though, for the first few mo-
ments, Sam had the physical advantage.

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

Streaks and blotches began to appear upon the
two faces, where colour had been heightened by the
ardent application of a cloth sleeve or shoulder, while
ankles and insteps were scraped and toes were
trampled. Turf and shrubberies suffered, also, as the
struggle went on, until finally the wrestlers pitched
headlong into a young lilac bush, and came to

PENROD AND SAM 17

eairth together, among its crushed and sprawling
branches.

^*Ooch /" and **Wuf T* were the two exclamations
which marked this episode, add then, with no further
oonoment, the struggle was energetically continued
upon a horizontal plane. Now Penrod was on top,
now Sam; they rolled, they squirmed, they suffered.
And this contest endured. It went on and on, and it
was impossible to imagine its coming to a defbite ter-
mination. It went on so long that, to both the par-
ticipants, it seemed to be a permanent thing, a
condition which had always existed and which must
always exist perpetually.

And thus they were discovered by a foray of the
hostile party, headed by Roddy Bitts and Herman
(older brother to Verman) and followed by the
bonded prisoners, Maurice Levy and Georgie Bas-
sett. These and others caught sight of the writhing
figures, and charged down upon them with loud cries
of triumph.

"Prisoner! Prisoner! Bonded prisoner!" shrieked
Roddy Bitts, and touched Penrod and Sam, each in
turn, with his sabre. Then, seeing that they paid no
attention and that they were at his mercy, he recalled
the fact that several times, during earlier stages of the

18 PENROD AND SAM

game, both of them had been umiecessarily vigorous
in "touching" his own rather plump person. There-
fore, the opportunity being excellent, he raised his
weapon again, and, repeating the words "bonded
prisoner" as ample explanation of his deed, brought
into play the full strength of his good right arm. He
used the flat of the sabre.

Whack J Whack t Roddy was perfectly impartial.
It was a cold-blooded performance and even more
effective than he anticipated. For one thing, it ended
the dvil war instantly. Sam and Penrod leaped to
their feet, shrieking and bloodthirsty, while Maurice
Levy capered with joy, Herman was so overcome
that he rolled upon the ground, and Georgie Bassett
remarked virtuously:

"It serves them right for fighting.'*

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

"Here! You keep away from me!** he quavered,
retreating. " I was just takin' you prisoners. I guess*
I had a right to Umch you, didn't I?"

Alas ! Neither Sam nor Penrod was able to see the
matter in that li^t. They had retrieved their own
weapons, and they advanced upon Roddy, with a pur-
posefulness that seemed horrible to him.

PENROD AND SAM 19

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

He did go home — but only subsequently. What
took place before his departure had the singular
solidity and completeness of ^systematic violence; also,
it bore the moral beauly of all actions which lead
to peace and friendship, for, when it was over, and
the final vocalizations of Roderick Magsworth Bitts,
Junior, were growing faint with increasing distance,
Sam and Penrod had forgotten their differences and
felt well disposed toward each other once more. All
their animosity was exhausted, and they were in a
glow of good feeling, though probably they were not
conscious of any direct gratitude to Roddy, whose
thoughtful opportunism was really the cause of this
happy result.

CHAPTER n

THE BONDED PRISONER

A FTER such rigorous events, every one com-
/% prehended that the game of bonded pris-
-^ ^ oner was over, and there was no suggestion
that it should or might be resimied. The fashion
of its conclusion had been so consummately enjoyed
by all parties (with the natural exception of Roddy
Bitts) that a renewal would have been tame; hence,
the various minds of the company turned to other
matters and became restless. Georgie Bassett with-
drew first, remembering that if he expected to be as
wonderful as usual, to-morrow, in Sunday-school,
it was tune to prepare himself, though this was not
included in the statement he made alleging the
cause of his departiu'e. Being detained bodily and
pressed for explanation, he desperately said that he
had to go home to tease the cook — which had the
rakehelly air he thought would insure his release,
but was not considered plausible. However, he was
finally allowed to go, and, as first hints of evening

THE BONDED PRISONER 21

were already cooling and darkening the air, the
party broke up, its members setting forth, whistling,
toward their several homes, though Fenrod lingered
with Sam. Herman was the last to go from
them.

"Well, I got git 'at stove- wood f suppuh," he
said, rising and stretching himseK. "I got git 'at
lil' soap-box wagon, an' go on ovuh wheres '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 a deep one, and
they were too far away to catch his meaning. Sam
shouted, "Can't hear you," and Herman replied,
but still imintelligibly; then, upon Sam's repetition
of "Can't hear you," Herman waved his arm in
farewell, implying that the matter was of little
significance, and vanished. But if they had under-
stood him, Fenrod and Sam might have considered
his inquiry of instant importance, for Herman's last
shout was to ask if either of them had noticed "where
Vermari went."

Verman and Verman's whereabouts were, at this
hour, of no more concern to Sam and Fenrod than

22 PENROD AND SAM

was the other side of the moon. That unfortunate
bonded prisoner had been long since utterly effaced
from their fields of consciousness, and the dark secret
of their Bastille troubled them not — ^for the main
and simple reason that they had forgotten it.

They drifted indoors, and found Sam's mother's
white cat drowsing on a desk in the library, the
which coincidence obviously inspired the experi-
ment of ascertaining how successfully ink could be
used in making a dean white cat look like a coach-
dog. There was neither malice nor mischief in their
idea; simply, a problem presented itself to the bio-
logical and artistic questionings beginning to stir
within them. They did not mean to do the cat the
slightest injury or to cause her any pain. They
were above teasing cats, and they merely detained
this one and made her feel a little wet — ^at consider-
able cost to themselves from both 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 anybody came, and, after some hasty work
with blotters, the desk was moved to cover certain
sections of the rug, and the two boys repaired to
the bathroom for hot water and soap. They knew
they had done nothing wrong, but they felt easier

THE BONDED PRISONER 23

when the only traces remaining upon them were
the less promment ones upon their garments.

These precautions taken, it was time for them to
make their appearance at Penrod's house for dinner,
for it had been arranged, upon petition, earlier in
the day, that Sam should be his friend's guest for
the evening meal. Clean to the elbows and with
light hearts, they set forth. They marched, whis-
tling — though not producing a distinctly musical
effect, since neither had any particular air in mind
— ^and they found nothing wrong with the world;
they had not a care. Arrived at their adjacent
destination, they found Miss Margaret Schofield
just entering the front door.

"Hurry, boys!*' she said. "Mamma came home
long before I did, and I'm sure dmner is waiting.
Run on out to the dining-room and tell them I'll
be right down."

And, as they obeyed, she mounted the stairs,
humming a little tune and unfastening the dasp of
the long, light-blue military cape she wore. She
went to her own quiet room, lit the gas, removed her
hat, and placed it 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.

M PENROD AND SAM

she went as far as the door. Being an orderly girU
she returned to the bed and took the cape and the
hat to her clothes-doset. She opened the door of
this sanctuary, and, in the dark, hung her cape upon
a hook and placed her hat upon the shelf. Then she
closed the door, again, having noted nothing unusual^
though she had an impression that the place needed
airing. She descended to the dinner table.

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

But from out of doors there came the sound of a
calling and questing voice, at first in the distance^
then growing louder — coming nearer.

"Oh, Ver-er-man! 0-o-o-oh, Ver-er-ma-a-an!**

It was the voice of Herman.

^^Oo-o-o^-ok, Ver-er-er^mara-^Jhant**

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

THE BONDED PRISONER 25

**0h, my ! " Sam gasped.

" VHiat's the matter?" said Mr. Schofield, "Swal-
low something the wrong way, Sam?**

"Ye-es, sir."

**0(MMM)h, Ver^er-er-ma-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 de-
manded. "Sit down!"

"It's Herman — ^that coloured boy lives in the
alley," said Penrod hoarsely. "I — expect — ^I
think ^"

"Well, what's the matter?"

"I think his little brother's maybe got lost, and
Sam and I better go help look —

"You'D do nothing of the kind," said Mr. Scho-
field sharply. "Sit down and eat your dinner."

In a palsy, the miserable boy resumed his seat.
He and Sam exchanged a single dmnb glance; then
the eyes of both swimg fearfully to Margaret. Her
appearance was one of sprightly content, and, from a
certain point of view, nothing could have been more
alarming. If she had opened her closet door with-

26 PENBOD AND SAM

out discovering Yerman, that must have been be-

-u,

cause Verman was dead and Margaret had failed to
notice the body. (Such were the thoughts of Penrod
and Sam.) But she might not have opened the
closet 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 their ears would not
be ringing with the sinister and melancholy cry that
now came from the distance, ^^Oo-o-oh^ Ver-er-

Verman, in his seclusion, did not hear that appeal
from his brother; there were too many walls between
them. But he was becoming impatient for release,
though, all in all, he had not found the confinement
intolerable or even very irksome. His character was
philosophic, his imagination calm; no bugaboos came
to trouble him. When the boys closed the door wpon
him, he made himself comfortable upon the floor
and, for a time, thoughtfully chewed a patent-leather
slipper that had come under his hand. He found
the patent leather not unpleasant to his palate,
though he swallowed only a portion of what he de-
tached, not being hungry at that time. The. soul-
fabric of Verman was of a fortunate weave; he was
not a seeker and questioner. When it happened

THE BONDED PRISONER 27

to him that he was at rest in a shady comer, he
did not even think about a place in the sun. Verman
took life as it came.

Naturally, he fell asleep. And toward the con-
clusion of his slumbers, he had this singular adven^
ture: a lady set her foot down within less than
half 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 the door. What
did rouse him was something ample and soft falling
upon him — Margaret's cape, which slid from the
hook after she had gone.

Enveloped in its folds, Verman sat up, corkscrew-^
ing his knuckles into the comers of his eyes. Slowly
he became aware of two important vacuums — one in
time and one in his stomach. Hours had vanished
strangely into nowhere; the game of bonded prisoner
was something cloudy and remote of the long, long
ago, and, although Verman knew where he was, he
had partially forgotten how he came there. He
perceived, however, that something had gone wrong,
for he was certain that he ought not to be where he
found himself.

White-Folks* House I The fact that Verman could
not have pronounced these words rendered them no

».

28 PENROD AND SAM

less clear in his mind; they began to stir his appre-
hension, and nothing becomes more rapidly tumul-
tuous than apprehension once it is stirred. That he
might possibly obtain release by making a noise was
too daring a thought and not even conceived, much
less entertained, by the little and humble Verman.
For, with the bewildering gap of his slumber be-
tween him and previous events, he did not place the
responsibility for his being in White-Folks' House
upon the white folks who had put him there. His
state of mind was that of the stable-puppy who
knows he mvM not be found in the parlour. Not
thrice in 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 him
to get out of White-Folks' House unobserved and
unknown. It was in his very blood to be sure of
that.

Further than this point, the processes of Verman's
mind become mysterious to the observer. It ap-
pears, however, that he had a definite (though some-
what primitive) conception of the usefulness of dis-
guise; and he must have begun his preparations be-
fore he heard footsteps in the room outside his closed
door.

THE BONDED PRISONER 99

These footsteps were Margaret's. Just as Mr.
Schofield's coffee was brought, and just after Penrod
had been baffled in another attempt to leave the
table, Margaret rose and patted her father unper-
tinently upon the head.

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

And she began her dancing on the spot, pirouetting
herself swiftly out of the room, and was immedi«
ately heard running up the stairs.

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

"I got to go," gasped Penrod. "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,'*
said Mr. Schofield grimly. "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't you, Sam?

»i

80 PENROD AND 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-i "

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

Margaret continued to shriek, and it is not to be
denied that there was some cause for her agitation^
When she opened the closet door, her light-blue
military cape, instead of hanging on the hook where
she had left it, came out into the room in a manner
which she afterward described as ^*s, kind of horrible
creep, but faster than a creep.'* Nothing was to be
seen except the creeping cape, she said, but, of course,
she could tell there was some awful thing inside of
it. It was too large to be a cat, and too small to be a
boy; it was too large to be Duke, Penrod's little old
dog, and, besides, Duke wouldn't act like that. It
crept rapidly out into the upper hall, and then, as she
recovered the use of her voice and began to scream,
the animated cape abandoned its creeping for a
quicker gait — "a weird, heaving flop," she defijied it.

THE BONDED PRISONER 31

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

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

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

It was at this moment that Sam Williams dis-
played the presence of mind which was his most
eminent characteristic. Sam's wonderful instinct
for the right action almost never failed him in a
crisis, and it did not f aO him now. Leaping to the
door, at the very instant when the rolling cape
touched it, Sam flung the door open — and the cape
rolled on. With incredible rapidity and intelligence,
it rolled, indeed, out into the night.

Penrod jumped after it, and the next second re-
appeared in the doorway holding the cape. He
shook out its folds, breathing hard but acquiring
confidence. In fact, he was able to look up in his
father's face and say, with bright ingenuousness

"It was just laying there. Do you know what I
think? Well, it couldn't have acted that way itself.

82 PENROD AND SAM

/ think there must have been sumpthing kind of
inside of it!"

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

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

• • • In the library, after Margaret's departure to
her dance, Mr. and Mrs. Schofield were still discuss-
ing the visitation, Penrod having accompanied his
homeward-bound guest as far as the front gate.

"No; you're wrong," said Mrs. Schofield, uphold-
ing a theory, earlier developed by Margaret, that
the animated behaviour of the cape could be satis-
factorily explained on no other ground than the
supernatural. "You see, the boys saying they
couldn't remember what Mrs. Williams wanted
them to teU Margaret, and that probably she hadn't
told them anything to tell her, because most likely
they'd misunderstood something she said — ^well, of
course, all that does sound mixed-up and peculiar,
but they soimd that way about half the time, any-
how. No; it couldn't possibly have had a thing to
do with it. They were right there at the table with
us all the time, and they came straight to the table

THE BONDED PRISONER SS

the minute they entered the house. Before that,
they'd been over at Sam's all afternoon. So, it
corddrCt have been the boys." Mrs. Schofield paused
to ruminate with a little air of pride, then added:
''Maigaret has often thought — oh, long before this!
— ^that she was a medium. I mean — ^if she would
let herself. So it wasn't anything the boys did."

Mr. Schofield grunted.

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

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

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

"Pinel** said Penrod casually. "G'-night, Sam."

CHAPTER m

THB MnJTARIST

PENROD SCHORELD, having been 'kept
in'* for the unjust period of twenty minutes
after school, emerged to a deserted street.
That is, the street was deserted so far as Penrod
was concerned. Here and there people were to be
seen upon the sidewalks, but they were adults, and
they and the shade trees had about the same qual-
ity of significance in Penrod's consciousness. Usu-
aUy he saw grown people in the mass, which is to
say, they were virtually invisible to him, though
exceptions must be taken in favour of policemen,
firemen, street-car conductors, motormen, and all
other men in any sort of uniform or regalia. But
this afternoon none of these met the roving eye,
and Penrod set out upon his homeward way wholly
dependent upon his own resources.

To one of Penrod's inner texture, a mere un-
adorned walk from one point to another was intol-
erable, and he had not gone a block without achiev*

THE MILITARIST S5

ing some slight remedy for the tameness of life. An
electric-light pole at the comer, invested with powers
of observation, might have been surprised to find
itself suddenly enacting a rdle of dubious honour in
improvised melodrama. Penrod, approaching, gave
che pole a look of sharp suspicion, then one of con-
viction; slapped it lightly and contemptuously with
his open hand; passed on a few paces, but turned
abruptly, and, pointing his right forefinger, uttered
the i^ymboUc word, "Bing!"

The plot was somewhat indefinite; yet nothing is
more certain than that the electric-light pole had

first attempted something against him, then growing
bitter when slapped, and stealing after him to take
him treacherously in the back, had got itself shot
through and through by one too old in such warfare
to be caught off his guard.

Leaving the body to lie where it was, he placed the
smoking pistol in a holster at his saddlebow — ^he
had decided that he was mounted — ^and proceeded
up the street. At intervals he indulged himself in
other encoimters, reining in at first suspicion of
ambush with a muttered, "Whoa, Charhe!'* or
"Whoa, Mike!" or even "Whoa, Washington!"
for preoccupation with the enemy outweighed at-

36 PENROD AND SAM

tention to the details of theatrical consistency,
though the steed's varying names were at least har-
moniously masculine, since a boy, in these creative
moments, never rides a mare. And having brought
Charlie or Mike or Washington to a standstill,
Penrod woidd draw the sure weapon from its holster
and — "Bing! Bing! Bing!" — let them have it.

It is not to be understood that this was a noisy
performance, or even an obvious one. It attracted
no attention from any pedestrian, and it was to be
perceived only that a boy was proceeding up the
street at a somewliat irregular gait. Three or four
years earlier, when Penrod was seven or eight, he
would have shouted "Bing!'* at the top of his voice;
he would have gaUoped openly; all the world might
have seen that he bestrode a charger. But a change
had come upon him with advancing years. Al-
though 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
his equestrianism was established by action mostly
of the mind, the accompanying artistry of the feet
being unintelligible to the passerby.

And yet, though he concealed from observation

THE MILITARIST 87

the stirriiig little scenes he thus enacted, a love of
realism was increasing within him. Early childhood
is not fastidious about the accessories of its drama —
a cane is vividly a gim which may instantly, as
vividly, become a horse; but at Penrod'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 point of being contemptible
and ridicidous, and he employed them only when
he was alone and unseen. For months a yearning
had grown more and more poignant in his vitals,
and this yearning was symbolized by one of his most
profound secrets. In the inner pocket of his jacket
he carried a bit of wood whittled into the distant
likeness of a pistol, but not even Sam 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 side except at night, when it
was placed imder his pillow. Still, it did not satisfy;
it was but the token of his yearning and his dream.
With all his might and main Penrod longed for one
thing beyond all others. He wanted a Real Pistol!
That was natural. Pictures of real pistols being
used to magnificently romantic eflPect were upon al-
most all the billboards in town, the year round;

88 PENROD AND SAM

and as for the "movie" shows, they' could not have
lived an hour unpistoled. In the drug store, where
Penrod bought his candy and soda when he was in
funds, he would linger to turn the pages of periodicals
whose illustrations were fascinatingly pistolic. Some
of the magazines upon the very library table at
home were sprinkled with pictiu^es of people (usually
in evening clothes) pointing pistols at other people.
Nay, the Library Board of the town had emitted a
** Selected List of Fifteen Books for Boys," and
Penrod had read fourteen of them with pleasure,
but as the fifteenth contained no weapons in the
earlier chapters and held forth little prospect of any
shooting at all, he abandoned it halfway, and read
the most sanguinary of the other fourteen over
again. So, the daily food of his imagination being
gun, what wonder that 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 house through
the kitchen, ceased to bing for a time. However,
driven back from the fore part of the house by a
dismal sound of callers, he returned to the kitchen
and sat down.

"Delia," he said to the cook, "do you know what

THE MILITARIST 39

I'd do if you was a crook and I had my ottomatic
with me?**

Delia was industrious and preoccupied. ''If I was
a cook!'* she repeated ignorantly, and with no cor-
diality. "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!**

Fenrod chose the latter, and betook himself slowly
to the back fence, where he was greeted in a boister-
ous manner by his wistful little old dog, Duke, re-
turning from some affair of his own in the alley.

"Get down!** said Penrod coldly, and bestowed a
spiritless " Bing ! ** upon him.

At this moment a shout was heard from the alley,
"Yay, Penrod!'* and the sandy 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, moved slowly away, but presently,
glancing back over his shoulder and seeing the two
boys standing together, he broke into a trot and
disappeared round a comer of the house. He was
a dog of long and enlightening experience; and he
made it clear that the conjimction of Fenrod and
Sam portended events which, from his point of view.

40 PENROD AND SAM

might be unfortunate. Duke had a forgiving dir*
position, but he also possessed a melancholy wisdom.
In the company of either Penrod or Sam, alone, af-
fection often caused him to Unger, albeit with a littte
pessimism, but when he saw them together, he in-
variably withdrew in as unobtrusive a manner as
haste would allow.

"What you doin'?" Sam asked.

"Not^iin'. What you?"

"I'll show you if you'll come over to our house,"
said Sam, who was wearing an important and secre-
tive 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,"
jaid Penrod indiflFerently. "I know everything
that's in your yard and in your stable, and there
isn'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," re-
turned Penrod frankly, "that I'd walk two feet to
look at — ^not a thing!"

"Oh, no!" Sam assumed moclceiy. "Oh, no^

THE MILITARIST 41

jrou wouldn't! You know what it is, 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 is it?"

"You wait and see," said Sam, as they climbed
the fence. "I bet your ole eyes'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's sumpthing mighty "

"You'll see!" Sam promised*

He opened an alley gate and stepped into his own
yard in a manner signalling caution — ^though the
exploit, thus far, certainly required none — and Pen*
rod began to be impressed and hopeful. They
entered the house, silently, encoimtering no one,
and Sam led the way upstairs, tiptoeing, implying
unusual and increasing peril. Turning, in the upper
hall, they went into Sam's father's bedroom, and
Sam closed the door with a caution so genuine that
already Penrod's eyes began to fulfil his host's pre-
diction. Adventures in another boy's house are
trying to the nerves; and another boy's father's
bedroom, when invaded, has a violated sanctity
that is almost appalling. Penrod felt that some-

42 FENBOD AND SAM

thing was about to 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 its contents — ^Mr. Williams*
winter imderwear — ^lay exposed. Then he fumbled
beneath the garments and drew forth a large object,
displaying it triumphantly to the satisfactorily dum-
founded Penrod.

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

CHAPTER IV

BINGISM

BOTH boys lived breathlessly through a mag-
nificent 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 you how I do."

"No; you let me show you how I do!" Penrod
insisted; and they scuffled for possession.

"Look out!" Sam whispered wamingly. "It
might go oflf."

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

"I don't want any dagger," Sam protested, ad-
vancing. "I want that revolaver. It's my father's
revolaver, ain't it?"

"Well, wait a minute, can't you? I got a right to

44 PENROD AND SAM

show you the way I (to, first, haven't I?" Penrod
began an improvisation on the spot. "Say I'm
comin' along after dark like this — ^look, Sam! And
say you try to make a jump at me "

**I won't!" Sam declined this r61e impatiently.
"I guess it ain't your father's revolaver, is it?"

"Well, it may be your father's but it ain't yours,"
Penrod argued, becoming logical. "It ain't cither's
of us revolaver, so I got as much right '*

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

Watch^ can't you — just a minute!" Penrod urged
vehemently. "I'm not goin' 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 this way — ^like this — ^look, Sam!"

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

"I'm just walkin' along like this, and first I don't
see you," continued the actor. "Then I kind of
get a notion sumpthing wrong's liable to happen,

so I No!" He interrupted himself abruptly.

"No; that isn't it. You wouldn't notice that I
had my good ole revolaver with me. You wouldn't
think I had one, because It'd be under my coat like

BINGISM 45

this, and you wouldn't see it." Penrod stuck. the
muzzle of the pistol into the waistband of his knicker-
bockers at the left side and, buttoning his jacket,
sustained the weapon in conceabnent 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 good*
ness! 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 the wall, turning his
right side toward Sam and keeping the revolver still
protected 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 and endeavouring to reach his
left side — "anyway, I'm goin* to have it now."

46 PENROD AND SAM

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

''I did not!" Sam, likewise lost to caution, as*
serted 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 room and stood upon the threshold.
The scuffling of Sam and Penrod ceased instantly,
and they stood hushed and stricken, while fear fell
upon them. "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 meek-
ness. They were summoning their faculties— which
were needed. Indeed, these are the crises which
prepare a boy for the business difficulties of his later
life. Penrod, with the huge weapon beneath his
jacket, insecurely supported by an elbow and
by a waistband which he instantly began to

BINGISM 47

distrust, experienced distressful sensations similar
to those of the owner of too heavily insiured
properly carrying a gasoline can under his overcoat
and detained for conversation by a policeman. And
if, in the coming years, it was to be Penrod's lot to
find himself in that precise situation, no doubt he
would be the better prepared for it on account of
this present afternoon's experience imder the scald-
mg eye of Mrs. Williams. It should be added that
Mrs. Williams's eye was awful to the imagination
only. It was a gentle eye and but mildly curious,
having no remote suspicion of the dreadful truth,
for Sam had backed upon the chest of drawers and
dosed the damnatory open one with the calves of his

Sam, not bearing the fatal evidence upon his
person, was in a better state than Fenrod, though
when boys fall into the stillness now assumed by
these two, it should be understood that they are
suffering. Penrod, in fact, was the prey to appre-
hensicm so keen that the actual pit of his stomach
was cold.

Being the actual custodian of the crime, he imder-
stood that his case was several degrees more serious
than that of Sam, who, in the event of detection.

48 PENROD AND SAM

would be convicted as only an accessory. It was a
lesson, and Penrod already repented his selfishness in
not allowing Sam to show how he did, first.

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

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

Still she seemed dimly imeasy, 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. Dif-
ferent things."

"What things?"

"Oh, just sumpthing. Different things."

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

She stood, evidently expecting them to precede
her. To linger might renew vague suspicion, caus-
ing it to become more definite; and boys preserve

BINGISM 49

themselves from moment to moment, not often
attempting to secure the future. Consequently,
the apprehensive Sam and the imfortunate Penrod
(with the monstrous implement bulking against his
ribs) walked out of the room and down the stairs,
their eoimtenanees indicating an interior condition
of solenmity. And a curious shade of behaviour
might have here interested a criminologist. Penrod
endeavoured to keep as close to Sam as possible,
like a lonely person seeking company, 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 reached the 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 reading his evening paper. He
looked up pleasantly, but it seemed to Penrod
that he had an ominous and penetrating expres-
sion.

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

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

"What like?"

"Oh — ^just different things."

50 PENROD AND SAM

Mr. Williams nodded; then his glance rested caa»
ually upon Penrod.

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

i Penrod became paler^ and Sam withdrew from him
almost conspicuously.

**Sir?'' ^

"I said. What's the matter with your arm?'*^

"Which one?" Penrod quavered.

"Yoiir left. You seem to be holding it in an
unnatural position. Have you hurt 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 he bite you?"

"On the — aright 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 cookie Mrs. Williams brought
him. He ate it without relish.

BIN6ISM 51

** 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 for cookies.

"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 day before yesterday."

" Gracious ! How did it "

"He — ^he just came up and bit me."

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

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

"You poor boy! Your mother must have been
dreadfully frightened when you came 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, she ad-

62 PENROD AND SAM

dressed him directly, "You* ma telefoam if you here,
send you home right away, 'cause they waitin'
dinner on you.'*

^^Run along, then,'' said Mrs. Williams, patting
the visitor lightly upon his shoulder; and she ac«
companied him to the front door. "Tell your
mother I'm so sorry about your getting bitten, and
you must take good care of it, Penrod."

"Yes'm."

Penrod lingered helplessly outside the doorway,
looking at Sam, who stood partially obscured in the
hall, behind Mrs. Williams. Penrod's eyes, with a
veiled anguish, conveyed a pleading for help as well
as a horror of the position in which he foimd him-
self. Sam, however, pale and determined, seemed
to have assumed a stony attitude of detachment,
as if it were well understood between them that
his own comparative innocence was established,
and that whatever catastrophe ensued, Penrod had
brought it on and must bear the brunt of it
alone.

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

• • • * Ten minutes later Penrod took his place

BINGISM 6S

at his own dinner-table, somewhat breathless but
with an expression of perfect composure.

** Can't you ever come home without being tele-
phoned for?" demanded his father.

"Yes, sir.*' And Penrod added reproachfully,
placing the blame upon members 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 had to be polUe, didn't I?"

His left arm was as free as his right; there was no
dreadful bulk beneath his jacket, and at Penrod's
age the future is too far away to be worried about.
The difference between temporary security and
permanent security is left for grown people. To
Penrod, security wa^ security, and before 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 not altogether
without apprehension, and he stood in the doorway
looking well about him before he lifted a loosened
plank in the flooring and took from beneath it the
grand old weapon of the Williams family. Noi did
his eye lighten with any pleasurable excitement
as he sat himself down in a shadowy comer and

54 PENROD AND_ SAM

b^an some sketchy experiments with the mech*
anism. The allure of first sight was gone. In
Mr. Williams' bedchamber, with Sam clamouring
for possession, it had seemed to Fenrod that nothing
in the world was so desirable as to have that revolver
in his own hands — ^it was his dream come true.
But, for reasons not definitely known to him, the
charm had departed; he turned the cylinder gingerly,
almost with distaste; and slowly there stole over
him a feeling that there was something repellent
and threatening in the heavy blue 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 other reason, he pointed the revolver
at the lawn-mower, and gloomily murmured, "Bing!'*

Simultaneously, a low and cautious voice sounded
from the yard outside, "Yay, Penrod !*' and Sam
Williams darkened the doorway, his eye falling in-
stantly upon the weapon in his friend's hand. Sam
seemed relieved to see 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

«<'

BINGISM 55

me/' he added, inspired by Sam's presence to as-
sume a slight swagger. "They'd have to get up
pretty 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. "Because this morning papa was
putting on his winter underclothes and he foimd it
wasn't there, and they looked all over and every-
where, and he was pretty mad, and said he knew it
was those cheap plumbers stole it that mamma
got instead of the regular plumbers he always used
to have, and he said there wasn't any chance ever
gettin' it back, because you couldn't tell which one
took it, and they'd all swear it wasn't them. So it
looks like we could keep it for our revolaver, Penrod,
don't it? I'll give you half of it."

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

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

This incited a genuine spark from Penrod.

56 PENROD AND SAM

"Foxirth o' July! I guess she'll be a little better
than any firecrackers! Just a little ^Bing! Bing!
Bingl' she'H be goin\ *Bing! Bing! Bing!'*'

The suggestion of noise stirred his comrade. **I'll
bet she'll go off louder'n that time the gas-works
blew up! I wouldn't be afraid to shoot her off any
time."

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

"You aren't, either!" Sam exclaimed promptly.
"I wouldn't be any more afraid 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 the weapon scornfully to Sam,
who at once became less self-assertive.

"I'd shoot her off in a minute," Sam said, "only
it might break sumpthing 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 re-
volver at arm's length. Both boys turned away
their heads, and Penrod put his fingers in his ears —
but nothing happened. "What's the matter?" he

BINGISM 57

demanded. "Why don't you go on if you're goin*
to?'*

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

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

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

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

A pause followed.

"Why'n't you go ahead?"

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

"I can't pull the trigger," said Sam indistinctly,
his face convulsed as in sympathy with the great

58 PENROD AND SAM

muscular efforts of other parts of his body. "She
won't pull!''

"She won't?" Penrod remarked with scorn.
"I'U bet I could puU her."

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

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

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

"Poor 'ittle baby!" he said, swinging the pistol
at his side with a fair pretense of careless ease.
Ain't even strong enough to pull a trigger! Pooi
ittle baby! Well, if you can't even do that much,
you better watch me while I —

**We wdAjyi Yifcu, u you can l y

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

" WeU, 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 and pointing it in the di-
rection of the double doors, which opened upon
the alley. "You better run. Sam," he Jeered.

BINGISM 59

-You'll be pretty scared when I shoot her off, I
guess."

"Well, why don't you see ill will? I bet you're
afraid yourself/'

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

Bang I Wh-a-a-ack A shattering rqxjrt split
the air of the stable, and there was an orifice of re-
markable diameter in the alley door. With these
phenomena, three yells, expressing excitement of
diflferent kinds, were almost simultaneous — ^two from
within the stable and the third from a point in the
alley about eleven inches lower than the orifice just
constructed in the planking of the door. This third
point, roughly speaking, was the open mouth of a
gayly dressed young coloured man whose attention,
as he strolled, had been thus violently distracted
from some mental computations he was making in

60 PENROD AND SAM

ziumbers, including, particularly, those symbols of
ecstasy or woe, as the case might be, seven and
eleven. His eye at once perceived the orifice on a
line enervatingly little above the top of his head;
and, although he had not supposed himself so well
known in this neighbourhood, he was aware that he
did, here and there, possess acquaintances of whom
some such uncomplimentary action might be ex-
pected as natural and characteristic. His inunediate
procedure was to prostrate himself flat upon the
ground, against the stable doors.

In so doing, his shoulders came brusquely in con-
tact with one of them, which happened to be un-
fastened, and it swung open, revealing to his gaze
two stark-white white boys, one of them holding an
enormous pistol and both staring at him in stupor of
ultimate horror. For, to the glassy eyes of Penrod
and Sam, the stratagem of the young coloured man,
thus dropping to earth, disclosed, with awful cer-
tainty, 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, for both boys
turned and would have fled, shrieking, but the body
spoke:

BIXGEM CI

*'Afs m met haaasssl" it siid RpraadifQlIy.
"'Nioe basmes! Trrin' How m usEns bead off!**

Pernod was cmaUe to speak, but Sazn managed to
anminon the tremnloGs semblance of a i;we

*• Where — where did it hit too?" be gasped.

^'Nemmine anything Ixxit whexe it kU me,^ the
yomig cdoared man letnmed, dusting his breast
and knees as he lose. ''I nant to know what kine
o* white boys yon think you is — man can't walk
long street 'thcMit you bk>win' his head off!'' He
entered the stable and, with an indignation surely
justified, took the pistol from the limp, cold hand of
Fenrod. "Whose gun you playin' with? Where
you git 'at gun?**

**It'8 ours," quavered Sam. "It belongs to us.**

"Then you* pa ought to be 'rested,'* said the
young coloured man. " Lettin' boys p ay with gun ! **
He examined the revolver with an interest in which
there b^an 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 most
dexterous and surprising; then suddenly he became
severe. "You white boy, listen me!" he said. "Ef
I went an did what I ojigkt to did, I'd march straight

62 PENROD AND SAM

out *iss stable, git a policeman, an* tell him 'rest you
an* take you oflf 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 do no
mo* harm with her. I'm goin* take her way off in
the woods an' th'ow her away where can't nobody
fine her an' go blowin' man's head off with her.
•At's what I'm goin* do ! " And placing the revolver
inside his coat as inconspicuously as possible, he
proceeded to the open door and into the alley, where
he turned for a final word. "I let you off 'iss one
time," he said, "but listen me — ^you listen, white boy:
you bet' not tell you' pa. / ain* goin* tell him, an'
you ain' goin* tell him. He want know where gim
gone, you tell him you los' her."

He disappeared rapidly.

Sam Williams, swallowing continuously, presently
walked to the alley door, and remarked in a weak
voice, "I'm sick at my stummick." He paused,
then added more decidedly: "I'm goin* home. I
guess I've stocNl about enough around here for one
day!" And bestowing a last glance upon his friend,
who was now sitting dumbly upon the fioor in the
exact spot where he had stood to fire the dreadful
shot, Sam moved slowly away.

BINGISM 63

The early shades of autumn evening were falling
when Penrod emerged from the stable; and a better
light might have disclosed to a shrewd eye some
indications that here was a boy who had been ex-
tremely, if temporarily, ill. He went to the cistern,
and, after a cautious glance round the reassuring
horizon, lifted the iron cover. Then he took from
the inner pocket of his jacket an object which he
dropped listlessly into the water: it was a bit of
wood, whittled to the likeness of a pistol. And
though 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 they came
almost from the slowly convalescing profimdities
of his stomach. These words concerned firearms,
aiid 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 in general, several of the most dis-
tinguished old gentlemen in Europe were at that very
moment in exactly the same state of mind.

CHAPTER V

THE m-OR-IN

GEORGIE BASSETT was a boy set apart.
Not only that; Georgia knew that he was
a boy set apart. He would think about it
for ten or twenty minutes at a time, and he could not
look at himself in a mirror and remain wholly with
out emotion. What that emotion was, he would have
been unable to put into words, but it helped him to
understand that there was a certain noble something
about him which other boys did not possess.

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

THE IN-OR-IN 64

Fenrod Schofield and Sam Williams and the other
boys of the neighbourhood all were conscious that
there was something different and spiritual about
Georgie, and, though this consciousness of theirs
may have 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 did not know
that they knew it. Georgie's air and manner at
all times demonstrated to them that the thing was
so, and, moreover, their mothers absorbed appre-
ciation of Georgie's wonderfulness from the very
fount of it, for Mrs. Bassett's conversation was of
little else. Thus, the radiance of his character be-
came the topic of envious parental comment during
moments of strained patience in many homes, so
that altogether the most remarkable fact to be
stated of Georgie Bassett is that he escaped the con«^
sequences as long as he did.

Strange as it may seem, no actual violence wa3
done him except upon the incidental occasion of a
tar-fight, into which he was drawn by an obvious
eccentricity on the part of destiny. Naturally, he
was not popular with his comrades; in all games he
was pushed aside, and disregarded, being invariably
the tail-ender in every pastime in which leaders

66 PENROD AND SAM

"chose sides"; his counsels were slighted as worse
than weightless, and all his opinions instantly hooted.
StUl, considering the circumstances fairly and
thoughtfully, it is difficult to deny that his boy com-
panions showed creditable moderation in their treat*
ment of him. That is, they were moderate up to a
certain date, and even then they did not directly
attack him — ^there was nothing cold-blooded about
it at all. The thing was forced upon them, and,
though they all felt pleased and uplifted — while it
was happening — ^they did not imderstand precisely
why. Nothing could more clearly prove their in-
nocence of heart than this very ignorance, and yet
none of the grown people who later felt themselves
concerned in the matter was able to look at it in that
light. Now, here was a characteristic working of
those reactions which produce what is sometimes
caQed "the mjustice of life,*' because the grown
people were responsible for the whole affair and were
really the guilty parties. It was from grown people
that Georgie Bassett learned that he was a boy set
apart, and the effect upon him was what alienated
his friends. Then these alienated friends were
brought (by odious comparisons on the part of grown
people) to a condition of mind wherein they suffered

THE IN-OR-IN 67

dumb annoyance, like a low fever, whenever they
heard Georgie's name mentioned, while association
with his actual person became every day more and
more irritating. And yet, having laid this fuse and
having kept it constantly glowing, the grown people
expected nothing to happen to Georgie.

Thi, catastrophe befell as a consequence of Sam
Williams deciding to have a shack in his backyard.
Sam had somehow obtained a vasty piano-box and a
quantity of lumber, and, summoning Penrod Scho-
field and the coloured brethren, Herman and Ver-
man, he expounded to them his building-plans and
offered them shares and benefits in the institution
he purposed to found. Acceptance was enthusiastic;
straightway the assembly became a union of car-
penters all of one mind, and ten ^ays saw the shack
not completed but comprehensible. Anybody could
tell, by that time, that it was intended for a shack.

There was a door on leather hinges; it drooped,
perhaps, but it was a door. There was a window —
not a glass one, but, at least, it could be ^^ looked out
of,'' as Sam said. There was a chinmey made of
stovepipe, though that was merely decorative, be-
cause the cooking was done out of doors in an under-
ground" furnace*' which the boys excavated. There

68 PENROD AND SAM

were pictures pasted on the interior walls, and,
hanging from a nail, there was a crayon portrait of
Sam's grandfather, which he had brought down from
the attic quietly, though, as he said, it "wasn't
any use on earth up there." There were two lame
chairs from Fenrod's attic, and along one wall ran
a low and feeble structure intended to serve as a
bench or divan. This would come in handy, Sam
said, if any of the party "had to lay down or any-
thing," and at a pinch (such as a meeting of the
association) it would serve to seat all the members
in a row.

For, coincidentally with the development of the
shack, the builders became something more than
partners. Later, no one could remember who first
suggested the founding of a secret order, or society,
as a measure of exdusiveness and to keep the shack
sacred to members only, but it was an idea that
presently began to be more absorbing and satis-
factory than even the shack itself. The outward
ma;aifestations of it might have been observed in
the mcreased solemnity and preoccupation of the
Caucasian members and in a few ceremonial ob-
servances exposed to the public eye. As an instance
of these latter, Mrs. Williams, happening to glance

THE IN-OR-IN 69

from a rearward window, about four o'clock one
afternoon, found her attention arrested by what
seemed to be a flag-raising before the door of the
shack. Sam and Herman and Verman stood in
attitudes of rigid attention, shoulder to shoulder^
while Penrod Schofield, facing them, was apparently
delivering some sort of exhortation which he read
from a scribbled sheet of foolscap. Concluding this,
he lifted from the ground a long and somewhat
warped clothes-prop, from one end of which hung a
whitish dag, or pennon, bearing an inscription.
Sam and Herman and Verman lifted their right
hands, while Penrod placed the other end of the
clothes-prop in a hole in the ground, \^dth the pennon
fluttering high above the shack. He then raised
his own right hand, and the four boys repeated
something in concert. It was inaudible to Mrs.
Williams, but she was able to make out the inscrip-
tion upon the pennon. It consisted of the peculiar
phrase, "In-Or-In," done in black paint upon a
muslin ground, and consequently seeming to be in
need of a blotter.

It recurred to her mind, later that evening, when
she happened to flnd herself alone with Sam in the
library, and, in merest idle curiosity, she asked:

70 PENROD AND SAM

"Sam, what does *In-Or-In' mean?'*

Sam, bending over an arithmetic, uncreased his
brow till it became of a blank and marble smooth-
ness.

"Ma'am?''

"What are those words on your flag?"

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

Sam's action was in obedience to one of the rules
adopted, at his own suggestion, as a law of the order.
Penrod advocated it warmly. From Margaret he had
heard accounts of her friends in college and thus
had learned much that ought to be done. On the
other hand, Herman subscribed to it with reluctance,
expressing a decided opinion that if he and Verman
were questioned upon the matter at home and adopted
the line of conduct required by the new rule, it

THE m-OR-IN 71

would be well for them to depart not only from the
room in which the questioning took place but from the
house, and hiuriedly at that. "An* stay away!" he
concluded.

Verman, being tongue-tied — ^not without advan-
tage in this case, and surely an ideal quali£ication 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 said that all of them were practicable)
for, in addition to the information possessed by
Sam and Penrod, Herman and Verman had many
ideas of their own, founded upon remarks overheard
at home. Both their parents belonged to secret
orders, their father to the Innapenent 'Nevolent
Lodge (so stated by Herman) and their mother to
the Order of White Doves.

From these and other sources, Penrod found no
diflSculty in compiling material for what came to
be known as the "rixuaJ"; and it was the rixual he
was reading to the members when Mrs. Williams
happened. to observe 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

72 PENROD AND SAM

uncertain emergencies), and passwords for admission
to the shack, also instructions for recognizing a
brother member in the dark, and a rather alarming
sketch of the things to be done during the initiation
of a candidate.

This last was employed for the benefit of Master
Roderick Magsworth Bitts, Junior, on the Saturday
following the flag-raising. He presented himself in
Sam's yard, not for initiation, indeed — Shaving no
previous knowledge of the Society of the In-Or-In —
but for general purposes of sport and pastime. At
first sight of the shack he expressed anticipations of
pleasure, adding some suggestions for improving
the architectural effect. Being prevented, however,
from entering, and even from standing in the vicinity
of the sacred building, he plaintively demanded an ex-
planation; whereupon he was commanded to with-
draw to the front yard for a time, and the members
held meeting in the shack. Roddy was elected,
and consented to undergo the initiation.

He was not the only new member that day. A
short time after Roddy had been taken into the
shack for the reading of the rixual and other cere-
monies, little Maurice Levy entered the Williams'
gate and strolled round to the backyard, looking for

THE IN-OR-m 73

Sain. He was surprised and delighted to behold
the promising shack, and, like Roddy, entertained
fair hopes for the future.

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

"Roddy Bitts, do you solemnly swear?"

"Well, all right,'* said the voice of Roddy, some-
what breathless.

"How many fingers you see before your eyes?"

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

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

Whack!

Evidently a broad and flat implement was there-
upon applied to Roddy.

Ow /" complained the candidate.
No noise!" said Penrod sternly, and added:
Roddy Bitts must now say the oath. Say exaddy
what I say, Roddy, and if you don't — ^well, you better,
because you'll see ! Now, say * I solemnly swear —

9 99

74 PENROD AND SAM

I solemnly swear — " said Roddy.
To keep the secrets "

"To keep the secrets *' Roddy repeated.

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

"What?" Roddy naturally inquired.

Whack!

" Ow 1 " cried Roddy. " That's no fair ! "

"You got to say just what I say," Penrod was
heard informing Lim. "That's the rixual, and
anyway, even if you do get it right, Verman's got 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 in infadelaty and violate
iind sanctuary.' "

"I solemnly swear " Roddy began.

But Maurice Levy was tired of being no party
to such fascinating proceedings, 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 a fugitive

THE IN-OR-IN 75

glimpse of this pathetic figure before he, too, was
recumbent. Four boys flung themselves indig-
nantly 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 out there, haven't I? I guess
I'm not goin' to lay here all day 1 What you think
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 plain-
tiveness. "Yes; and I bet he was listenin' out here,
too!"

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

Struck with this idea, which seemed reasonable.

76 PENROD AND SAM

Penrod obtained silence from every one except
Roddy, and it was decided to allow Maurice to rise
and retire to the front yard. The brother members
then withdrew within the shack, elected Maurice
to the fellowship, and completed the initiation of
Mr. Bitts. After that, Maurice was summoned
and underwent the ordeal with fortitude, though
the newest brother — ^still tingling with his own ex-
periences — ^helped to make certain parts of the rixual
unprecedentedly severe.

Once endowed with fuU membership, Maurice
and Roddy accepted the obligations and privileges
of the order with enthusiasm. Both interested
themselves immediately in improvements for the
shack, and made excursions to their homes to obtain
materials. Roddy returned with a pair of lensless
mother-of-pearl opera-glasses, a contribution which
led to the creation of a new office, called the "wamer.**
It was his duty to climb upon the back fence once
every fifteen minutes and search the horizon for
intruders or "anybody that hasn't got any biznuss
around here.'' This post proved so popular, at
first, that it was found necessary to provide for
rotation in office, and to shorten the interval from
fifteen minutes to an indefimte but much briefer

THE IN-OR-IN 77

period, determined principaUy by argument be-
tween the incumbent and his successor.

And Maurice Levy contributed a device so pleasant,
and so necessary to the prevention of interruption
during meetings, that Penrod and Sam wondered
why they had not thought of it themselves long
before. It consisted of about twenty-five feet of
garden hose in fair condition. One end of it was
introduced into the shack through a knothole, and
the other was secured by wire round the faucet of
hydrant in the stable. Thus, if members of the
order were assailed by thirst during an important
session, or in the course of an initiation, it would
not be necessary for them all to leave the shack.
One could go, instead, and when he had turned on
the water at the hydrant, the members in the shack
could drink without leaving their places. It was
discovered, also, that the section of hose could be
used as a speaking-tube; and though it did prove
necessary to explain by shouting outside the tube
what one had> said into it, still there was a general
feeling that it provided another raeans of secrecy
and an additional safeguard against intrusion. It
is true that during the half-hour immediately fol-
lowing the installation of this convenience, there

78 PENROD AND SAM

was a little violence among the brothers concerning
a question of policy. Sam, Roddy, and Verman —
Verman especially — wished to use the tube "to talk
through,*' and Maurice, Penrod, and Herman wished
to use it " to drink through." As a consequence of the
success of the latter party, the shack became too damp
for habitation until another day, and several members,
as they went home at dusk, might easily have been
mistaken for survivors of some marine catastrophe.

StiU, not every shack is equipped with running
water, and exuberance befitted the occasion. Every-
body agreed that the afternoon had been one of
the most successful and important in many weeks.
The Order of the In-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, the opera-glasses, and the water-
and-speaking tube. Sam spoke not only for him-
self but for the entire order when he declared, in
speeding the last parting guest:

"Well, we got to stick to one thing or we might as
well quit! Georgie Bassett better not come pokin'
aroundr*

"No, sirT* said Penrod,

CHAPTER VI

GBOBOIE BECOMES A

.'-i»i/>i:*^;

BUT Georgie did. It is difficult to imagine
how cause and eflFect could be more closely
and patiently related. Inevitably, Georgie
did come poking around. How was he to refrain
when daily, up and down the neighboiu'hood, the
brothers strutted with mystic and important airs,
when they whispered together and uttered words of
strange import in his presence? Thus did they
defeat their own object. They desired to keep
Georgie at a distance, yet they could not refrain
from posing before him. 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 desire which soon became a determination. For
few were the days until he not only knew of the
shack but had actually paid it a visit. That was
upon a morning when the other boys were in school,
Georgie having found himself indisposed until about

ten o'clock, when he was able to take nourishment

80 PENROD AND SAM

and subsequently to int^est himself in this rather
private errand. He climbed the Williams' alley
fence, and having made a modest investigation of
the exterior of the shack, which was padlocked, re-
tired without having disturbed anything except his
own peace of mind. His curiosity, merely piqued
before, now became ravenous and painful. It was
not allayed by the mystic manners of the members
or by the unnecessary emphasis they laid upon their
coldness toward himself; and when a committee
informed him darkly that there were "secret orders"
to prevent his coming within "a hundred and six-
teen feet'* — ^such was Penrod's arbitrary language
— of the Williams' yard, "in any direction," Georgie
could bear it no longer, but entered his own house,
and, in burning words, laid the case before a woman
higher up. Here the responsibility for things is
directly traceable to grown people. Within that
hour, Mrs. Bassett sat in Mrs. Williams' library
to address her hostess upon the subject of Georgie's
grievance.

" Of course, it isn't Sam's fault," she said, conclud-
ing her interpretation of the affair. "Georgie likes
Sam, and didn't blame him at all. No; we both
felt that Sam would always be a polite, nice boy —

GEORGIE BECOMES A MEMBER 81

Georgie used those very words — ^but Penrod seems
to have a very bad influence. Georgie felt that Sam
would ward him to come and play in the shack if
Penrod didn't make Sam do everything he wants.
What hurt Georgie most is that it's Sam*s shack,
and he felt for another boy to come and tell him
that he mustn't even go near it — ^well, of course, it
was 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 for a
member of their little dub if it weren't for Maurice
— ^and I think he spoke of Roddy Bitts, too."

The fact that the two remaining members were
coloured was omitted from this discourse — which
leads to the deduction that Georgie had not men-
tioned it.

"Georgie said all the other boys liked him very
much," Mrs. Bassett continued, "and that he felt
it his duty to join the dub, because most of them
were so anxious to have him, and he is sure he would
have a good influence 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 reaUy isn't like other boys. He
is so sensitive, you can't think how this little affair

82 PENROD AND SAM

has hurt him, and I felt that it might even make
him ill. You see, I had to respect his reason for
wanting to join the club. And if I am his mother"
— she gave a deprecating little laugh — "I must say
that it seems noble to want to join not really for his
own sake but for the good that he felt his influence
would have over the other boys. Don't you think
so, Mrs. Williams?"

Mrs. Williams said that she did, indeed. And
the result of this interview was another, which took
place between Sam and his father that evening, for
Mrs. Williams, after talking to Sam herself, felt
that the matter 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 wants to," said the man, "or the shack
comes down."

"But "

"Take your choice. I'm not going to have neigh-
bourhood quarrels over su«h "

"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

GEORGIE BECOMES A MEMBER 83

tell why. You couldn't state a single instance of
bad behaviour against him. You couldn't mention
anything he ever did which wasn't what a gentleman
should have done. It's no use, I tell you. Either
you invite Georgie to play in the shack as much as
he likes next Saturday, or the shack oomes down."
' "But, papa ^'

**I'm not going to talk any more about it. K you
want the shack pulled down and hauled away, you
and your friends continue to tantalize this inoflfensive
little boy the way you have been. If you want to
keep it, be polite and invite him in."

"But "

"That's ^LL, I said!"

Sam was crushed.

Next day he communicated the bitter substance
of the edict to the other members, and gloom became
unanimous. So serious an aspect did the affair
present that it was felt necessary to call a special
meeting of the order after school. The entire mem-
bership was in attendance; the door was closed, the
window covered with a board, and the candle Ughted.
Then all of the brothers — except one — ^began to
express their sorrowful apprehensions. The whole
thing was spoiled, they agreed, if Georgie Bassett

84 PENROD AND SAM

had to be taken in. On the other hand, if they
didn't take him in, "there wouldn't be anything
left/' The one brother who failed to express any
opinion was little Verman. He was otherwise
occupied.

Verman had been the official paddler during the
initiations of Roddy Bitts and Maurice Levy; his
work had been conscientious, and it seemed to be
taken by consent that he was to continue in office.
An old shingle from the woodshed roof had been
used for the exercise of his function in the cases of
Roddy and Maurice, but this afternoon he had
brought with him a new one, which he had picked
up somewhere. It was broader and thicker than
the old one, and, during the melancholy prophecies
of his fellows, he whittled the les^'er end of it to the
likeness of a handle. Thus engaged, he bore no
appearance of despondency; on the contrary, his
eyes, shining brightly in the candlelight, indicated
that eager thoughts possessed him, while from time
to time the sound of a chuckle issued from his simple
African throat. Gradually the other brothers began
to notice his preoccupation, and one by one they fell
silent, regarding him thoughtfully. \ Slowly the
darkness of their countenances lifted a little; some-

GE0R6IE BECOMES A MEMBER 85

thing 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, "this is only Tuesday. "We got
pretty near all week to fix up the 'nishiation for
Saturday."

And Saturday brought sunshine to make the
occasion more tolerable for both the candidate and
the society. Mrs. Williams, going to the window to
watch Sam, when he left the house after lunch, marked
with pleasure that his look and manner were sprightly
as he skipped down the walk to the front gate.
There he paused and yodelled for a time. An an-
swering yodel came presently; Penrod Schofield
appeared, and by his side walked Georgie Bassett.
Georgie was always neat, but Mrs. Williams noticed
that he exhibited unusual gloss and polish to-day.
As for his expression, it was a shade too complacent
under the circimistances, though, for that matter,
perfect tact avoids an air of triumph under any
circumstances. Mrs. Williams was pleased to ob-
serve that Sam and Penrod betrayed no resentment
whatever; they seemed to have accepted defeat in a
good spirit and to be inclined to make the best of

86 PENROD AND SAM

Georgie. Indeed, they appeared to be genuinely
excited about him — ^it was evident that their cor-
diality was eager and wholehearted.

The three boys conferred for a few moments;
then Sam disappeared rotmd the house and returned,
waving his hand and nodding. Upon that, Penrod
took Georgie's left arm, Sam took his right, and the
three marched off to the backyard in a companion-
able way which made Mrs. Williams feel that it
had been an excellent thing to interfere a little in
Geojqgie's^ interest.

Experiencing the benevolent warmth that comes
of assisting in a good action, she ascended to an
apartment upstairs, and, for a couple of hours, em-
ployed herself with needle and thread in sartorial
repairs on behalf of her husband and Sam. Then
she was interrupted by the advent of a coloured
serving-maid.

"Miz Williams, I reckon the house goin' fall
down!" said this pessimist, arriving out of breath.
"That s'iety o' Mist' Sam's suttenly tryin' to pull
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 reachirC fer

6E0RGIE BECOMES A MEMBER 87

the roof! I nev' did hear no sech a rumpus an*
squawkin' an' squawlin' an' fallm' an' whoopm' an'
whackin' an' bangm'! They troop down by the
outside celluh do', n'en — ^bang! — ^they bus' loose,
an' been goin' on ev' since, wuss'n Bedlun! Ef they
anything down celluh ain' broke by this time, it
cain' be only jes' the foundashum, an' I bet that
ain't goin' stan* much longer! I'd gone down an*
stop 'em, but I'm 'fraid to. Hones', Miz Williams,
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'll have to stand a little noise in the house
sometimes, Fanny, when there are boys. They're
just playing, and a lot of noise is usually a pretty
safe sign."

"Yes'm," said Fanny. "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 growing short, and at five
o'clock she was obliged to put the work aside, as
her eyes did not permit her to continue it by artificial
light. Descending to the lower floor, she found the
house silent, and when she opened the front door

88 PENROD AND SAM

to see if the evening paper had come, she beheld
Sam, Penrod, and Maurice Levy standing near the
gate engaged in quiet conversation. Penrod and
Maurice departed while she was looking for the
paper, and Sam came thoughtfully up the walk.

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

Sam gave her a non-committal look — expression
of every kind had been wiped 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 good time?"

"Ma'am?"

"Did Georgie Bassett have a good time?"

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

"Didn't he thank the boys?"

GEORGIE BECOMES A MEMBER 8d

«XT^» M

No'mJ

"Didn't he even thank you?"

"No'm/'

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

"Ma'am?"

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

This question, apparently so simple, was not an*>
swered with promptness. Sam looked at his mother
in a puzzled way, and then he found it necessary to
rub each of his shins in turn with the pahn of his
right hand.

"I stumbled," he said apologetically. "I stum-
bled 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. Does it hiul; much?"

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

And having followed her to the bathroom, he
insisted, with imusual gentleness, that he be left to
apply the arnica to the alleged injuries himself.

90 PENROD AND SAM

He was so persuasive that she yielded, and descended
to the library, where she found her husband once
more at home after his day's work.

"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 them being actually cordial
to him."

"That's well," said Mr. Williams, settling into a
chair with his paper. "I was a little apprehensive,
but I suppose I was mistaken. I walked home, and
just now, as I passed Mrs. Bassett's, I saw Doctor
Venny's car in front, and that barber from the
comer shop on Second Street was going in the door.
I couldn't think what a widow would need a barber
and a doctor for — especially at the same time. I
couldn't think what Georgie'd need such a combi-
nation for either, and then I got afraid that maybe "

Mrs. Williams laughed. "Oh, no; it hasn't any-
thing to do with his having been over here. I'm sure
they were very nice to him."

" WeU, I'm glad of that."

"Yes, indeed " Mrs. Williams began, when

Fanny appeared, summoning her to the telephone.

It is pathetically true that Mrs. Williams went to

GEORGIE BECOMES A MEMBER 91

the telephone humming a little song. She was de*
tained at the instrument not more than five minutes:
then she made a plunging return into the library, a
blanched and stricken woman. She made strange,
sinister gestures at her husband.

He sprang up, miserably prophetic.

"Mrs. Bassett?"
Gro to the telephone/* Mrs. William3 said hoarsely.

She wants to talk to you, too. She canH talk
much — she's hysterical. She says they lured Georgie
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 shoul-
der.

Mrs. Williams stepped into the front hall.

"Sam!" she called, addressing the upper reaches
of the stairway. " Sam ! "

Not even echo answered.

"iSam/"

A faint clearing of somebody's throat was heard
behind her, a sound so modest and unobtrusive it
was no more than just audible, and, turning, the
mother beheld her son sitting upon the floor in the
shadow of the stairs and gazing meditatively at

92 PENROD AND SAM

the hatrack. His maimer indicated that he wished
to produce the impression that he had been sitting
there, in this somewhat unusual place and occu-
pation, for a considerable time, but without over-
hearing anything that went on in the library so
dose by.

"Sam,** she cried, "what have you done f

^Well — ^I guess my legs are all right," he said
gently, **I got the arnica on, 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 in a time so slow as to
suit this march of Sam's. One might have suspected
that he was in a state of apprehensaon.

Mr. Williams entered at one door as his son
ci\>ssed the threshold of the other, and this encoimter
was a piteous sight. After one glance at his father'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. "PFAcrf did you do to Georgia
Bassett ?"

GEORGIE BECOMES A MEMBER 93

"Nothin'/' Sam gulped; "nothin' at aU/'

"What!''

" We just — ^we just 'nishiated liim."

Mr. Williams turned abruptly, walked to the
fireplace, and there turned again, facing the wretched
Sam.

"That's all you did?"

"Yes, sir."

"Georgie Bassett's mother has just told me over
the telephone," said Mr. Williams deliberately,
"that you and Penrod Schofield and Roderick Bitts
and Maurice Levy lured Georgie into the cellar and
had him beaien by negroes I "

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

"It ain't so," he declared. "We didn't any such
thing lower him into the cellar. We weren't goin'
near the cellar with him. We never thought of goin*
down cellar. He went down there himself, first."

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

"He wasn't," said Sam doggedly. "We weren't
chasin' him— or anythmg at aU."

"Then why did he go in the cellar?'*

94 PENROD AND SAM

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

"Well, how did he get in the cellar, then?"
"He— he fell in," said Sam.
''Haw did he faU m?"

"Well, the door was open, and — ^well, he kept
walkin' around there, and we hollered at him to
keep away, but just then he kind of — well, the first
/ noticed was I couldn't see him, and so we went
and looked down the steps, and he was sitting down
there on the bottom step and kind of shouting,

and "

"See here!" Mr. Williams interrupted, "You're
going to make a clean breast of this whole affair and
take the consequences. You're going to tell it and
tell it all. Do you imderstand that? "
"Yes, sir."

"Then you tell me how Georgie Bassett fell down
the cellar steps — ^and tell me quick!"
/•He-he was blindfolded." •
**Aha! N(m we're getting at it. You begin at
the beginning and tell me just what you did to him
from the time he got here. Understand?"
« Yes, sir."
"Go on, then!''

GEORGIE BECOMES A MEMBER 95

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

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

Sam made a great eflfort and was able to obey.

"Well, we had everything ready for the 'nishi-
ation before limch," he said. "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 the rixual — ^and. he brought
him over, and we took him out to the shack and
blindfolded him, and — well, he got kind of mad be-
cause we wanted him to 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 it
sort of squashy imder his shoes, and he said his
mother didn't want him ever to get dirty and he just
wouldn't do it; and we all kept telling him he had
to, or else how could there be any 'nishiation; and
he kept gettin' madder and said he wanted to have
the 'nishiation outdoors where it wasn't wet and he
wasn't goin' to lay down on his stummick, anyway."
Sam paused for wind, then got under way again:

»6 PENROD AND SAM

"Well, some of the boys were tryin' to get him to
lay down on his stummick, and he kind of fell up
against the door and it came open and he ran out
in the yard. He was tryin' to get the blindfold off
his eyes, but he couldn't, because it was a towel in
a pretty hard knot; and he went tearin' all around
the backyard, and we didn't chase him, or anything.
All we did was just watch him — and that's when he
fell in the cellar. Well, it didn't hurt him any. It
didn't hurt him at all, but he was muddier than
what he would 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 might
as well have the rest of the 'nishiation down there.
So we brought the things down and — ^and 'nishiated
him — ^and that's all. That's every bit we did to
him."

"Yes," said Mr. Williams sardonically; "I see.
What were the details of the 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 and you'll find your friend Pen-

GEORGIE BECOMES A MEMBER 97

rod's parents agree with me in that. Mrs. Bassett
had aheady telephoned them when she called us
up. You go on with your story!"

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

"Go on!" said Mr. WiUiams.

"Well, there wasn't any fire in the furnace be-
cause it's too warm yet, and we weren't goin' to do
anything'd hurt him, so we put him in there ^"

" In the furnace ? "

"It was cold," protested Sam. "There hadn't
been any fire there since last spring. Course we
told him there was fire in it. We had to do that,"
he continued earnestly, "because that was part of
the 'nishiation. We only kept him in it a little
while and kind of hammered on the outside a little^
and then we took him out and got him to lay down
on Jiis stummick, because he was all muddy anyway,
where he fell down the cellar; and how could it

98 PENROD AND SAM

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 in the alley did it — ^he
isn't anyways near half Georgie's size — ^but Georgie
got mad and said he didn't want any ole nigger to
paddle him. That's what he said, and it was his
own foolishness, because Verman won't let anybody
call him *nigger,' and if Georgie was goin' to call
him that, he ought to had sense enough not to do it
when he was layin' down that way and Verman all
ready to be the paddler. And he needn't of been so
mad at the rest of us, either, because it took us about
twenty minutes to get the paddle away from Verman
after that, and we had to lock Verman up in the
laimdry-room and not let him out till it was all over.
Well, and then things were kind of spoiled, anyway;
so we didn't do but just a little more — and that's
aU."

"Go on! What was the *just a little more?'"
**Well — ^we got him to swaller a little teeny bit of
asafidity that Penrod used to have to wear in a bag
aroimd his neck. It wasn't enough to even make a
person sneeze — ^it wasn't much more'n a half a
spoonful — ^it wasn't hardly a quarter of a spoonf "

GEORGIE BECOMES A MEMBER 99

"Ha!" said Mr. Williams, "That accounts for
the dck!tor. What else?"

"Well — ^we — we had some paint left over from
our flag, and we put just a little teeny bit of it on
his hafa- and ''

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

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

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

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

The unfortunate boy had begun to sniflle.

"It — ^it means — ^Innapenent Order of Infadelaty/*'
he moaned — ^and plodded onward to his doom.

Not his alone: at 'that very moment Master
Roderick Magsworth Bitts, Junior, was suflFering
also, consequent upon telephoning on the part of
Mrs. Bassett, though Roderick's punishment was
administered less on the ground of Georgie's troubles
and more on that of Roddy's having affiliated with
an order consisting so largely of Herman and Ver-

a^v^V^n

100 PENROD AND SAM

man. As for Maurice Levy, he was no whit less un-
happy. He fared as ill.

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

Herman and Verman listened — awe-stricken —
to what went on within the shack. Then, before
it was over, they crept away and down the alley
toward their own home. This was directly across
the alley from the Schofields' stable, and they were
horrified at the soimds which issued from the interior
of the stable store-room. It was the St. Bartholo-
mew's Eve of that neighbourhood.

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

Verman seemed gloomily to assent.

CHAPTER Vn

WHITEY

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

They sat in the carriage-house of the Schofields'
empty stable; the doors upon the alley were open,
and Sam and Penrod stared torpidly at the thin
but implacable drizzle which was the more irri-
tating because there was barely enough of it to inter-
fere with a number of things they had planned to
do.

** Yes; this is nice /" Sam said, in a tone of plain-
tive sarcasm. "This is a perty way to do!" (He was
alluding to the personal spitefulness of the elements.)
"I'd like to know what's the sense of it — ole sun
pourin' down every day in the week when nobody

101

102 PENROD AND SAM

needs it, then doud up and rain all 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," said Penrod. "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 on Saturday. That's
a fine biz'nuss!"

"Well, in vacation " Sam began, but at a sound

from a source invisible to him he paused. "What's
that?" he said, somewhat startled.

It was a curious soimd, loud and hollow and un^
human, yet it seemed to be a cough. Both boys
rose, and Penrod asked imeasily :

"Where'd that noise come from?"

*T[t's in the alley," said Sam.

Perhaps if the day had been bright, both of them
would have stepped immediately to the alley doors
to investigate; but their actual procedure was to
move a little distance in the opposite direction.
The strange cough sounded again.

" Say I " Penrod quavered. " What is that? "

Then both boys uttered smothered exclamations
and jumped, for the long, gaunt head which appeared

WHITEY lOS

in the doorway was entirely unexpected. It was
the cavernous and melancholy head of an incredibly
thin, old, whitish horse. This head waggled slowly
from side to side; the nostrils vibrated; the mouth
opened, and the hollow cough sounded again.

Recovering themselves, Penrod and Sam imder-
went the customary human reaction from alarm to
indignation.

"What you want, you ole horse, you?" Penrod
shouted. "Don't you come coughin' around Twe /"

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 a rickety flight up the alley,
while Sam and Penrod, perfectly obedient to in-
herited impulse, ran out into the drizzle and up-
roariously pursued. They were but automatons of
instinct, meaning no evil. Certainly they did not
know the singular and pathetic history of th^ old
horse who had wandered into the alley and ven-
tured to look through the open door.

This horse, about twice the age of either Penrod
or Sam, had lived to find himself in a imique position.
He was nude, possessing neither harness nor halter;
all he had was a name, Whitey, and he would have

104 PENROD AND SAM

answered to it by a slight change of expression if
any one had thus properly addressed him. So for-
lorn was Whitey*s case, he was actually an inde-
pendent horse; he had not even an owner. For two
days and a half he had 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 in the
hauling business. On the contrary, the hauling
business was an insignificant side line with Mr.
Morris, for he had long ago given himself, as utterly
as fortune permitted, to that talent which, early in
youth, he had recognized as the greatest of all those
surging in his bosom. In his waking thoughts and
in his dreams, in health and in sickness, Abalene
Morris was the dashing and emotional practitioner
of an art probably more than Roman in antiquity.
Abalene was a crap-shooter. The hauling business
was a disguise.

A concentration of events had brought it about
that, at one and the same time, Abalene, after a
dazzling run of the dice, foimd the hauling business
an actual danger to the preservation of his liberty.
He won seventeen dollars and sixty cents, and within
the hour found himself in trouble with an officer o£

WHITEY 105

the Humane Society on account of an altercation
with Whitey. Abalene had been oflFered four
dollars for Whitey some ten days earKer; wherefore
he at once drove to the shop of the junk-dealer who
had made the offer and announced his acquiescence
in the sacrifice.

N09 suh!" said the junk-dealer, with emphasis

I awready done got me a good mule f er my delivery"
boss, 'n'at ole Whitey boss ain' wuff no fo' doUah
nohow! I 'uz a fool when I talk *bout th*owin'
money roim' that a-way. / know what you up to,
Abalene. Man come by here li'l bit ago tole me all
'bout white man try to *rest you, ovah on the
^vvynoo. 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 he ketch you by the boss; so
you come roun' tryin' fix me up with Whitey so
white man grab me, th'ow me in 'at jail. G'on
'way f'um hyuh, you Abalene! You cain' sell an'
you cain' give Whitey to no cullud man 'n 'is town.
You go an' drowned 'at ole boss, 'cause you sutny
goin' to jail if you git ketched drivin' him."

The substance of this advice seemed good to

106 PENROD AND SAM

Abalene, especially as the seventeen dollars and
sixty cents in his pocket lent sweet colours to life
out of jail at this time. At dusk he led Whitey to a
broad common at the edge of town, and spoke to
him finally.

"G'on 'bout you biz'nis,'* said Abalene; **yott
ain' my hoss. Don' look roim' at me, 'cause I ain'
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 there all night. In the mom^
ing he sought the shed where Abalene had kept
him, but that was across the large and busy town,
and Whitey was hopelessly lost. He had but ene
eye, a feeble one, and his legs were not to be de-
pended upon; but he managed to cover a great deal
of ground, to have many painful little adventurers,
and to get monstrously himgry and thirsty before
he happened to look in upon Penrod and Sam.

When the two boys chased him up the alley they
had no intention to cause pain; they had no intention
at all. They were no more cruel than Duke, Penrod's
little old dog, who followed his own instincts, andf

WHITEY 107

making his appearance hastily through a hole in the
back f ence, joined the pursuit with sound and fury. A
boy will nearly always run after anything that is run-
ning, and his first impulse is to throw a stone at it.
This is a survival 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
were really responding to an impulse thousands and
thousands of years old — ^an impulse foimded upon
the primordial observation that whatever runs is
likely to prove edible. Penrod and Sam were not
"bad "; they were never that. They were something
which was not their fault; they were historic.

At the next comer 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 another cross-
street, which ran alongside the Schofields' yard and
brought him to the foot of the alley he had left
behind in his flight. He entered the alley, and
there his dim eye fell upon the open door he had
previously investigated. No memory of it re-
mained, but the place had a look associated in his
mind with hay, and as Sam and Penrod turned the
comer of the alley in panting yet still vociferous

108 PENROD AND SAM

pursuit, Whitey stumbled up the inclined platform
before the open doors, staggered thimderously across
the carriage-house and through another open door
into a stall, an apartment vacant since the occupancy
of Mr. Schofield's last horse, now several years de-
ceased.

CHAPTER Vm

SALVAGE

THE two boys shrieked with excitement as
they beheld the coincidence of this strange
return. They burst into the stable, making
almost as much noise as Duke, who had become
frantic at the invasion. Sam laid hands upon a
rake.

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

**Wait a minute!" shouted Penrod. "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 and keep him in here. I'm
goin' to hit him with "

"Quee-2/w< /" Penrod shouted, grasping the handle
of the rake so that Sam could not use it. "Wait a
minute^ can't you? " He turned with ferocious voice
and gestures upon Duke. "DukeT* And Duke,
in spite of his excitement, was so impressed that hs

109

110 PENROD AND SAM

prostrated himself in silence, and then unobtrusively
withdrew from the stable. Penrod ran to the alley
doors and closed them.

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

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

"What /or?"

"For the reward," said Penrod simply.

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

"My gracious," he said, "I never thought o* that!
How — ^how much do you think we'll get, Penrod?"

Sam's thus admitting himself to a full partner-
ship in the enterprise met no objection from Penrod,
who was absorbed in the contemplation of Whitey.

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

Sam rose and joined his friend in the doorway open-
ing upon the two stalls. Whitey had preempted the
nearer, and was hungrily nuzzling the old frayed
hollows in the manger.

"Maybe a himdred dollars — or sumpthing?"
Sam asked in a low voice.

Penrod maintained his composure and repeated

SALVAGE 111

the new-found expression which had sounded well
to him a moment before. He recognized it as a
symbol of the non-committal attitude that makes
people looked up to. "Well" — ^he made it slow,
and frowned — "we might get more and we might
get less.*'

"More*n a himdred dollars .^" Sam gasped.

"Well/' said Penrod, "we might get more and we
might get less." This time, however, he felt the
need of adding something. He put a question in an
indulgent tone, as though he were inquiring, not to
add to his own information but to discover the ex-
tent of Sam's. "How much do you think horses
are worth, anyway?"

"I don't know," said Sam frankly, and, uncon-
sciously, he added, "They might be more and they
might be less."

Well, when om* ole horse died," said Penrod,
papa said he wouldn't taken five himdred dollars
for him. That's how much Iwrses are worth!"

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

"He was bay. Looky here, Sam" — ^and now
Penrod's manner changed from the superior to the

112 PENROD AND SAM

eager — "y^u look what kind of horses they have in
a circus, and you bet a circus has the best horses,
don't it? Well, what kind of horses do they have
in a circus? They have some black and white ones,
l^ut the best they have are white all over. Well,
what kind of a horse is this we got here? He's perty
near white right now, and I bet if we washed him ofif
and got him fixed up nice he would be white. Well,
a bay horse is worth five hundred dollars, because
that's what papa said, and this horse "

Sam interrupted rather timidly.

**He — ^he's awful bony, Penrod. You don't guess
that'd make any "

Penrod laughed contemptuously.

"Bony! All he needs is a little food and he'll
fill right up and look good as ever. You don't
know much about horses, Sam, I expect. Why,
our ole 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, but they'll eat most anything."

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

"Come on," said Penrod, closing the door that

SALVAGE lis

gave entrance to the stalls. "We got to get this
horse some drinkin*-water and some good food."

They tried Whitey's appetite first with an au-
tumnal branch which they wrenched from a hardy
maple in the yard. They had seen horses nibble
leaves, and they expected Whitey to nibble the
leaves of this branch, but his ravenous condition did
not allow him time for cool discriminations. Sam
poked the branch at him from the passageway, and
Whitey, 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 was filling a bucket. "What's
he doin' now?"

"DoinM He's eatin* the wood part, too! He's
chewin' up sticks as big as baseball 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 his comrade.

"You had no biz'nuss to give it to him," said

114 PENROD AND SAM

Penrod. "Anybody with any sense ought to kaoy^
it'd make him sick. What'd you want to go and
give it 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 that stall and take it away from
him."

"F««, I will!" Sam returned bitterly. Then, as
Whitey had dragged the remains of the branch from
the manger to the floor of the stall, Sam scrambled to
the top of the manger and looked over. "There
ain't much left to take away! He's swallered it all
except some splinters. Better give him the water to
try and wash it down with." And, as Penrod com-
plied, "My gracious, look at that horse drink r*

They gave Whitey four buckets of water, and then
debated the question of nourishment. Obviously,
this horse could not be trusted with branches, and,
after getting their knees black and their backs sodden,
they gave up trying to pull enough grass to sustain
him. Then Penrod remembered that horses like
apples, both "cooking-apples" and "eating-apples,"
and Sam mentioned tKe fact that every autumn his
father received a barrel of "cooking-apples" from a
cousin who owned a farm. That barrel was in the

SALVAGE 115

Williams' cellar now, and the cellar was providen-
tially supplied with "outside doors," so that it could
be visited without going through the house. Sam
and Penrod set forth for the cellar.

They returned to the stable bulging, and, after a
discussion of Whitey's digestion (Sam claiming that
eating the core and seeds, as Whitey did, would grow
trees in his inside), they went back to the cellar for
supplies again — ^and again. They made six trips,^
carrying each time a capacity cargo of apples, and
still Whitey ate in a famished manner. They were
afraid to take more apples from the barrel, which
began to show conspicuously the result of their
raids, wherefore Penrod made an imostentatious visit
to the cellar of his own house. From the inside he
opened a window and passed v^etables out to Sam,
who placed them in a bucket and carried them hur-
riedly to the stable, while Penrod returned in a casual
manner through the house. Of his sang-froid imder
a great strain it is sufficient to relate that, in the
kitchen, he said suddenly to Delia, the cook, "Oh,
look behind you ! " and by the time Delia discovered
that there was nothing unusual behind her, Penrod
was gone, and a loaf of bread from the kitchen table
was gone with him.

116 PENROD AND SAM

Whitey now ate nine turnips, two heads of let-
tuce, one cabbage, eleven raw potatoes, and the
loaf of bread. He ate the loaf of bread last and he
was a long time about it; so the boys came to a not
unreasonable conclusion.

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

"He looks better to me," said Sam, staring criti-
cally at Whitey. "I think 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 / 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, aJl right. I got to
think."

Sam made several suggestions, which Penrod —
maintaining his air of preoccupation — dismissed
with mere gestures.

"Oh, / know!" Sam cried finally. "We ought
to wash him so's he'll look whiter'n what he does now.
We can turn the hose on him acrost the manger."

SALVAGE 117

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

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

"Sawdust," said Penrod. "That's the way the
horse we used to have used to have it. We'll make
this horse's bed in the other stall, and then he can
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 is walk in there with the shovel,
stiek the shovel in the hole till it gets full of sawdust,
and then sprinkle it aroimd on the empty stall."

"All / got to do!" Sam cried. "What are you
goin^^todo?"

"I'm goin' to be right here," Penrod answered
reassuringly. "He won't kick or anything, and it
isn't goin' to take you half a second to slip aroimd
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 shovel if he tried to. Anyhow,
I'll be right here, won't I? "

118 PENROD AND SAM

"I don't care where you are," Sam said earnestly*
•'What difference would that make if he ki "

"Why, you were goin' right in the stall/' Penrod
reminded him. "When he first 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 can just as easy get "

He was interrupted by a shout from Sam, who was
keeping his eye upon Whitey throughout the dis-
cussion.

"Look! Looky there!" And undoubtedly re-
newing his excitement, Sam pointed at the long,
gaimt head beyond the manger. It was disappearing
from view. "Look!" Sam shouted. "He's layin'
down!"

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

On the contrary, Sam perceived a favourable op-
portimity for action.

"I just as soon go and make his bed up while he's
layin' down," he volunteered. "You climb up on

SALVAGE 119

the manger and watch him, Penrod, and I'll sneak in
the other stall and fix it all up nice for him, so's he
can go in 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 other manger."

Accordingly, Penrod established himself in a
position to observe the recumbent figure. Whitey's
breathing was rather laboured but regular, and, as
Sam remarked, he looked "better," even in his
slumber. It is not to be doubted that, although
Whitey was suffering from a light attack of colic,
his feelmgs were in the main those of contentment.
After trouble, he was solaced; after exposure, he was
sheltered; after hunger and thirst, he was fed and
watered. He slept.

The noon whistles blew before Sam's task was
finished, but by the time he departed for limch there
was made a bed of such quality that Whitey must
needs have been a bom faultfinder if he complained
of it. The friends parted, each urging the other to
be prompt in returning, but Penrod got into threaten-
ing difficulties as soon as he entered the house.

CHAPTER IX

REWARD OF BiEEOT

PENROD," said his mother, "what did you
do with that loaf of bread Delia says you
took from the table?*'
"Ma'am? TT^loafo* bread?*'
"I believe I can't let you go outdoors this after^
noon/* Mrs. Schofield said severely. "If you were
hungry, you know perfectly well all you had to do
was to **

But I wasn't hungry; I-

«T>— X T 9m. 1 T 99

You can explain later,** said Mrs. Schofield.
**You*ll have all afternoon.**
Penrod's heart grew cold.

"I canH stay in,** he protested. "Fve asked Sam
Williams to come over.**

"I*U telephone Mrs. WiUiams.**

Mamma!** Penrod's voice became agonized.
I had to give that bread to a — ^to a poor ole man.
He was starving and so were his children aad his
wife. They were all just starving-^and they couldn*t

KEWARD OF MERIT 121

wait while I took time to come and ask you, mamma.
I got to go outdoors this afternoon. I got to)
Sam's "

She relented.

In the carriage-house, half an hour later, Penrod
gave an accoimt of the episode.

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

"Well, I guess I could managed him all right,"
said Sam. "I was in the passageway, 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'd had to stay in the house,
where would we been about the most important thing
in the whole bijz'nuss?"

"What you talkin' about?"

"Well, why can't you wait till I tell you?" Pen-
rod's tone had become peevish. For that matter,
so had Sam's; they were developing one of the little
diflFerences, or quarrels, that composed the very tex-
ture of their friendship.

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

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

122 PENROD AND SAM

"I'm not talkin' now^ am I?" Sam protested.
" You can tell me now^ can't you? I'm not talk "

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

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

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

"Well, if he does, he's got to wait," Penrod de-
clared. "We got to get the 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 you about, Sam, if you'd ever
give me half a chance."

"Well, I did give you a chance. I kept ieUirC
you to tell me, but "

"You never! You kept sayin' ^"

They renewed this discussion, protracting it in-
definitely; but as each persisted in clinging to his
own interpretation of the facts, the question still
remains unsettled. It was abandoned, or rather, it
merged into another during the later stages of the
debate, this other being concerned with which of the
debaters had the least "sense." Each made the

REWARD OF MERIT 123

plain statement that if he were more deficient than
his opponent in that regard, self-destruction would
be his only refuge. Each declared that he would
^'rather die than be talked to death"; and then, as
the two approached a point blimtly recriminative,
Whitey coughed again, whereupon they were mi-
raculously silent, and went into the passageway in a
perfectly amiable manner.

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

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

After supplying Whitey with another bucket of
water, they returned to the carriage-house and seated
themselves thoughtfully. In truth, they were some-
thing a shade more than thoughtful; the adventure
to which they had committed themselves was begin-
ning to be a little overpowering. If Whitey had
been a dog, a goat, a fowl, or even a stray calf, they
would have felt equal to him; but now that the
earlier glow of their wild daring had disappeared,
vague apprehensions stirred. Their "good look'*
at Whitey had not reassured them — ^he seemed larger
Gothic, and imusual.

lU PENROD AND SAM

Whisperings within them began to urge that for
boys to undertake an enterprise connected with so
huge an animal as an actual horse was perilous.
Beneath the surfa^ of their musings, dim but omi-
nous prophecies moved; both boys began to have
the feeling that, somehow, this affair was going to
get beyond them and that they would be in heavy
trouble before it was over — ^they knew not why.
They knew why no more than they knew why they
felt it imperative to keep the fact of Whitey's pres-
ence in the stable a secret from their respective
families, but they did begin to realize that keeping
a secret of that size was going to be attended with
some difficulty. In brief, their sensations were
becoming comparable to those of the man who stole
a house.

Nevertheless, after a short peiiod given to un-
spoken misgivings, they returned to the subject of
the reward. The money-value of bay horses, as
compared to white, was again discussed, and each
annoimced his certainty that nothing less than *'a
good ole hunderd dollars" would be offered for the
return of Whitey.

But immediately after so speaking they fell into
another silence, due to sinking feelings. They had

v^^EaMT^A^v^

FtGX

REWARD OF MERIT 125

spoken loudly and confidently, and yet they knew,
somehow, that such things were not to be. Ac-
cording to their knowledge, it was perfectly reason'
able to suppose that they would receive this for-
tune, but they frightened themselves in speaking
of it; they knew that they could not have a himdred
dollars for their own. An oppression, as from some-
thing awful and criminal, descended upon them at

intervals.
Presently, however, they were warmed to a little

cheerfulness again by Penrod's suggestion that they
should put a notice in the paper. Neither of them
had the slightest idea how to get it there, but such
details as that were beyond the horizon; they oc-
cupied themselves with the question of what their
advertisement ought to "say." Finding that they
differed irreconcilably, Penrod went to a cache of
his in the sawdust-box and brought two pencils and
a supply of paper. He gave one of the pencils and
several sheets to Sam; then both boys bent them-
selves in silence to the labour of practical composi-
tion. Penrod produced the briefer paragraph. (See
Fig. I.) Sam*s was more ample. (See Fig. II.)

Neither Sam nor Penrod showed any interest in
what the other had written, but both felt that some-

126 PENROD AND SAM

thing praiseworthy had been accomplished. Fenrod
exhaled a sigh, as of reliefs, and, in a manner he had
observed his father use sometimes, he said:

"Thank goodness, thats off my mind, anyway!"

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

"I don't know what yov^re goin* to do," Penrod
returned, picking up the old cigarbox which had
contained the paper and pencils. " Tm goin* to put
mine in here, so's it'll come in handy when I haf to
get at it."

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

"There, thaCs 'tended to!" said Sam, and, un-
consciously imitating his friend's imitation, he gave
forth audibly a breath of satisfaction and relief.
Both boys felt that the financial side of their great
affair had been conscientiously looked to, that the
question of the reward was settled, and that every
thing was proceeding in a businesslike manner.
Therefore, they were able to turn their attention to
another matter.

REWARD OP MERIT 127

This was the question of Whitey's next meal.
After their exploits of the momingt and the con-
sequent imperihnent of Penrod, they decided that
nothing more was to be done in apples, vegetables,
or bread; it was evident that Whitey must be fed
from the bosom of natiu*e.

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

Sam jumped up.

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

"I just said "

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

128 PENROD AND SAM

Penrod thought this plan worth trying, and for
three-quarters of an hoiu* the two boys were busy
with the lower branches of various trees in the yard.
Thus they managed to supply Whitey with a fair
quantity of wet leaves, which he ate in a perfunctory
way, displaying little of his earlier enthusiasm. And
the work of his purveyors might have been more
tedious if it had been less damp, for a boy is seldom
bored by anything that involves his staying-out in
the rain without protection* The drizzle had thick-
ened; the leaves were heavy with water, and at every
jerk the branches sent fat drops over the two collect-
ors. They attained a noteworthy state of sogginess.

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

"Musther Penrod,*' she called, "y*r mamma says
ye'll c'm in the house this minute an' change y'r
shoes an' stockin's an' everythim' else ye got on!
D'ye hear me?"

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

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

REWARD OF MERIT 129

Delia withdrew, wearing the air of a person gra-
tuitously insulted; and a moment later she issued
from the kitchen, carrying an umbrella. She opened
it and walked resolutely to the stable.

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

Sam had joined Penrod in the carriage-house, and,
with the beginnings of an unnamed terror, the two
beheld this grim advance. But they did not stay
for its culmination. Without a word to each other
they hiuriedly tiptoed up the stairs to the gloomy
loft, and there they paused, listening.

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

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

She was interrupted by a peculiar sound — ^loud,
chilling, dismal, and unmistakably not of human
origin. The boys knew it for Whitey's cough, but
Delia had not their experience. A smothered shriek
reached their ears; there was a scurrying noise, and
then, with horror, they heard Delia's footsteps in
the passageway that ran by Whitey's manger.
Immediately there came a louder shriek, and

ISO PENROD AND SAM

even in the anguish of knowing their secret dis-
covered, they were shocked to hear distinctly the
words, "O Lard in hiwin!'' in the weU-known voice
of Delia. She shrieked again, and they heard the
rush of her footfalls across the carriage-house floor.
Wild words came from the outer air, and the kitchen
door slammed violently. It was all over. She
had gone to "tell."

Penrod and Sam plimged down the stairs and
out of the stable. They climbed the back fence and
fled up the alley. They turned into Sam's yard,
and, without consultation, headed for the cellar
doors, nor paused till they found themselves in the
farthest, darkest, and gloomiest recess of the cellar.
There, perspiring, stricken with fear, they sank down
upon the earthen floor, with their moist backs against
the stone wall.

Thus with boys. The vague apprehensions that
had been creeping upon Penrod and Sam all after-
noon had become monstrous; the unknown was
before them. How great their crime would turn
out to be (now that it was in the hands of grown
people), they did not know, but, since it concerned
a horse, it would undoubtedly be considered of
temble dimensions.

REWARD OF MERIT 131

Their plans for a reward, and all the things that
had seemed both innocent and practical in the mom-
ing, now staggered their minds as manifestations of
criminal folly. A new and terrible light seemed to
play upon the day's exploits; they had chased a horse
belonging to strangers, and it would be said that
they deliberately drove him into the stable and
there concealed him. They had, in truth, virtually
stolen him, and they had stolen food for him. The
waning light through the small window above them
warned Penrod that his inroads upon the vegetables
in his own cellar must soon be discovered. Delia,
that Nemesis, would seek them in order to prepare
them for dinner, and she would 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 known concerning the loaf of bread. Al-
together, Penrod felt that his case was worse than
Sam's — until Sam offered a suggestion which roused
such horrible possibiKties concerning the principal
item of their offense that all thought of the smaller
indictments disappeared.

"Listen, Penrod," Sam quavered: "What — what
if that — ^what if that ole horse maybe belonged to a
^^policeman ! " Sam's imagination was not of the

132 PENROD AND SAM

comforting kind. "What'd they — do to us, Peniodt
if it turned out he was some policeman's horse?"

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

It grew darker in the cellar, ^ that finally they
could not see each other.

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

Penrod's hoarse whisper came from the profound
gloom:

"Well, who ever said you did?"

"Well " Sam paused; then he said plaintively,

"I wish we'd never seen that dem ole horse."

"It was every bit his fault," said Penrod. "IFe
didn't do anything. If he hadn't come stickin' his

REWARD OF MERIT 133

ole head in our stable, it'd never happened at all.
Ole fool!" He rose* "I'm goin' to get out of here;
I guess IVe stood about enough for one day/'

** Where — where you goin', Penrod? You aren't
gom'Aom^,areyou?"

"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

icd him is doubtful, but he made this statement:

"I don't know where you're goin', but I'm goin*
to walk straight out in the country till I come to a
farmhouse and say 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 get away from here, anyway."

But when they came to ascend the steps leading
to the "outside doors," they foimd 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 got to
go up the stairway and try to sneak out through the
house."

134 PENROD AND SAM

They tiptoed back, and up the inner stairs. They
paused at the top, then breathlessly stepped out into
a hall which was entirely dark. Sam touched Pen-
rod's sleeve in warning, and bent to listen at a door.

Immediately that door opened, revealing the
bright library, where sat Penrod'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's mother rose, and, taking
him by the shoulder, urged him close to the fire.

"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 Sam keep
near the fire, too, Mrs. Williams, because they both
got wringing wet. Think of their running off just
when most people would have wanted to stay!
Well, I'll go on with the story, then. Delia told
me all about it, and what the cook next door said
fke^d seen, how they'd been trying to pull grass and
leaves for the poor old thing all day — ^and aU about
the apples they carried from your cellar, and getting
wet and working in the rain as hard as they could

REWARD OF MERIT 135

— and they'd given him a loaf of bread! Shame on
you, Penrod!" She paused to laugh, but there was
a little moisture roimd her eyes, even before she
laughed. "And they'd fed him on potatoes and
lettuce and cabbage and turnips out of our cellar!
And I wish you'd see the sawdust bed they made for
him! Well, when I'd telephoned, and the Humane
Society man got there, he said it was the most touch-
ing thing he ever knew. It seems he knew this
horse, and had been looking for him. He said
ninety-nine boys out of a hundred would have chased
the poor old thing away, and he was going to see to
it that this case didn't go unnoticed, because the
local branch of the society gives little silver medals
for special acts like this. And the last thing he said
before he led the poor old horse away was that he
was sure Penrod and Sam each would be awarded
one at the meeting of the society ne3d Thursday
night."

• • • On the following Saturday morning a yodel
soimded from the sunny sidewalk in front of the
Schofields' house, and Penrod, issuing forth, beheld
the familiar figure of Samuel Williams in waiting.

Upon Sam's breast there glittered a round bit of
silver suspended by a white ribbon from a bar of

136 PENROD AND SAM

the same metal. Upon the breast of Penrod was a
decoration precisely similar.

" 'Lo, Penrod/' said Sam. "What you gom'' to
do?"

"Nothin'."

"I got mine on/' said Sam.

"I have, too," said Penrod. *'I wouldn't take
a hunderd dollars for mine."

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

Each glanced pleasantly at the other's medal.
They faced each other without shame. Neither
had the slightest sense of hypocrisy either in him-
self or in his comrade. On the contrary!

Penrod's eyes went from Sam's medal back to his
own; thence they wandered, with perhaps a Uttle
disappointment, to the lifeless street and to the
empty yards and spectatorless windows of the neigh-
boiu*hood. Then he looked southward toward the
busy heart of the town, where multitudes were.

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

CHAPTER X

CX)NSCIENCE

MRS. SCHOFIELD had been away for three
days, visiting her sister in Dayton, Illinois,
and on the train, coming back, she fell into
a reverie. Little dramas of memory were reenacted
in her pensive mind, and through all of them moved
the figure of Penrod as a principal figure, or star.
These little dramas did not present Penrod as he
really was, much less did they glow with the uncer-
tam but glamorous Ught in which Penrod saw him-
self. No; Mrs. Schofield had indulged herself in
absence from her family merely for her own pleasure,
and now that she was homeward bound, her con-
science was asserting itself; the fact that she had
enjoyed her visit b^an to take on the aspect of a
crime.

She had heard from her family only once during
the three days — ^the message, "All well don't worry
enjoy yourself,*' telegraphed by Mr. Schofield, and
she had followed his suggestions to a reasonable

187

1S8 PENROD AND SAM

extent. Of course she had worried — ^but only at
times; wherefore she now suffered more and more
poignant pangs of shame because she had not
worried constantly. Naturally, the figure of Pen-
rod, in her railway reverie, was that of an invalid.

She recalled all the illnesses of his babyhood and
all those of his boyhood. She reconstructed scene
after scene, with the hero always prostrate and the
family physician opening the black case of phials.
She emphatically renewed her recollection of ac-
cidental misf ortimes to the body of Penrod Scho-
field, omitting neither the considerable nor the in-
considerable, forgetting no strain, sprain, cut, bruise,
or dislocation of which she had knowledge. And,
running this film in a sequence imrelieved by brighter
interludes, she produced a biographical picture of
such consistent and unremittent gloom that Penrod's
past appeared to justify disturbing thoughts about
his present and futiure. '

She became less and less at ease, reproaching her-
self for having gone away, 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
helpless without her guidance; they were apt to do
anything — anything at all — or to catch anything.

CONSCIENCE 189

The more she thought about her having left these
irresponsible harebrains unprotected and undirected
for three days, the less she was able to account for
her action. It seemed to her that she must have
been a little flighty, but, shaking her head grimly,
she decided that flightiness was not a good excuse.
And she made up her mind that if, upon her arrival,
she f oimd poor little neglected Penrod and Margaret
and Mr. Schofield spared to her, safe and sound,
she would make up to them — especially to Penrod —
for all her lack of care in the past, and for this present
wild foUy of spending three whole days and nights
with her sister, far away in Dayton, Illinois. Con-
sequently, when Mrs. Schofield descended irom that
train, she wore the hurried but determined ex-
pression which was always the effect upon her of a
guilty conscience.

"You're sure Penrod is well now?" she repeated,
after Mr. Schofield had seated himself at her side
in a vehicle known to its driver as a "deepoe
hack."

"*Well rum?''' he said. "He's been well all the
time. I've told you twice that he's all right."

"Men can't always see." She shook her head
impatiently. "I haven't been a bit sure he was well

140 PENROD AND SAM

lately. I don't think he's been really well for two or
three months. How has he seemed to-day?"

"In fair health," Mr. Schofield replied thought-
fully. "Delia called me up at the office to tell me
that one of the telephone trouble-men had come into
the house to say that if that dum boy didn't quit
climbing their poles they'd have him arrested.
They said he —

"That's it!" Mrs. Schofield interrupted quickly.
"He's nervous. It's some nervous trouble makes

him act like that. He's not like himself at all."

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

"When he's himself," Mrs. Schofield w^it on
anxiously, "he's very quiet and good; he doesn't go
climbing telegraph-poles and reckless things like
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 in his throat."

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

** You're entirely mistaken, Heniy," she returned

CONSCIENCE 141

a little sharply. "That isn't the way he goes in his
throat. Penrod is getting to be a very nervous boy,
and he makes noises because he can't help it. He
works part of his face, too, sometimes, so much that
IVe been afraid it would interfere with his looks."

"Interfere with his what?'* For the moment,
Mr. Schofield seemed to be dazed.

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

"He is?"

"Handsomer than the average, anyhow," said Mrs,
Schofield firmly. "No wonder you don't see it —
when we've let his system get all run down like this ! "

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

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

"Why, how could "

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

142 PENROD AND SAM

Thus she continued, and, as she talked on, Mr.
Schofield began, by imperceptible processes, to
adopt her views. As for Mrs. Schofield herself,
these views became substantial by becoming vocal.
This is to say, with all deference, that, as soon as
she heard herself stating them she was convinced that
they accurately represented facts. And the deter-
mined look in her eyes deepened when the "deepoe
hack" turned the familiar comer and she saw Fenrod
running to the gate, followed by his little old dog, Duke.

Never had Penrod been so glad to greet his mother.
Never was he more boisterous in the expression of
happiness of that kind. And the tokens of 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, con-
scienceless 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 that shone through the doorway.
He sighed and nought the depths of sleep again.

(('

CONSCIENCE 148

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

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

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

"Whassat?"

Mrs. Schofield replied in tones honeysweet and
coaxing:

**It's just a nice little pill, Penrod."

**Doe waw 'ny!" he protested, keeping his eyes
shut, clinging to the sleep from which he was being

riven.

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

And again the Kttle pill was placed suggestively
against his lips; but his head jerked backward, and
his hand struck out in blind, instinctive self-defense.

" I'll biLst that ole pill," he muttered, still with closed
eyes. " Lemme get my ban's on it an' I will ! "

"Penrod!"

** Please go on away, mamma!"

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

"I didr

•*No. dear."

144 PENROD AND SAM

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

**01i, yes; tiiei one. But, dearie," Mrs. Schofield
explained, "I got to thinking about it after I went to
bed, and I decided you'd better have another."

"I don't want another."

"Yes, dearie."

"Please go 'way and let me sleep."

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

"Oh, goUy r* Groaning, he propped himself
upon an elbow and alleged the pill to pass between
his lips. (He would have allowed anything whatever
to pass between them, if that passing permitted his
return to slumber.) Then, detaining the pill in his
mouth, he swallowed half a glass of water, and again
was recumbent.

**G'-night, mamma."

"Good-night, dearie. Sleep well."

"Yes'm."

After her departure Penrod drowsily enjoyed the
sugar coating of the pill, but this was indeed a brief
plea ore, A bitterness that was like a pang suddenly
made itself known to his sense of taste, and he
realized that he had dalKed too confidingly with the
product of a manufacturing chemist who should

CONSCIENCE 145

have been indicted for criminal economy. The
medicinal portion of the little pill struck the wall
with a faint tap, then dropped noiselessly to the
€oor, and, after a time, Penrod slept. "

Some hours later he began to dream; he dreamed
that bis feet and legs were becoming uncomfortable
as a result of Sam Williams' activities with a red-hot
poker.

^*You quit that!" he said aloud, and awoke in-
dignantly. Again a dark, wrappered figure hovered
over the bed.

"It*s only a hot-water bag, dear,'* said Mrs. Scho-
field, still labouring under the covers with an ex-
tended arm. "You mustn't himch yourself up that
way, Penrod. Put your feet down on it."

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

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

"Penrod ^"

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

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

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

146 PENROD AND SAM

"Penrod/* she said firmly, "y^u must put your
feet against the bag. It isn't too hot."

"Oh, isn't it?" he retorted. "I don't s'pose you'd
care if I burned my feet right off! Mamma, won't
you please, pvH-leeze let me get some sleep?'*

"Not tiU you ''

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

"All right, rn do it! Let 'em bum, then!" Thus
spake the desperate Penrod; and Mrs. Schofield was
able to ascertain that one heel had been placed in
light contact with the bag.

"No; both feet, Penrod."

With a tragic shiver he obeyed.

**Thafs 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 hips upward, rose invisibly
in the complete darkness of the bedchamber. A
moment later the hot-water bag reached the floor
in as noiseless a manner as that previously adopted
by the remains of the little pill, and Penrod once
more bespread his soul with poppies. This time he
slept until the breakfast-bell rang.

CONSCIENCE 147

He was late to school, and at once found himself
in difficulties. Government demanded an explana-
tion of the tardiness, but Fenrod made no reply of
any kind. Taciturnity is seldom more strikingly
out of place than under such circumstances, and
the penalties imposed took account not only of
Fenrod's tardiness but of his supposititious defiance
of authority in declining to speak. The truth was
that Fenrod did not know why he was tardy, and,
with mind still lethargic, found it impossible to think
of an excuse — ^his continuing silence being due merely
to the persistence of his efforts to invent one. Thus
were his meek searchings ndsinterpreted, and the
unloved hours of improvement in science and the
arts made odious.

"They'll see /'* he whispered sorely to himself, as
he bent low over his desk, a little later. Some day
he would "show 'em." The picture in his mind
was of a vast, vague assembly of people headed by
Miss Spence and the superior pupils who were never
tardy, and these multitudes, representing persecu-
tion and government in general, were all cringing
before a Fenrod Schofield who rode a grim black
horse up and down their ndserable ranks, and gave
curt orders.

148 PENROD AND SAM

"Make 'em step back there!" he commanded
his myrmidons savagely. "Fix it 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. "I guess they know who I am

CHAPTER XI

THE TONIC

THESE broodings helped a little, but it was
a severe mornings and on his way home at
noon he did not recover heart enough to
practise the bullfrog's croak, the craft of which Sam
Williams had lately mastered to inspiring perfection.
This sonorous accomplishment Penrod had deter-
mined to make his own. At once guttural and
resonant, impudent yet plaintive, with a barbaric
twang like the plucked string of a Congo war-fiddle,
the sound had fascinated him. It is made in the
throat by processes utterly impossible to describe in
human words, and no alphabet as yet produced by
civilized man affords the symbols to vocalize it
to the ear of imagination. "Gunk" is the poor
makeshift which must be employed to indicate it.

Penrod uttered one half-hearted ^^Gunk^* as he
turned in at his own gate. However, this stimulated
him, and he paused to practise. *^ Gunk I** he
croaked. " Gunk — gunk — gunk — uunk 1

149

ISO PENROD AND SAM

Mrs. Schofield leaned out of an open window up-
stairs.

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

"Why not?" asked Penrod, and feeling encouiraged
by his progress in the new art, he continued: ^^Gunhi
Gunk — gunk — gunk t Gunk — gunk "

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

But Penrod felt that he was almost upon the point
of attaining a mastery equal to that of Sam Williams.
He had just managed to do something in his throat
that he had never done before, and he felt that
unless he kept on doing it at this time, his new-born
facility might evade him later. " Gunk ! " he croaked.
** Gunk — gunk — gunk I " And he continued to croak,
persevering monotonously, his expression indicating
the depth of his preoccupation.

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

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

Penrod's look of preoccupation vanished; he

THE TONIC 151

brightened and ceased to croak. His mother had
aheady given him a small leather pocketbook with
a nickel in it, as a souvenir of her journey. Evi-
dently she had brought another gift as well, delaying
its presentation untU now. "IVe got something
for you!'* These were auspicious wordis.

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

"No," she said. "But I'll show j^ou, Penrod.
Come on, dear."

He foUowed her with alacrity to the dining-room,
and the bright anticipation in his eyes grew more
brilliant — until she opened the door of the china-
closet, simultaneously with that action announcing
cheerily :

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

He was instantly chilled, for experience had taught
him that when predictions of this character were
made, nothing pleasant need be expected. Two
seconds later his last hope departed as she turned
from the closet and he beheld in her hands a
quart bottle containing what ap{>eared to be a

152 PENROD AND SAM

section of grassy swamp immersed in a cloudy
brown liquor. He stepped back, grave suspicion in
Iiis glance.

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

Mrs. Schofield smiled upon him.

**It's nothing," she said. "That is, it's nothing
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 re-
tiuned, and, as she spoke, she poured some of the
brown liquor into a tablespoon. "People often can't
tell when they're nervous themselves; but your papa
and I have been getting a little anxious about you,
dear, and so I got this medicine for you."

"Where^d you get it?" he demanded.

Mrs. Schofield set the bottle down and moved
toward him, insinuatingly extending the f uU table-
spoon.

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

**I want to know where it came from," he insisted
darkly, again stepping backward.

** Where?" she echoed absently, watching to see
that nothing was spilled from the spoon as she con*

THE TONIC 163

tinued to move toward him, "Why, I was talking
to old Mrs. Wottaw at market this morning, and
she said her son Clark used to have nervous trouble,
and she told me about this medicine and how to
have it made at the drug store. She told me it
cured Clark, and "

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

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

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

Mrs. Schofield looked grieved.

"There isn't any grass and there aren't any 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

154 PENROD AND SAM

don't make such a fuss about it. It's just for youi
own good."

And she advanced upon hun again, the spoon
extended toward his lips. It ahnost touched
them for he had retreated until his back was
against the wall-paper. He could go no farther,
but he evinced his unshaken repugnance by averting
his face.

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

"It's not unpleasant at all," she answered, poking
the spoon at his mouth. "Mrs. Wottaw said Clark
used to be very fond of it. *It doesn't taste like
ordinary medicine at aU,' she said."

"How often I got to take it?" Penrod mumbled,
as the persistent spoon sought 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 such a fuss. I can't
be all day. Hurry!"

She inserted the spoon between his lips, so that
its rim touched his clenched teeth; he was still re-
luctant. Moreover, his reluctance was natural and
characteristic, for a boy's sense of taste is as simple

THE TONIC 155

and as peculiar as a dog's though, of course, alto-
gether different from a dog's. A boy, passing
through tl\e experimental age, may eat and drink
astonishing things, but they must be of his own
choosing. His palate is tender, and, in one
sense, might be called fastidious; nothing is more
sensitive or more easily shocked. A boy tastes
things much more than grown people taste them:
what is merely unpleasant to a man is sheer broth
of hell to a boy. Therefore, not knowing what
might be encountered, Penrod continued to be
reluctant.

Penrod," his mother exclaimed, losing patience,
I'll call your papa, to make 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. Scho*
field dexterously elevated the handle of the spoon
so that the brown liquor was deposited within her
son.

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

Penrod did not reply. His expression had be-
come odd, and the oddity of his manner was

166 PENROD AND SAM

equal to that of his expression. Uttering no
sound) he seemed to distend, as if he had suddenly
become a pneumatic boy under dangerous pressure.
Meanwhile, his reddening eyes, fixed awfully upon
his mother, grew unbearable.

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

But Penrod could not help himself. In truth,
even a grown person hardened to all manner of
flavours, and able to eat caviar or liquid Camembert,
woiJd have found the cloudy brown liquor viru-
lently repulsive. It contained in solution, with
other things, the vital element of surprise, for it was
comparatively odourless, and, unlike the chivalrous
rattlesnake, gave no warning of what it was about
to do. In the case of Penrod, the surprise was com^*
plete and its effect visibly shocking.

Tlie distention by which he began to express his
emotion appeared to be increajsing; his slender throat
swelled as his cheeks puffed. His shoulders rose
toward his ears; he lifted his right leg in an im-
natural way and held it rigidly in the air.

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

THE TONIC 157

He found his voice.

"Uff! Ooqffl^^ he said thickly, and collapsed —
a mere, ordinary, every-day convulsion taking the
place of his pneumatic symptoms. He began to
writhe, at the same time opening and closing his
mouth rapidly and 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 was familiar, Mrs. Schofield
resimied her fond smile.

**YouWe all right, little boysie!" she said heartily.
Then, picking up the bottle, she replenished the
tablespoon, and told Penrod something she 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 to leave the room. His deter-
mination was so intense, and the manifestations of
it were so ruthless, that Mrs. Schofield, exhausted,
found herself obliged to call for the official head of
the house — ^in fact, she found herself obliged to

168 PENROD AND SAM

shriek for him; and Mr. Schofield, upon hastily
entering the room, beheld his wife apparently in the
act of sawing his son back and forth across the sill
of an open window.

Penrod made a frantic effort to reach the good
green earth, even after his 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 floor and the window closed. Indeed, it may
be said that he actually never gave up, though it is
a fact that the second potion was successfully placed
inside him. But by the time this feat was finally
accomplished, Mr. Schofield had proved that, in
spite of middle age, he was entitled to substantial
claims and honours both as athlete and orator — ^his
oratory being founded less upon the school of Web-
ster and more upon that of Jeremiah.

So the thing was done, and the double dose put
within the person of Penrod Schofield. It proved
not ineffective there, and presently, as its new owner
sat morosely at table, he began to feel slightly dizzy
and his eyes refused him perfect service. This was
natural, because two tablespoons of the cloudy
brown liquor contained about the amount of alcohol
to be found in an ordinary cocktail. Now a boy

THE TONIC 169

does not enjoy the effects of intoxication; enjoyment
of that kind is obtained only by studious applica^
tion. Therefore, Penrod spoke of his symptoms com-
plainingly, and even showed himself so vindictive as
to attribute them to the new medicine.

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

^^BiliouSy too^^^ she whispered to her husband.

That evening, during the half-hour preceding
dinner, the dining-room was the scene of another
struggle, only a httle less desperate than that which
had been the prelude to lunch, and again an appeal
to the head of the house was found necessary.
Muscular activity and a liberal imitation of the
jeremiads once more subjugated the rebel — and the
same rebellion and its suppression in a like manner
took place the following morning before breakfast
But this was Saturday, and, without warning or
apparent reason, a remarkable change came about at
noon. However, Mr. and Mrs. Schofield were used
to inexplicable changes in Penrod, and they missed
its significance.

When Mrs. Schofield, with dread in her heart,
called Penrod into the house "to take his medicine'*

160 PENROD AND SAM

before lunch, he came briskly, and took it like a
lamb!

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

"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 you already?"

"Yes'm, I guess so."

Upon a holiday morning, several weeks later,
Penrod and Sam Williams revived a pastime which
they called "drug store," setting up display coim-
ters, selling chemical, cosmetic, and other com-
poimds to imaginary customers, filling prescriptions,
and variously conducting themselves in a pharma-
ceutical manner* They were in the midst of aflPairs
when Penrod interrupted his partner and himself
with a cry of recollection.

"/ know!" he shouted. "I got some mighty
good ole stuflf we want. You wait!" And, dashing
to the house, he disappeared.

THE TONIC 161

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

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

"It's good ole stuflF," Sam said approvingly.
" Where'd you get it? Whose is it, Penrod?"

"It was mine," said Penrod. "Up to about
serreval days ago, it was. They quit 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 expect she was too busy to think
about it, or sumpthing. Anyway, she quit makin'
me take it, and said I was lots better. She's forgot
all about it by this time."

Sam was looking at the bottle with great interest.

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

"It is grass," said Penrod.

162 PENROD AND SAM

"How'd it get there?'*

"I stuck it in there," the candid boy replied.
"First they had some horrable ole stuflF in there like
to killed me. But after they got three doses down
me, I took the bottle out in the yard and cleaned
her all out and pulled a lot o' good ole grass and
stuflFed her pretty full and poured in a lot of good ole
hydrant water on top of it. Then, when they got
the next bottle, I did the same way, and "

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

Penrod laughed a superior laugh.

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

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

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. She could 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.

THE TONIC 163

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

•*0h, nothin'," Penrod replied. "Nothin' but a
little good ole mud."

CHAPTER Xn

GIPSY

ON A fair Saturday afternoon in Novem-
ber Penrod's little old dog Duke returned
to the ways of his youth and had trouble
with a strange eat on the back porch. This indis-
cretion, so uncharacteristic, was due to the agitation
of a surprised moment, for Duke's experience had
inclined him to a peaceful pessimism, and he had
no ambition for hazardous undertakings of any sort.
He was given to musing but not to avoidable action,
and he seemed habitually to hope for something
which he was pretty sure would not happen. Even
in his sleep, this gave him an air of wistfulness.

Thus, being asleep in a nook behind the metal
refuse-can, when the strange cat ventm-ed to ascend
the steps of the porch, his appearance was so unwar-
like that the cat felt encouraged to extend its field
of reconnaissance— for the cook had been careless,
and the backbone of a three-poimd whitefish lay
at the foot of the refuse-can.

164

GIPSY 165

This cat was, for a cat, needlessly tall, power-
ful, independent, and masculine. Once, long ago,
he had been a roly-poly pepper-and-salt kitten;
he had a home in those days, and a name, " Gipsy,*'
which he abundantly justified. He was precocious
in dissipation. Long before his adolescence, his
lack of domesticity was ominous, and he had formed
bad companionships. Meanwhile, he grew so rangy,
and developed such length and power of leg and
such traits of character, that the father of the little
girl who owned him was almost convincing when
he declared that the young cat was half broncho
and half Malay pirate — ^though, in the light of
Gipsy's later career, this seems bitterly unfair to
even the lowest orders of bronchos and Malay
pirates*

No; Gipsy was not the pet for a little girl. The
rosy hearthstone and sheltered rug were too circum-
spect for him. Surroimded by thcrcomforts of mid-
dle-class respectability, and profoundly oppressed,
even in his youth, by the Puritan ideals of the house-
hold, he sometimes experienced a sense of suffocation.
He wanted free air and he wanted free life; he wanted
the lights, the lights, and the music. He abandoned
the bourgeoisie irrevocably. He went forth in a

166 PENROD AND SAM

May twilight, carrying the evening beef steak with
him, and joined the underworld.

His extraordinary size, his daring, and his utter
lack of sympathy soon made him the leader — ^and,
at the same time, the terror — of all the loose-lived
cats in a wide neighbourhood. He contracted no
friendships and had no confidants. He seldom slept
in the same place twice in succession, and though
he was wanted by the police, he was not foimd. In
appearance he did not lack distinction of an ominous
sort; the slow, rhythmic, perfectly controlled mech-
anism of his tail, as he impressively walked abroad,
was incomparably sinister. This stately and dan-
gerous walk of his, his long, vibrant whiskers, his
scars, his yellow eye, so ice-cold, so fire-hot, haughty
as the eye of Satan, gave him the deadly air of a
mousquetaire duellist. His soul was in that walk
and in that eye; it could be read — ^the soul of a bravo
of fortune, living on his wits and his valour, asking
no favours and granting no quarter. Intolerant,
proud, sullen, yet watchful and constantly planning
— ^purely a militarist, believing in slaughter as in a re-
Kgion, and confident that art, science, poetry, and the
good of the world were happily advanced thereby —
Gipsy had become, though technically not a wildcat.

GIPSY 167

undoubtedly the most untamed cat at large in the
civilized world. Such, in brief, was the terrifying
creature which now elongated its neck, and, over the
top step of the porch, bent a calculating^ scrutiny upon
the wistful and slumberous Duke.

The scrutiny was searching but not prolonged.
Gipsy muttered contemptuously to himself, "Oh,
sheol; I'm not afraid o' Ihat /" And he approached
the fishbone, his padded feet making no noise upon
the boards. It was a desirable fishbone, large,
with a considerable portion of the fish's tail still
attached to it.

It was about a foot from Duke's nose, and the
little dog's dreams began to be troubled by his
olfactory nerve. This faithful sentinel, on guard
even while Duke slept, signalled that alarums and
exciu^ons by parties imknown were taking place,
and suggested that attention might well be paid.
Duke opened one drowsy eye. What that eye be-
held was monstrous.

Here was a strange experience — ^the horrific vision
in the midst of things so accustomed. Sunshine
fell sweetly upon porch and backyard; yonder was
the famiUar stable, and from its interior came the
busy hum of a carpenter shop, established that

168 PENROD AND SAM

momii^ by Duke's young master, in association
with Samuel Williams and Herman. Here, dose
by, were the quiet refuse-can and the wonted
brooms and mops leaning against the latticed wall
at the end of the porch, and there, by the foot of the
steps, was the stone slab of the cistern, with the iron
cover displaced and lying beside the roimd open-
ing, where the carpenters had left it, not half an
hour ago, after lowering a stick of wood into the
water, "to season it.*' All about Duke were these
usual and reassuring environs of his daily life, and
yet it was his fate to behold, right in the midst of
them, and in ghastly juxtaposition to his face, a
thing of nightmare and lunacy.

Gipsy had seized the fishbone by the middle.
Out from one side of his head, and mingling with his
whiskers, projected the long, spiked spine of the big
fish; down from the other side of that ferocious head
dangled the fish's tail, and from above the remark^
able effect thus produced shot the intolerable glare
of two yellow eyes. To the gaze of Duke, still
blurred by slumber, this monstrosity was all of one
piece — ^the bone seemed a living part of it. What
he saw was like those interesting insect-faces which
the magnifying glass reveals to great M. Fabre.

GIPSY 169

It was impossible for Duke to maintain the philo-
sophic cahn of M. Fabre, however; there was no
magnifying glass between him and this spined and
spiky face. Indeed, Duke was not in a position to
think the matter over quietly. If he had been able to
do that^ he would have said to himself: "We have here
an animal of most peculiar and unattractive appear-
ance, though, upon examination, it seems to be only
a cat stealing a fishbone. Nevertheless, as the thief
is large beyond all my recollection of cats and has an
unpleasant stare, I will leave this spot at once."

On the contrary, Duke was so electrified by his
horrid awakening that he completely lost his pres-
ence of mind. In the very instant of his first eye*s
opening, the other eye and his mouth behaved simi-
larly, the latter loosing upon the quiet air one shriek
of mental agony before the little dog scrambled to his
feet and gave further employment to his voice in a
frenzy of profanity. At the same time the subterra-
nean diapason of a demoniac bass viol was heard; it
rose to a wail, and rose and rose again till it screamed
like a small siren. It was Gipsy's war-cry, and,
at the sound of it, Duke became a frothing maniac.
He made a convulsive frontal attack upon the hob-
goblin — ^and the massacre began.

170 PENROD AND SAM

Never releasing the fishbone for an instant, Gipsy
laid back his ears in a chilling way, beginning to
shrink into himself like a concertina, but rising amid-
ships so high that he appeared to be giving an imi<
tation of that peaceful beast, the dromedary. Such
was not his purpose, however, for, having attained
his greatest possible altitude, he partially sat down
and elevated his right arm after the manner of a
semaphore. This semaphore arm remained rigid
for a second, threatening; then it vibrated with in-
conceivable rapidity, feinting. But it was the
treacherous left that did the work. Seemingly this
left gave Duke three Ughtning little pats upon the
right ear, but the change in his voice indicated that
these were no love-taps. He yelled "help!" and
"bloody murder!"

Never had such a shattering uproar, all vocaJ,
broken out upon a peaceful afternoon. Gipsy pos-
sessed a vocabulary for cat-swearing certainly second
to none out of Italy, and probably equal to the best
there, while Duke remembered and uttered things
he had not thought of for years.

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

GIPSY 171

**My gorry!" he shouted. "Duke's havin' a
fight with the biggest eat you ever saw in your Kfe!
C'mon!"

His feet were aheady in motion toward the battle-
field, with Penrod and Herman hmrying in his wake.
Onward they sped, and Duke was encouraged by the
sight and soimd of these reenforeements to increase
his own outrageous clamours and to press home his
attack. But he was ill-advised. This time it was
the right arm of the semaphore that dipped — ^and
Duke's honest nose was but too conscious of what
happened in consequence.

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

And though he could laugh in the face of so un-
equal an antagonist as Duke, Gipsy felt that he

17ie PENROD AND SAM

was never at his best or able to do himself full justice
unless he could perform that feline operation in-
accurately known as "spitting." To his notion,
this was an absolute essential to combat; but, as all
cats of the slightest pretensions to technique per-
fectly understand, it can neither be well done nor
produce the best effects unless the mouth be opened
to its utmost capacity so as to expose the beginnings
of the alimentary canal, down which — at least that?
is 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 tohis enemies and to carry the fishbone elsewhere.
He took two giant leaps. The first landed him upon
the edge of the porch. There, without an instant's
pause, he gathered his fur-sheathed muscles, con-
centrated himself into one big steel spring, and
launched himself superbly into space. He made a
stirring picture, however brief, as he left the soKd
porch behind him and sailed upward on an ascend-
ing curve into the sunlit air. His head was proudly
up; he was the incarnation of menacing power and
of self-confidence. It is possible that the white-
fish's spinal column and flopping tail had interfered

GIPSY 173

with his vision, and in launchmg himself he may have
mistaken the dark, round opening of the cistern for
its dark, round cover. In that case, it was a leap
calculated and executed with precision, for as the
boys clamoured their pleased astonishment, Gipsy
descended accurately into the orifice and passed
majestically from public view, with the fishbone
still in his mouth and his haughty head still high.
There was a grand splash!

CHAPTER XIII

CX)NCEBNING TBOUSEBS

DUKE, hastening to place himself upon the
stone slab, raged at his enemy in safety;
and presently the indomitable Gipsy could
be heard from the darkness below, turning on the bass
of his siren, threatening the water which enveloped
him, returning Duke's profanity with interest, and
cursing the general universe.

"You hush!" Penrod stormed, rushing at Duke
"You go Vay from here! You DuTce /'*

And Duke, after prostrating himself, decided that
it would be a relief to obey and to consider his re^
sponsibilities in this matter at an end. He with'
drew beyond a comer of the house, thinking deeply.

"WhyVt you let him bark at the ole cat?" Sam
Williams inquired, sympathizing with the oppressed.
"I guess you'd want to bark if a cat had been treatin*
you the way this one did Duke."

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

174

CONCERNING TROUSERS 175

"What fer?" asked Herman. "Mighty mean
cat! K it was me, I let 'at ole eat 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't s'pose
people like to use water that's got a cat drowned
in it, do you? It gets pumped up into the tank in
the attic and goes all over the house, 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 virtuous oration. "It's swimmin' around
down there," he continued, peering into the 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 fell in there."

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

"Well, once," said Sam, "once when a kitten fell
down our cistern, papa took a pair of his trousers, and
he held 'em by the end of one leg, and let 'em hang
down through the hole till the end of the other leg

176 PENROD AND SAM

was in the water, and the kitten went and clawed
hold of it, and he pulled it right up, easy as anything.
Well, that's the way to do now, *cause if a kitten
could keep hold of a pair of trousers, I guess this ole
cat could. It's the biggest cat / ever saw! All
you got to do is to go and ast your mother for a
pair of your father's trousers, and we'll have this
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'll get 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 gazing attentively into the cistern and mak-
ing some eye measurements of his knickerbockerSi,
he shook his head. "They'd be too short. They
wouldn't be 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 he expressed a strong disin-
clination to fall in with Penrod's idea. " My mammy

CONCERNING TROUSERS 177

sit up late nights sewin' on 'ese britches fer me,
maJdn' 'em outen 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 argumenta-
tively, while he moved slowly backward, shaking his
head and denying them.

"I don't keer how much you talk!" he said.
"Mammy give my ole britches to Verm«n, an' 'ese
here ones on'y britches I got now, an' I'm go' to
keep 'em on me — ^not take 'em off an' let ole wet
cat splosh all over 'em. My manmiy, she sewed
'em fer mCy I reckon — din' sew 'em fer no cat ! "

"Oh, please, come on, Herman!" Penrod begged
pathetically. "You don't want to see the poor cat
drown, do you?"

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

"Why, it'll only take a minute," Sam urged.
"You just wait inside the stable and you'll have
*em back on again before you could say 'Jack
Robinson.' "

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

178 PENROD AND SAM

Listen here, Herman," Penrod began pleadingly.

You can watch us every minute 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? Look at here, Hennan: you know
that little saw you said you wished it was yours, in
the carpenter shop? Well, honest, if you'll just let
us take your trousers till we get this poor ole cat out
the cistern, I'll give you that little saw."

Herman was shaken; he yearned for the little saw.

"You gimme her to keep?" he asked cautiously.
**You gimme her befo' I han' 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 two
minutes later he stood in the necessary negligee
within the shelter of the stable door, and watched,
through the crack, the lowering of the surrendered
garment into the cistern. His gaze was anxious,
and surely nothing could have been more natural,
since the removal had exposed Herman's brown
legs, and although the weather was far from inclem-
ent, November is never quite the month for people
to be out of doors entirely without leg-covering.
Therefore, he marked with impatience that Sam and

CONCERNING TROUSERS 179

Penrod, after lowering the trousers partway to the
water, had withdrawn them and fallen into an argu-
ment.

"Name o' goo'ness!" Herman shouted. "I ain'
got no time fer you all do so 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 with a lid and
leather hinges, and returned with it cumbersomely
to the cistern. "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 said peevishly, and, with the suggestion of
a sneer, he added, "I s'pose you think somebody 'II
pay about a hunderd dollars reward, or give us a
medal or something, on account of a cat!"

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

"Well, what on earth "

"I'll tell you some day, won't I?" Penrod cried.
"I got my reasons for wantin' to keep this cat, and
I'm goin' to keep it. You don't haf to ke "

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

180 PENBOD AND SAM

"It won't, either/* Penrod returned, kneeling and
peering down upon the dark water. " Listen to him !
He's growlin' and spittin' away like anything! It
takes a mighty fine-blooded eat to be as fierce as
that. I bet you most eats would *a* given up and
drowned long ago. The water's awful cold, and I ex**
pect he was perty supprised when he lit in it."

"Herman's makin' a fuss again," said Sam. "W^
better get the ole cat out o' there if we're goin'
to."

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

Rather pleased to be assigned to the trousers,
Sam accordingly extended himself at full length
upon the slab and proceeded to carry out Penrod's
instructions. Meanwhile, Penrod, peering from
above, inquired anxiously for information con-,
oeming this work of rescue.

CONCERNING TROUSERS 181

'Xan 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 a fierce cat! If it's mad all
the time like this, you better not ever try to pet it
much. Now it's kind o' sniffin' at the trousers.
It acks to me as if it was goin' to ketch holds. Yes,
it's stuck one claw in 'em OwT*

Sam uttered a blood-curdling shriek and jerked
convulsively. The next instant, streaming and incon-
ceivably gaunt, the ravening Gipsy appeared with a fi-
nal bound upon Sam's shoulder. It was not in Gipsy's
character to be drawn up peaceably; he had ascended
the trousers and Sam's arm without assistance and
in his own way. Simultaneously — ^for this was a
notable case of everything happening at once —
there was a muffled, soggy splash, and the unfortu-
nate Herman, smit with prophecy in his seclusion,
uttered a dismal yell. Penrod laid hands upon
Gipsy, and, after a struggle suggestive of sailors
landing a man-eating shark, succeeded in getting
him into the box, and sat upon the lid thereof.

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

Ow, ow, oiLchr* he shouted, as he nibbed his

€*i

182 PENROD AND SAM

suffering arm and shoulder. Then, exasperated by
Herman's lamentations, he called angrily: ^^01^ what
I care for your ole britches? I guess if you'd 'a'
had a cat climb up you^ you'd 'a' dropped 'em a
hunderd times over!"

However, upon excruciating entreaty, he con-
sented to explore the surface of the water with a
clothes-prop, but reported that the luckless trousers
had disappeared in the depths, Herman having for-
gotten to remove some "fishin' sinkers" from his
pockets before making the fated loan.

Penrod was soothing a lacerated wrist in his
mouth.

"That's a mighty fine-blooded cat," he re-
marked. "I expect it'd got away from pretty near
anybody, 'specially if they didn't know much about
cats. Listen at him, in the box, Sam. I bet you
never heard a cat growl as loud as that in your life.
I shouldn't wonder it was part panther or sump-
thmg."

Sam began to feel more interest and less resent-
ment.

"I tell you what we can do, Penrod," he said:
"Let's take it in the stable and make the box into
a cage. We can take off the hinges, and slide back

CONCERNING TROUSERS 183

the lid a Utile at a time, and nail some o' those laths
over the front for bars."

"That's just exackly what I was goin' to say!**
Penrod exclaimed. "I already, thought o* that,
Sam. Yessir, we'll make it just like a regular cireus-
cage, and our good ole cat can look out from between
the bars and growl. It'll come in pretty handy if
ii»e ever decide to have another show. Anjrways,
we'll have her in there, good and tight, where we
oan watch she don't get away. I got a mighty good
mason to keep this cat, Sam. You'll see."

"Well, why don't you " Sam was interrupted

by SL vdiement appeal from the stable. "Oh, we're
mmin'!" he shouted. "We got to bring our cat
in its 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 carry it
without our good ole cat pushin' the lid open."

Herman explained with vehemence that it would
not be right for him to leave the stable upon any
errand until just restorations had been made. He
spoke inimicaUy of the cat, which had been the
occasion of his loss, and he earnestly requested that
operations with the clothes-prop be resumed in the

184 PENROD AND SAM

cistern. Sam and Penrod declined, on the ground
that this was absolutely proven to be of no avail, and
Sam went to look for bricks.

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

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

"I am' studyin' *bout no bars!*' Herman inter-
rupted fiercely. "What good you reckon nailin'
bars go' do me if manmay holler fer me? You white
boys sutn'y show me bad day! I try treat people
nice, 'n'en they go th'ow my britches down cistern P*

"I did not!" Sam protested. "That ole cat just
kicked *em out o' my hand idth its hind feet while

CONCERNING TROUSERS 185

its front ones were stickin' in my arm. I bet you^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 britches to 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 make so much
noise I can't get my mind on it. Anyways, didn't I
give you that little saw?"

"Li'l saw!" cried Herman, unmoUified. "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. "That ain't anything at all
to step over there, and you've got your little saw."

"Aw right! You jes' take oflf you' clo'es 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, and kind of get settled down or

186 PENROD AND SAM

sumpthingy and help us fibc a good cage for our
panther, well, when mamma comes home about five
o'clock, I'll go and tell 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 I promised him.
Well, she'll give me a pair I wore for summer; honest
shewill, andyou can put 'emonas 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 laigs befo' no five o'clock!"

"Well, you're sure to get 'em by then," Penrod
promised. "It ain't winter 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 the argument. The question
at issue seemed a vital one to him — and yet his two
opponents evidently considered it of minor import-
ance. Obviously, they felt that the promise for
five o'clock had settled the whole matter conclu-
sively, but to Herman this did not appear to be the
fact. However, he helplessly suflFered himself to
be cajoled back into carpentry, though he was

CONCERNING TROUSERS 187

extremely ill at ease and talked a great deal of his
misfortune. He shivered and grumbled, and, by
his passionate urgings, compelled Penrod to go into
the house so many times to see what time it was by
the kitchen clock that both his companions almost
k)st patience with him.

"There!" said Penrod, returning from performing
this errand for the fourth time. "It's twenty
minutes after three, and I'm not goin' in to look at
that ole clock again if I haf to die for it! I never
heard anybody make such a fuss in my life, and I'm
gettin' tired oi it. Must think we want to be all
night fixin' this cage for our panther! If you ask
me to go and see what time it is again, Herman,
I'm a-goin' to take back about askin' mamma at
five o'clock, and then where'U you be?"

"Well, it seem like mighty long aft'noon to me,**
Herman sighed. "I jes' like to know what time it
wgettin'tobenow!"

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

"Nemmine," Herman said hiuriedly. "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 spectacle sufficiently thrill-
ing and panther-like. Gipsy raved, "spat, '*
struck virulently at taunting fingers, turned on his
Trailing siren for minutes at a time, and he gave
h?s imitation of a dromedary almost continuously.
These phenomena could be intensified in picturesque-
ness, the boys discovered, by rocking the cage a
little, tapping it with a hammer, or raking the bars
with a stick. Altogether, Gipsy was having a lively
afternoon.

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

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

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

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

188

CAMERA WORK IN THE JUNGLE 189

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

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

"Ain' I tole you once they down bottom 'at cis-
tern? " Herman shouted, much exasperated. " You
wan' know how come so, you ast Sam Williams. He
say thishere cat tuck an' th'owed 'em down there!"

Sam, who was busy rocking the cage, remained
cheerfuUy absorbed in that occupation.

"Come look at our good ole panther, Verman,"
he called. "I'll get this circus-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 smnpthing without havin'
to go deaf, haven't I?"

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

1»0 PENROD AND SAM

"/ know, Sam! I know what we'll do now I
I just thought of it, and it's goin' to be sumpthing
I bet there aren't any other boys in this town could
do, because where would they get any good ole
panther like we got, and Herman and Verman?
And they'd ha£ to have a dog, too — and we got our
good ole Dukie, I guess. I bet we have the greatest
ole time this afternoon we ever had in our lives ! "

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

"An' I like to hear if it's sump'm'," he concluded,
"what's go' git me my britches back outen 'at cis-
tern!"

"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 take off his britches, too."

"Mo!" said Verman, shaking his head violently.
^Mo!"

"Well, wait a minute, can't you?" Sam Williams

said. " Give Penrod a chance to say what he wants
to, first, can't you? Go on, Penrod."
"Well, you know, Sam," said Penrod, turning to

CAMERA WORK IN THE JUNGLE 191

this sympathetic auditor; "y^u remember that
movin'-pitcher show we went to, * Forty graphing
Wild Animals in the Jungle/ Well, Herman would-
n't have to do a thing more to look like those natives
we saw that the man called the * beaters/ They
were dressed just about like the way he is now, and
if Verman "

"i/o /" said Verman.

"Oh, wait a minute, Verman !'* Sam entreated.
" Go on, Penrod/'

"Well, we can make a mighty good jungle up in
the Icrft," Penrod continued eagerly. "We can
take that ole dead tree that's out in the alley and
some branches, and I bet we could have the best
jungle you eVer 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
run away, but we'd pretend he was loose. And then
you remember how they did with that calf? Well,
we'd have Duke for the tied-up calf for the panther
to come out and jump on, so they could fortygraph
him. Herman can be the chief beater, and we'll
let Verman be the other beaters, and I'll "

"Yay!" shouted Sam Williams. "I'U be the
fortygraph man ! '

192 PENROD AND SAM

"No," said Penrod; "you be the one with the gun
that guards the fortygraph man, because I'm the
fortygraph man ah-eady. You can fix up a mighty
good gun with this carpenter shop, Sam. We'll
make spears for, our good ole beaters, too, and I'm
goin' to make me a camera out o' that little starch-
box and a bakin'-powder can that's goin' to be a
mighty good 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 beater dressed
as completely as he was "wouldn't look like any-
thing at all." He would "spoil the whole biznuss,"
they said, and they praised Herman for the faithful
accuracy of his costume. They also insisted that
the garment in question was much too large for
Verman, anyway, having been so recently worn
by Herman and turned over to Verman with in-
sufficient alteration, and they expressed surprise

CAMERA WORK IN THE JUNGLE 193

that "anybody with any sense" should make such
a point of clinging to a misfit.

Herman sided against his brother in this eontro*
versy, perhaps because a certain loneliness, of which
he was conscious, might be assuaged by the company
of another trouserless person — or it may be that his
motive was more sombre. Possibly he remembered
that Verman^s trousers were his own former property
and might fit him in case the promise for five o'clock
tmned out badly. At all events, Verman finally
yielded under great pressure, and consented to
appear in the proper costume of the multitude of
beaters it now became his duty to personify.

Shouting, the boys dispersed to begin the prep-
aration of their jungle scene. Sam and Penrod
went for branches and the dead tree, while Herman
and Verman carried the panther in his cage to the
loft, where the first thing that Verman did was to
hang his trousers on a nail in a conspicdous and
accessible spot near the doorway. And with the
arrival of Penrod and Sam, panting and dragging no
inconsiderable thicket after them, 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

194 PENROD AND SAM

were entirely restored, and they even began to take a
pride in being properly uncostiuned beaters.

Sam's gun and Penrod's camera were entirely
satisfactory, especially the latter. The camera was
so attractive, in fact, that the hmiter and the chief
beater and all the other beaters immediately re-
signed and insisted upon being photographers.
Each had to be given a "turn" before the jungle
project could be resumed.

"Now, for goodnesses' sakes," said Penrod, taking
the camera from Verman, **I hope you're done, so's
we can get started doin' something like we ought
to ! We got to have Duke for a tied-up calf. We'll
have to bring him and tie him out here in front the
jungle, and then the panther'U come out and jump
on him. Wait, and rU go bring him."

Departing upon this errand, Penrod found Duke
enjoyip-g the declining rays of the sun in the front
yard.

"Hyuh, Duke!" called his master, in an indulgent
tone. "Come on, good ole Dukie! Come along!"

Duke rose conscientious y and followed him.

"I got him, men!" Penrod called from the stair-
way. "I got our good ole calf all ready to be
tied up. Here he is!" And he appeared in the

CAMERA WORK IN THE JUNGLE 195

doorway with the unsuspecting little dog beside
him.

Gipsy, who had been silent for some moments^
instantly raised his banshee battlecry, and Duke
yelped in horror, Penrod made a wild eflFort to hold
him, but Duke was not to be detained. Unnatural
strength and activity came to him in his delirium,
and, for the second or two that the struggle lastedi
his movements were too rapid for the eyes of the
spectators to follow — ^merely a whirl and blur in the
air could be seen. Then followed a sound of violent
scrambling — and Penrod sprawled alone at the top
of the stairs.

"Well, why'n't you come and help me?'* he de-
manded indignantly. "I coiddn't get him back
now if I was to try a miUion years!"

"What we goin' to do about it?*' Sam asked.

Penrod rose and dusted his knees. "We got to get
along without any tied-up calf — ^that's certain ! But
I got to take those f ortygraphs some way or other ! *'

"Me an* Verman aw ready begin *at beatin*,**
Herman suggested. "You tole us we the beaters.**

"Well, wait a minute,** said Penrod, whose feeling
for realism in drama was always alert. "I want
to get a mighty good pitcher o* that ole panther this

196 PENROD AND SAM

time/* As he spoke, he threw open the wide door
intended for the delivery of hay into the loft from
the alley below. "Now, bring the cage over here
by this door so's I can get a better light; it*s gettin'
kind of dark over where the jungle is. We'll pre-
tend there isn't any cage there, and soon as I get
him fortygraphed, I'll holler, *Shoot, men!' Then
you must shoot, Sam — and Herman, you and Ver^
man must hammer on the cage with your spears,
and holler: *Hoo! Hoo!' and pretend you're spearin'
hun."

"Well, we aw ready!" said Herman. "Hoo!
Hoo!"

"Wait a minute," Penrod interposed, frowningly
surveying the cage. "I got to squat too much to
get my camera fixed right." He assumed various
solemn poses, to be interpreted as those of a photog-
rapher studying his subject. "No," he said fi-
nally; "it won't take good that way."

"My goo'ness!" Herman exclaimed. "When we
goin' begin 'at beatin'?"

" Here ! " Apparently Penrod had solved a weighty
problem. "Bring that busted ole kitchen chair,
and set the panther up on it. There! Thafs the
ticket ! This way, it'll make a mighty good pitcher ! "

CAMERA WORK IN THE JUNGLE 197

He turned to Sam 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 uproar of which they were ca-
pable. "Hoo! Hoo! Hoo!" they bellowed, flailing
the branches with their spears and stamping heavily
upon the floor. Sam, carried away by the Slan of
the performance, was unable to resist joining them.
"Hoo! Hoo! Hoo!" he shouted. "Hoo! Hoo!
Hoo!" And as the dust rose from the floor to their
stamping, the three of them produced such a din
and hoo-hooing as could be made by nothing on
earth except boys.

"Back, men!" Penrod called, raising his voice to
the utmost. " Back for your lives. The pa-a-anther I
Now I'm takin' his pitcher. Click, click! Shoot,
men; shoot!"

"Bing! Bing!" shouted Sam, levelling his gun
at the cage, while Herman and Verman hammered
upon it, and Gipsy cursed boys, the world, and the
day he was bom. "Bing! Bing! Bing!"

198 PENROD AND SAM

"You missed him!" screamed Pemx)d. "Give
me that gun!" And snatching it from Sam's un-
willing hand, he levelled it at the cage.

" BmG ! " he roared.

Simultaneously there was the sound of another
report, but this was an actual one and may best be
symbolized by the statement that it was a whack.
The recipient was Herman, and, outrageously sur-
prised and pained, he turned to find himself face
to face with a heavily built coloured woman who
had recently ascended the stairs and approached the
preoccujHed hunters from the rear. In her hand
was a lath, and, even as Herman turned, it was again
wielded, this time upon Verman.

''Mammy r

"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 white boys
'suade you play you Affikin heathums? Whah you
britches?"

"Yonnuh Verman's," quavered Herman.

"Whahy'own?"

Choking, Herman answered bravely:

" 'At ole cat tuck an' th'owed 'em down cistern ! **

Exasperated almost beyond endurance, she lifted

CAMERA WORK IN THE JUNGLE 199

the lath again. But unfortunately, in order to
obtain a better field of action, she moved backward
a little, coming in contact with the bars of the cage,
a circumstance which she overlooked. More un-
fortunately still, the longing of the captive to express
his feelings was such that he woidd have welcomed
the opportunity to attack an elephant. He had
been striking and scratching at inanimate things
and at boys out of reach for the past hour, but here
at last was his opportunity. He made the most of
it.

"I learn you tell me cat th'owed — oooohT*
The coloured woman leaped into the air like an
athlete, and, turning with a swftness astoundmg in
one of her weight, beheld the semaphoric arm of
Gipsy again extended between the bars and hope-
fidly reaching for her. 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 through the yawning hay-door and
fell resoundingly to the alley below, where — as
Penrod and Sam, with cries of dismay, rushed to the
door and looked down — ^it burst asunder and dis-

200 PENBOD AND SAM

gorged a large, bruised, and chastened cat. Gipsy
paused and bent one strange look upon the broken
box. Then he shook his head and departed up the
alley, the two boys watching him till he was out of
sight.

Before they turned, a harrowing procession issued
from the carriage-house doors beneath them. Her*
man came first, hiuriedly completing a temporary
seciuityj in Verman^s trousers. Verman followed,
after a little reluctance, which departed coincident-
ally with some inspiriting words from the rear. He
crossed the alley hastily, and his mammy stalked
behind, using constant eloquence and a frequent lath.
They went into the small house across the way and
closed the door.

Then Sam turned to Penrod.

"Penrod,** he said thoughtfully, "was it on ac-
count of fortygraphing in the 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

CAMERA WORK IN THE JUNGLE 201

overheard and understood his reply, that atrabilious
spirit, ahnost broken by the events of the day, might
have considered this last blow the most overwhelm-
ing 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 Saturday was flaccid and
lustreless. Those Japanese lovers who were
promised a reimion after ten thousand years in
separate hells were brighter with hope than he was.
On Monday Penrod was virtually an agnostic.

Nowhere upon his shining morning face could have
been read any eager anticipation of usef id knowledge.
Of course he had been told that school was for his
own good; in fact, he had been told and told and
told, but the words conveying this information,
meaningless at first, assumed, with each repetition,
more and more the character of dull and unsolicited
insult.

He was wholly unable to imagine circumstances,
present or future, under which any of the instruction
and training he was now receiving could be of the
slightest possible use or benefit to himself; and when
he was informed that such circumstances would fre*

fl02

A MODEL LETTER TO A FRIEND 20S

quently arise in his later life, he but felt the slur upon
his coming manhood and its power to prevent any
such unpleasantness.

If it were possible to place a romantic young
Broadway actor and athlete under hushing super-
vision for six hoiurs a day, compelling him to bend his
unremittent attention upon the city directory of
Sheboygan, Wisconsin, he could scarce be expected
to respond genially to frequent statements that the
compulsion was all for his own good. On the con*
trary, it might be reasonable to conceive his response
as taking the form of action, which is precisely the
form that Penrod's smouldering impulse yearned to
take.

To Penrod school was merely a state of confine-
ment, envenomed by mathematics. For intermi-
nable periods he was forced to listen to information
concerning matters about which he had no ciuiosity
whatever; and he had to read over and over the
dullest passages in books that bored him into stu-

pors, while always there overhung the preposterous
task of improvising plausible evasions to conceal the
fact that he did not know what he had no wish to
know. Likewise, he must always be prepared to
avoid incriminating replies to questions which he

204 PENROD AND SAM

felt nobody had a real and natural right to ask him.
And when his gorge rose and his inwards revolted,
the hours became a series of ignoble misadventures
and petty disgraces strikingly lacking in privacy.

It was usually upon Wednesday that his sufferings
culminated; the nervous strength accimiulated dur-
ing the holiday hoiu*s at the end of the week would
carry him through Monday and Tuesday, but by
Wednesday it seemed ultimately proven that the
next Saturday actually never was coming, "this
time," and the strained spirit gave way. Wednesday
was the day averaging highest in Penrod*s list of
absences, but the time came when he felt that the
advantages attendant upon his Wednesday "sick
headache*' did not compensate for its inconven-
iences.

For one thing, this illness had become so sym^^^
metrically recurrent that even the cook felt that he
was pushing it too far, and the liveliness of her expres-
sion, when he was able to leave his couch and take
the air in the backyard at about ten o'clock, became
more disagreeable to him with each convalescence.
There visibly increased, too, about the whole house-
hold, an atmosphere of uncongeniality and suspicion
so pronounced that every successive illness was neces-

A MODEL LETTER TO A FRIEND 205

sarily more severe, and at last the patient felt obliged
to remain bedded until almost eleven, from time to
time giving forth pathetic little sounds eloquent of
anguish triumphing over Stoic endurance, yet lack-
ing a certain conviction of utterance.

Finally, his father enacted, and his mother ap-
plied, a new and distinctly special bit of legislation,
explaining it with simple candor to the prospective
beneficiary.

"Whenever you really are sick,'* they said, "you
can go out and play as soon as you're well — ^that is,
if it happens on Saturday. But when you're sick on
a sdiool-day, you'll stay in bed till the next morning.
This is going to do you good, Penrod."

Physically, their opinion appeared to be affirmed,
for Wednesday after Wednesday passed without any
recurrence of the attack, but the spiritual strain may
have been damaging. And it should be added that
if Penrod's higher natiure did suflfer from the strain,
he was not imique. For, confirming the effect of
Wednesday upon boys in general, it is probable that,
if full statistics concerning cats were available, they
would show that cats dread Wednesdays, and that
their fear is shared by other animals, and would be
shared, to an extent by windows, if windows pos-

206 FENBOD AND SAM

sessed nervous systrans. Nor must this probable
apprehension on the part of cats and the like be
thought mere superstition. Cats have superstitions^
it is true, but certain actions inspired by the sight
of a boy with a missfle in his hand are better evidence
of the workings of logic upon a practical nature than
of faith in the supematuraL

Moreover, the attention of family physicians and
specialists should be drawn to these significant though
obscure phenomena; for the suffering of cats is a
barometer of the nerve-pressure of boys, and it may
be accepted as sufficiently established that Wednes*
day — after school-hours — ^is the worst time for cats.

After the promulgation of that parental edict,
** You'll stay in bed till the next morning," four week^
went by unflawed by a single absence from the field
of duty, but, when the fifth Wednesday came. Pen-
rod held sore debate within himself before he finally
rose. In fact, after rising, and while actually en-
gaged with his toilet, he tentatively emitted the series
of the little moans that was his wonted preliminary
to a quiet holiday at home; and the sound was
heard (as intended) by Mr. Schofield, who was pass-
ing Penrod's door on his way to breakfast.

**AU right i" said the father, making use of peculiar

A MODEL LETTER TO A FRIEND 207

and unnecessary emphasis. "Stay in bed till to-
morrow morning. Castor-oil, this time, too."

Penrod had not hoped much for his experiment;
nevertheless, his rebellious blood was sensibly in-
flamed by the failure, and he accompanied his dress-
ing with a low murmuring — apparently a bitter dia-
logue between himself and some imknown but pow-
erful patron.

Thus he muttered:

"Well, they better notr "Well, what can 1 do
about it?" "Well, Fd show 'em!" "WeU, I loiU
show 'em!" "Well, you ought to show 'em; that's
the way 7 do! I just shake 'em around, and say,
*Here ! I guess you don't know who you're talkin' to,
that way! You better look out!'" "Well, that's the
way I'm goin' to do!" "Well, go on and do it,
then!" "WeU, I am goin' "

The door of the next room was slightly ajar; now
it swung wide, and Margaret 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 time, leaving the
door of her room open; and the eyes of Penrod, as he
donned his jacket, chanced to fall upon her desk^

208 PENROD AND SAM

where she had thoughtlessly left a letter — a prirate
missive just b^un, and intended solely for the eyes
of Mr. Rob^i: Williams, a senior at a far university.

In such a fashion is coincidence the architect of
misfortune. Penrod's class in English composition
had been instructed, the previous day, to concoct
at home and bring to class on Wednesday morning,
**a model letter to a friend on some subject of general
interest." Penalty for omission to perform this
simple task was definite; whosoever brought no letter
would inevitably be "kept in" after school, that
afternoon, until the letter was written, and it was
precisely a premonition of this misfortune which had
prompted Penrod to attempt his experimental moan-
ing upon his father, for, alas ! he had equipped himself
with no model letter, nor any letter whatever.

In stress of this kind, a boy's creed is that anything
is worth a try ; but hLn eye for details is poor. He sees
the future too sweepingly and too much as he would
have it, seldom providing against inconsistencies of
evidence which may damage him. For mstance,
there is a well-known case of two brothers who
exhibited to theu- parents, with pathetic confidence,
several imported dried herring on a string, as a proof
that the afternoon had been spent, not at a forbidden

A MODEL LETl^ER TO A FRIEND 209

circus, but with hook and line upon the banks of a
neighbouring brook.

So with Penrod. He had vital need of a letter,
and there, before his eyes, upon Margaret's desk, was
apparently the precise thing he needed !

Prom below rose the voice of his mother lu'ging
him to the breakfast-table, warning him that he
stood in danger of tardiness at school; he was pressed
for time, and acted upon an inspiration which failed
to prompt him even to read the letter.

Hurriedly he wrote "Dear freind'* at the top of
the page Margaret had partially filled. Then he
signed himself, "Yours respectfuly, Penrod Scho-
field" at the bottom, and enclosed the missive within
a battered volume entitled, "Principles of English
Composition.'' With that and other books com-
pacted by a strap, he descended to a breakfast
somewhat oppressive but undarkened by any mis-
givings concerning a "letter to a friend on some
subject of general interest." He felt that a difficulty
had been encountered and satisfactorily disposed of;
the matter could now be dismissed from his mind.
He had plenty of other difficulties to take its place.

No; he had no misgivings, nor was he assailed by
anything unpleasant in that line, even when the

210 PENROD AND SAM

hour struck for the class in English composition.
If he had been two or three years older, experience
might have warned him to take at least the precau-
tion 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/' said Miss Spence, "I will ask several
of you to read your letters aloud before you hand
them in. Clara Raypole, you may read yoiu^s/'

Penrod was bored but otherwise comfortable; he
had no apprehension that he might be included in
the "several/* especially as Miss Spence's beginning
with Clara Raypole, a star performer, indicated
that her selection of readers would be made from the
conscientious and proficient division at the head of
the class. He listened stoically to the beginning of
the first letter, though he was conscious of a dull
resentment, inspired mainly by the perfect com-
placency of Miss Raypole's voice.

Dear Cousin Sadie,*" she began smoothly,

* I thought I would write you to-day on some sub-
ject of general interest, and so I thought I would
tell you about the subject of oiur court-house. It is a
very fine building situated in the centre of the city,
and a visit to the building after school hours well

A MODEL LETTER TO A FRIEND 211

repays for the visit. Upon entrance we find upon
our left the c^ee of the county clerk and upon our
right a number of windows affording a view of the
street. And so we proceed, finding on both sides
much of general interest. The building was begun in
1886 A. D. and it was through in 1887 A. D. It is four
stories high and made of stone, pressed brick, wood,
and tiles, with a tower, or cupola, one hundred
and twenty-seven feet seven inches from the ground.
Among other subjects of general interest told by
the janitor, we learn that the architect of the
building was a man named Planner, and the foun-
dations extend fifteen feet five inches under the
ground ' "

Penrod was unable to fix his attention upon these
statistics; he began moodily to twist a button of his
jacket and to concentrate a new-bom and obscure
but lasting hatred upon the court-house. Miss
Raypole's glib voice continued to press upon his
ears, but, by keeping his eyes fixed upon the twisting
button he had accomplished a kind of self-hypnosis,
or mental anaesthesia, and was but dimly aware of
what went on about him.

The court-house was finally exhausted by its
visitor, who resumed her s^at and submitted with

212 PENROD AND SAM

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 sup-
pressed. Georgie was not at all discomfited.

"*My mother says,'" he continued, reading his
manuscript, " Ve should treat our teacher as a friend,
and so / will write you a letter.' "

This penetrated Penrod's trance, and he lifted
his eyes to fix them upon the back of Georgie Bas-
sett's head in a long and inscrutable stare. It was
inscrutable, and yet if Georgie had been sensitive
to thought waves, it is probable that he would have
uttered a loud shriek, but he remained placidly un-
aware, continuing:

*"I thought I would write you about a subject of
general interest, and so I will write you about the
flowers. There are many kinds of flowers, spring
flowers, and summer flowers, and autumn flowers,
but n<? winter flowers. Wild flowers grow in the
woods, and it is nice to hunt them in springtime,
and we must remember to give some to the poor

A MODEL LETTER TO A FRIEND 213

and hospitals, also. Flowers can be made to grow
in flower-beds and placed in vases in houses. There
are many names for flowers, but / call them "na^
ture*s ornaments" '**

Penrod's gaze had relaxed, drooped to his button
again, and his lethargy was renewed. The outer
world grew vaguer; voices seemed to drone at a dis-
tance; sluggish time passed heavily — ^but some of it
did pass.

"Penrod!"

Miss Spence's searching eye had taken note of the
bent head and the twisting 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's glance fired with sus-
picion.

"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?"

«'

214 FENROD AND SAM

''I got it,'' said Penrod, disoovering the papet
in his ''Principles of English Composition."

"Well, we'll listen to what you've found time to
prepare," she said, adding coldly, "for once!"

The frankest pessimism concerning Penrod per-
meated the whole room; even the eyes of those whose
letters had not met with favour turned upon him
with obvious assurance that here was every prospect
of a performance which would, by comparison, lend
a measure of credit to the worst preceding it. But
Penrod was unaffected by the general gaze; he rosci
still blinking from his lethargy, and in no true sense
wholly alive.

He had one idea: to read as rapidly as pos-
sible, so as to be done with the task, and he be-
gan in a high-pitched monotone, reading with a
blind mind and no sense of the significance of the
words.

"'Dear friend,'" he declaimed. "'You call me
beautiful, but I am not really 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 are like blue stars in heaven ' "

Simultaneously he lost his breath and there burst
upon him a perception of the results to which be

A MODEL LETTER TO A FBIEND 215

was being committed by this calamitous reading*
And also simultaneous was the outbreak of the class
into cachinnations of delight, severely repressed by
the perplexed but indignant Miss Spence.

**Go on!" she commanded grimly, when she had
restored order.

"Ma'am? " he gulped, looking wretchedly upon the
rosy faces all about him.

"Go on with the description of yourself," she
said. "We'd like to hear some more about your
eyes being like blue stars in heaven."

Here many of Penrod's little comrades were
forced to clasp their faces tightly in both hands;
aud his dismayed gaze, in refuge, sought the treacher-
ous paper in his hand.

What it beheld there was horrible.
Proceed!" said Miss Spence.
yi — often think,'" he faltered, "*and a-a tree-
more thu-thrills my bein' when I recall your last
words to me that last — ^that last — ^that ' "

''Goonr

"*That last evening in the moonlight when you
— you — ^you ' "

"Penrod," Miss Spence said dangerously, "you
go on, and stop that stammering/*

216 PEXROD AND SAM

You — you said you would wait for — for yean

««

9 »

«'

''Penrodr

** ^To win me!'" the miserable Pernod managed to
gasp. ***! should not have pre — premitted — per-
mitted you to speak so until we have our — our

parents' con-consent; but oh, how sweet it ^*'*

He exhaled a sigh of agony, and then concluded
briskly, "* Yours respectfully, Pernod Schofield/"

But Miss Spence had at last divined something,
for she knew the Schofield family.
Bring me that letter!" she said.

And the scarlet boy passed forward between rows
of mystified but immoderately uplifted children.

Miss Spence herself grew rather pink as she ex-
amined the missive, and the intensity with which
she afterward extended her examination to cover
the complete field of Penrod Schofield caused him
to find a remote centre of interest whereon to rest
his embarrassed gaze. She let him stand before
her throughout a silence, equalled, perhaps, by the
tenser pauses during trials for murder, and then,
containing herself, she sweepingly gestured him to
the pillory — a chair upon the platform, facing the
school

A MODEL LETTER TO A FRIEND 217

Here he suffered for the unusual term of an hour,
with many jocular and cunnmg 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 school-
mates spared him not— neither boy nor girl.

"Yay, Penrod!'* they shouted. "How's your
beautiful hair?'* And, "Hi, Penrod! When you
goin' to get your parents' consent?" And, "Say,
blue stars in heaven, how's your beautiful eyes?"
And, " Say, Penrod, how's your tree-mores? " " Does
your tree-mores thrill your bein', Penrod?" And
many other facetious inquiries, hard to bear in
public.

And when he reached the temporary shelter of his
home, he experienced no relief upon finding that
Margaret was out for limch. He was as deeply
embittered toward her as toward any other, and,
considering her largely responsible for his misf ortime,
he would have welcomed an opportunity to show her
what he thought of her.

CHAPTER XVI

WEDNESDAY IfADKESS

HOW long he was "kept in** after school that
afternoon is not a matter of record, but it
was long. Before he finally appeared uix>n
the street, he had composed an ample letter on a sub-
ject of general interest, namely "School Life," under
the supervision of Miss Spence; he had also received
some scorching admonitions in respect to honourable
behaviour regarding other people's letters; and Mar-
garet's had been returned to him with severe instruc-
tions to bear it straight to the original owner ac-
companied by full confession and apology. As a
measure of insurance that these things be done.
Miss Spence stated definitely her intention to hold a
conversation by telephone with Margaret that even-
ing. Altogether, the day had been unusually awful,
even for Wednesday, and Penrod left the school-house
with the heart of an anarchist throbbing in his hot
bosom. It were more accurate, indeed, to liken
him to the anarchist's characteristic weapon; for*

218

WEDNESDAY MADNESS 219

as Penrod came out to the street he was, m all in-
ward respects, a bomb, loaded and ticking.

He walked moodily, with a visible aspect of sore-
ness. A murmurous sound was thick about his
head, wherefore it is to be surmised that he com^
muned with his familiar, and one vehement, oft-
repeated phrase beat like a tocsin of revolt upon the
air : " Daw-gone *em ! '*

He meant everybody — ^the imiverse.

Particularly included, evidently, was a sparrow,
oflFensively cheerful upon a lamp-post. This self-
centred little bird allowed a pebble to pass overhead
and remained unconcerned, but, a moment later, feel-
ing a jar beneath his feet, and hearing the tinkle of fall-
ing glass, he decided to leave. Similarly, and at the
same instant, Penrod made the same decision, and the
sparrow in flight took note of a boy likewise in flight.

The boy disappeared into the nearest alley and
emerged therefrom, breathless, in the peaceful vicin-
ity of his own home. He entered the house, clumped
upstairs and down, discovered Margaret reading a
book in the library, and flung the accursed letter
toward her with loathing.

"You can take the old thing," he said bitterly.
"/ don't want it!"

820 PENROD AND SAM

And before she was able to reply, he was out of the
room. The next moment he was out of the house.

"Daw-flfo?!^ *em!" he said.

And then, across the street, his som^ eye fell
upon his true comrade and best friend leaning against
a picket fence and holding desultory converse with
Mabel Rorebeck, an attractive member of the Friday
Afternoon Dancing Class, that hated organization
of which Sam and Penrod were both members. Ma-
bel was a shy little girl, but Penrod had a vague
understanding that Sam considered her two brown
pigtails beautiful.

"PEowbeit, Sam had never told his love; he was, in
fact, sensitive about it. This meeting with the lady
was by chance, and although it afforded exquisite
moments, his heart was beating in an imaccustomied
manner, and he was suffering from embarrassment,
being at a loss, also, for subjects of conversation. It
is, indeed, no easy matter to chat easily with a person,
however lovely and beloved, who keeps her face
turned the other way, maintains one foot in rapid and
continuous motion through an arc seemingly perilous
to her equilibriiun, and confines her responses, both
affirmative and negative, to "XJh-Luh."

Altogether, Sam was sufficiently nervous without

WEDNESDAY MADNESS 221

any help from Penrod, and it was with pure horror
that he heard his own name and Mabel's shrieked
upon the ambient air with viperish insinuation.

"Sam-my and May-bul! OA, oh!"

Sam started violently. Mabel ceased to swing her
f oot, and both, encamadined, looked up and down and
everywhere for the invisible but well-known owner of
that voice. It came again, in taimting 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. And, unreasonably including Sam in her
indignation, she tossed her head at him with an un-
mistakable eflFect of scorn. She began to walk away.

"Well, Mabel," said Sam plaintively , following, "it
ain*t my fault. / didn't do anything. It's Penrod."

"I don't care," she began pettishly, when the
viperish voice was again lifted :

•

"Oh, oh, oh!

Who*s your beau?

Guess / know:

Mabel and Sammy, oh, oh, oh!

/ caught you!"

222 PENROD AND SAM

Then Mabel did one of those thmgs which eternally
perplex the slower sex. She deliberately made a face,
not at the tree behind which Penrod was lurking, but
at the innocent and heart-wrung Sam. "You need-
n't come limpin' after me^ Sam Williams!" she said,
though Sam was approaching upon two perfectly
sound legs. And then she ran away at the top of
her speed.

"Run, nigger, run!" Penrod began inexcusably.
But Sam cut the persecutions short at this point.
Stung to fury, he charged upon the sheltering tree in
the Schofields* yard.

Ordinarily, at such a juncture, Penrod would have
fled, keeping his own temper and mcreasing the heat
of his pursuer's by back-flung jeers. But this was
Wednesday, and he was in no mood to run from Sam.
He stepped away from the tree, awaiting the onset.

"Well, what you goin' to do so much?" he said.

Sam did not pause to proffer the desired in-
formation. "Tcha got'ny sense 1^* was the total
extent of his vocal preliminaries before flinging him-
self headlong upon the taunter; and the two boys
went to the ground together. Embracing, they
rolled, they pommelled, they hammered, they kicked.
Alas, this was a fight.

WEDNESDAY MADNESS 223

They rose, flailing awhile, then renewed their em-
brace, and, grunting, bestowed themselves anew upon
our ever too receptive Mother Earth. Once more
upon their feet, they beset each other sorely, dealing
many great blows, ofttimes upon the air, but with
suflScient frequency upon resentful flesh. Tears were
jolted to the rims of eyes, but technically they did
not weep. "Got'ny sense,'* was repeated chokingly
many, many times; also, "Dem ole fool!" and, "1*11
show you!"

The peacemaker who appeared upon the animated
scene was Penrod's great-unde Slocum. This elderly
relative had come to call upon Mrs. Schofield, and
he was well upon his way to the front door when the
mutterings of war among some shrubberies near the
fence caused him to deflect his course in benevolent
agitation.

"Boys! Boys! Shame, boys!" he said, but, as
the originality of these expressions did not prove
striking enough to attract any great attention from
the combatants, he felt obliged to assume a share in
the proceedings. It was a share entailing greater
activity than he had anticipated, and, before he
managed to separate the former friends, he inter-
cepted bodily an amount of violence to which he

SM FENBOD AND SAM

watt whoBY nnaccostomnL Additianalljr, kb atdie
watt diurnoiged; lub hat was no longer upast his
head, and Us temper was in a bad way. In iact,
ai htt hat flew off » he made use of words which, under
less extreme circimistaiices, woold have caused both
boys to feel a much ixof oamkr interest than they
did in great-mide Slocmn.

TD jfd joar Sam babbled. ''Dcm't yon ever
dare to spealk to me again, Penrod Schofield, long as
yon five, or m wh^ you worse'n I have this time!"

Penrod squawked. For the moment he was in*
capable of cdierent speed, and th«i, failing in a
convuIsiYe attempt to reach his enemy, his fury cul-
minated upon an innocent object whidi had never
done him the sl^test harm. Great-unde Sfecum's
hat lay upon the ground dose by, and Penrod was
in that state of irritation which seeks an outlet too
blindly — as people say, he **had to do someiking /"
He kicked great-unde Slocum's hat with such sweep
and predsicm that it rose swiftly, and, breasting
the autumn breeze, passed over the fence and out
into the street.

Great-unde Slocum uttered a scream of AngiiiaVi^
and, immediatdy ceasing to peacemake, ran forth
to a more important rescue; but the conflict was not

WEDNESDAY MADNESS 225

renewed. Sanity had returned to Sam Williams;
he was awed by this colossal deed of Penrod*s and
filled with horror at the thought that he might be
held as accessory to it. Fleetly he fled, pursued as
far as the gate by the whole body of Penrod, and
thereafter by Penrod's voice alone.

"You better run! You wait till I catch you!
You'll see what you get next time ! Don't you ever
speak to me again as long as you "

Here he paused abruptly, for great-uncle Slocum
had recovered his hat and was returning toward
the gate. After one glance at great-uncle Slocum
Penrod did not linger to attempt any explanation —
there are times when even a boy can see that apolo-
gies would seem out of place. This one ran roimd
the house to the backyard.

Here he was enthusiastically greeted by Duke.
"You get away from me!" said Penrod hoarsely,
and with terrible gestures he repulsed the faithful
animal, who retired philosophically to the stable,
while his master let himself out of the back gate.
Penrod had decided to absent himself from home
for the time being.

The sky was gray, and there were hints of com-
ing dusk in the air; it was an hour suited to his

226 PENROD AND SAM

turbulent souI> and he walked with a sombre swag-
ger. "Ran like a e'ardy-calf!'* he sniffed, half
aloud, alluding to the 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 appeared
above a high board fence. "How's your beautiful
hair, Penrod?" they vociferated. "When you goin'
to git your parents' consent ? What makes you think
you're only pretty, ole blue stars?"

Penrod looked about feverishly for a missile, and
could find none to his hand, but the surface of the
alley suflSced; he made mud balls and fiercely bom-
barded the vociferous fence. Naturally, hostile
mud balls presently issued from behind this bar-
ricade; and thus a campaign developed which offered
a picture not unlike a cartoonist's sketch of a political
campaign, wherein this same material is used for
the decoration 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 reached Penrod were of no inconsiderable
weight and substance, and they made him grunt

WEDNESDAY MADNESS 227

despite himself. Finally, one, at close range, struck
him in the pit of the stomach, whereupon he clasped
himself about the middle silently, and executed
some steps in seeming imitation of a quaint Indian
dance.

His plight being observed through a knothole,
his enemies climbed upon the fence and regarded
him seriously,

"Aw, you* re all right, ain't you, old tree-mores?"
inquired one.

"1*11 show you!" bellowed Penrod, recovering his
breath; and he hurled a fat ball — ^thoughtfully re-
tained in hand throughout his agony — ^to such eflFect
that his interrogator disappeared backward from
the fence without having taken any initiative of his
own in the matter. His comrade impulsively joined
him upon the groimd, and the battle continued.

Through the gathering dusk it went on. It waged
but the hotter as darkness made aim more diflScult —
and still Penrod would not be driven from the field.
Panting, grunting, hoarse from returning insults,
fighting on and on, an indistinguishable figure in the
gloom, he held the back alley against all comers.

For such a combat darkness has one great advan-
tage, but it has an equally important disadvantage —

228 PENROD AND SAM

the combatant cannot see to aim; on the other hand,
he cannot see to dodge. And all the while Penrod
was receiving two for one. He became heavy with
mud. Plastered, impressionistie, and sculpturesque,
there was about him a quality of the tragic, 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
nmg from kitchen doors. Calling voices came urg-
ing from the distance, calling boys' names into the
darkness. They called, and a note of irritation
seemed to mar their beauty.

Then bells were rung again — ^and the voices re-
newed appeals more urgent, much more irritated.
They called and called and called.

Thvd ! 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 he could, after
the conclusion of the meal, and quietly betook him-
self to the Schofields' comer.

WEDNESDAY MADNESS 229

Here he stationed himself where he could see all
avenues of approach to the house, and waited.
Twenty miilutes went by, and then Sam became
suddenly alert and attentive, for the arc-light re-
vealed a small, grotesque figure slowly approaching
along the sidewalk. It was brown in colour, shaggy
and indefinite in form; it limped excessively, and
paused to rub itself, and to meditate.

Peculiar as the thing was, Sam had no doubt as
to its identity. He advanced.

"*Lo, Penrod," he said cautiously, and with a
shade of formality.

Penrod leaned against the fence, and, lifting one
leg, tested the knee-joint by swinging his foot back
and forth, a process evidently provocative of a
little pain. Then he rubbed the left side of his en-
crusted face, and, opening his mouth to its whole
capacity as an aperture, moved his lower jaw slightly
from side to side, thus triumphantly settling a ques-
tion in his own mind as to whether or no a suspected
dislocation had taken place.

Having satisfied himself on these points, he ex-
amined both shins delicately by the sense of touch,
and carefully tested the capacities of his neck-muscles
to move his head in a wcmted manner.

230 PENROn AND SAM

Then he responded somewhat gruffly:
"'Lo!''

'* Where you been?*' Sam said eagerly, his formal-
ity vanishing*

"Havin* a mud-figiit.**

''I guess you did!'' Sam exclaimed, in a low voice.
**What you goin' to tell your "

"Oh, nothin'."

**Your sister telephoned to our house to see if I
Imew where you were," said Sam. "She told me if
i saw you before you got home to tell you sumpthing,
but not to say anything about it. She said Miss
Spence had telephoned to her, but she said for me
to tell you it was all right about that letter, and
she wasn't goin' to tell your mother and father
on you, so you needn't say anything about it to
em.

"All right," said Penrod indiflPerently.

"She says you're goin' to be in enough trouble
without that," Sam went on. "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 twice to mamma while we were
eatin' to see if you'd come in our house. And when

WEDNESDAY MADNESS 231

they see you — my^ but you're goin' to get the dickenSf
Penrod!"

Penrod seemed unimpressed, though he was well
aware that Sam's prophecy was no unreasonable one.

"Well, I guess I know it/' he repeated casually.
And he moved slowly toward his own gate.

His friend looked after him curiously — ^then, as
the limping figure fimibled clumsily with bruised
fingers at the latch of the gate, there sounded a
httle 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 lighted portals just ahead, he spoke
the truth. His nerves were rested, and his soul was
at peace. His Wednesday madness was over.

"No," said Penrod; "I feel bully!"

CHAPTER XVn

penrod's busy day

ALTHOUGH the pressure had thus been re-
/% lieved and Penrod found peace with himself,
-^ "^ nevertheless there were times during the rest
of that week when he felt a strong distaste for Mar-
garet. His schoohnates frequently reminded him of
such phrases in her letter as they seemed least able
to forget, and for hours after each of these experiences
he was unable to comport himself with human cour-
tesy when constrained (as at dinner) to remain for
any length of time in the same room with her. But
by Sunday these moods had seemed to pass; he at-
tended church in her close company, and had no
thought of the troubles brought upon him by her
correspondence with a person who throughout re-
mained unknown to him.

Penrod slumped far down in the pew with his
knees against the back of that in front, and he also
languished to one side, so that the people sitting
behind were afforded a view of him consisting of a

PENROD^S BUSY DAY 233

little hair and one bored ear. The sermon — ^a noble
one, searching and eloquent — ^was but a persistent
sound in that ear, though, now and then, Penrod's
attention would be caught by some detached portion
of a sentence, when his mind would dwell dully upon
the phrases for a little while — and lapse into a torpor.
At intervals his mother, without turning her head,
would whisper, "Sit up, Penrod,'* causing him to sigh
profoundly and move his shoulders about an inch,
this mere gesture of compliance exhausting all the
energy that remained to him.

The black backs and gray heads of the elderly
men in the congregation oppressed him; they gave
him a lethargic and indefinite feeling that he was im-
mersed among lives of repellent dullness. But he
should have been grateful to the lady with the
artificial cherries upon her hat. His gaze lingered
there, wandered away, and hopelessly returned again
and again, to be a little refreshed by the glossy scarlet
of the cluster of tiny globes. He was not so fortunate
as to be drowsy; that would have brought him some
relief — and yet, after a while, his eyes became slightly
glazed; he saw dimly, and what he saw was distorted.

The church had been built in the early ^Seventies,
and it contained some naive stained glass of that

234 PENROD AND SAM

period. The axeh at the top of a window facing
Penrod was filled with a gigantic Eye. Of oyster-
white and raw blues and reds, inflamed by the pour*
ing sun, it had held an awful place in the infantile
life of Penrod Schofield, for in his tenderer years he
accepted it without question as the literal Eye of
Deity. He had been informed that the church was
the divine dwelling — ^and there was the Eye!

Nowadays, being no longer a little child, he had
somehow come to know better without being told,
and though the great flaming Eye was no longer the
terrifying thing it had been to him during his child-
hood, it nevertheless retained something of its omi'
nous character. It made him feel spied upon, and its
awful glare still pursued him, sometimes, as he was
falling asleep at night. When he faced the window
his feeling was one of dull resentment.

His own glazed eyes, becoming slightly crossed
with an ennui which was peculiarly intense this
morning, rendered the Eye more monstrous than it
was. It expanded to horrible size, growing moun-
tainous; it turned into a volcano in the tropics, and
yet it stared at him, indubitably an Eye implacably
hostile to all rights of privacy forever. Penrod
blinked and clinched his eyelids to be rid of this dual

PENROD'S BUSY DAY 235

imagey and he managed to shake off the volcano.
Then, lowering the angle of his glance, he saw some-
thing most remarkable — and curiously out of place.

An inverted white soup-plate was lying miracu-
lously balanced upon the back of a pew a little dis-
tance in front of him, and upon the upturned bottom
of the soup plate was a brown cocoanut. Mildly
surprised, Penrod yawned, and, in the effort to
straighten his eyes, came to life temporarily. The
cocoanut was revealed as Georgie Bassett's head, and
the soup-plate as Georgie's white collar. Georgie
was sitting up straight, as he always did in church,
and Penrod found this vertical rectitude unpleasant.
He knew that he had more to fear from the Eye than
Georgie had, and he was under the impression (a
correct one) that Georgie 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 had been asked. He would have
said so because he feared to say otherwise; and the
truth is that he never consciously looked at the Eye
disrespectfully. He woidd have been alarmed if he
thought the Eye had any way of finding out how he
really felt about it. When not off his guard, he
always looked at it placatively.

286 PENROD AND SAM

By and by, he sagged so far to the left that he had
symptoms of a "stitch in the side," and, rousing him-
self, sat partially straight for several moments. Then
he rubbed his shoulders slowly from side to side
against the back of the seat, until his mother whis-
pered, "Don't do that, Penrod."

Upon this, he allowed himself to slump inwardly
till the curve in the back of his neck rested against the
curved top of the back of the seat. It was a congen-
ial fit, and Penrod again began to move slowly from
side to side, finding the friction soothing. Even so
slight a pleasure was denied him by a husky, **Stop
that!" from his father.

Penrod sighed, and slid farther down. He scratched
his head, his left knee, his right biceps, and his
left ankle, after which he scratched his right knee,
his right ankle, and his kft biceps. Then he said,
"Oh, hum!" unconsciously, but so loudly that there
was a reproving stir in the neighbourhood of the
Schofield pew, and his father looked at him angrily.

Finally, his nose began to trouble him. It itched,
and after scratching it, he rubbed it harshly. An-
other "Stop that!" from his father proved of no
avail, being greeted by a desperate-sounding whisper,
"I got to!"

PENROD'S BUSY DAY 237

Andy continuing to rub his nose with his right hand,
Penrod began to search his pockets with his left.
The quest proving fruitless, he rubbed his nose with
his left hand and searched with his right. Then he
abandoned his nose and searched feverishly with both
hands, going through all of his pockets several times*

"What do you want?" whispered his mother.

But Margaret had divined his need, and she passed
him her own handkerchief. This was both thought-
ful and thoughtless — ^the latter because Margaret
was in the habit of thinking that she became faint in
crowds, especially at the theatre or in church, and she
had just soaked her handkerchief with spirits of
ammonia from a smaU phial which she carried in her
muff.

Penrod hastily applied the handkerchief to his
nose and even more hastily exploded. He sneezed
stupendously; he choked, sneezed again, wept, passed
into a light convulsion of coughing and sneezing
together — a mergence of sound which attracted
much attention — and, after a few recurrent spasms,
convalesced into a condition marked by silent tears
and only sporadic instances of sneezing.

By this time his family were unanimously scarlet
*— his father and mother with mortification, and

238 PENROD AND SAM

Margaret with the effort to control the almost h-
resistible mirth which the struggles and vociferations
of Penrod had inspired within her. And yet her
heart misgave her, for his bloodshot and tearful
eyes were fixed upon her from the first and remained
upon her, even when half-blinded with his agony;
and their expression — as terrible as that of the win-
dowed Eye confronting her — ^was not for an instant
to be misunderstood. Absolutely, he considered
that she had handed him the ammonia-soaked
handkerchief deliberately and with malice, and
well she knew that no power on earth could
now or at any time henceforth persuade him other*
wise.

*'0f course I didn't mean it, Penrod,'' she said,
at the first opportunity upon their homeward way. ** I
didn't notice — ^that is, I didn't think " Un-
fortunately for the effect of sincerity which she hoped
to produce, her voice became tremulous and her
shoulders moved suspiciously.

"Just you wait! You'll see!" he prophesied, in a
voice now choking, not with ammonia, but with
emotion. ^* Poison a person, and then laugh in his
face!"

He spake no more untfl they had reached their

PENROD'S BUSY DAY 239

own house, though she made some further futile
efforts at explanation and apology.

And after brooding abysmally throughout the
meal that followed, he disappeared from the sight
of his family, having answered with one frightful
look his mother's timid suggestion that it was almost
time for Sunday-school. He retired to his eyry —
the sawdust box in the empty stable — and there gave
rein to his embittered imaginings, incidentally form-
ing many plans for Margaret.

Most of these were much too elaborate, but one
was so allmring that he dwelt upon it, working out
the details with gloomy pleasure, even after he had
perceived its defects. It involved a considerable
postponement — ^in fact, until Margaret should have
become the mother of a boy about Penrod's present
age. This boy woidd be precisely like Georgie
Bassett — ^Penrod conceived that as inevitable — and,
like Georgie, he would be his mother's idol. Penrod
meant to take him to church and force him to blow
his nose with an ammonia-soaked handkerchief in
the presence of the Eye and all the congregation.

'^hen Penrod intended to say to this boy, after
church, "Well, that's exackly what your mother did
to me, and if you don't like it, you better look out!"

240 FENROD AND SAM

And the real Penrod in the sawdust, box clenched
his fists. ** Come ahead, then ! " he muttered. '* You
talk too much!" Whereupon, the Penrod of his
dream gave Margaret's puny son a contemptuous
thrashing under the eyes of his mother, who besought
in vain for mercy. This plan was finally dropped,
not because of any lingering nepotism within Penrod,
but because 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 to do something beyond
his power. Penrod was never brilliant, or even suc-
cessful, save by inspiration.

At four o'clock he came into the house, still
nebulous, and as he passed the 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 those in Tennyson's *Maud' —

** ^ad it lain for a century dead.
My dust would hear her and beat.
And blossom in purple and red.
There somewhere around near her feet.*

**I think I have quoted correctly," continued the
voice nervously, "butj at any rate, what I wished to

PENROD'S BUSY DAY «41

— ^ah — say was that I often think of those — ^ah —
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 face
was turned away from Penrod, so that her expression
of the moment remained unknown to him. Facing
her, and leaning toward her with perceptible emo-
tion, was Mr. Claude Blakely — ^a young man with
whom Penrod had no acquaintance, though he had
seen hun, was aware of his identity, and had heard
speech between Mrs. Schofield and Margaret which
indicated that Mr. Blakely had formed the habit of
calling frequently at the house. This was a brilli-
antly handsome young man; indeed, his face was so
beautiful that even Penrod was able to perceive
something about it which might be explicably pleas-
ing — ^at least to women. And Penrod remembered
that, on the last evening before Mr. Robert Williams's
departure for college, Margaret had been peevish
because Penrod had genially spent the greater por-
tion of the evening with Robert and herself upon the
porch. Margaret made it clear, later, that she
strongly preferred to conduct her conversations

242 PENROD AND SAM

with friends unassisted — ^and as Penrod listened to
the faltering words of Mr. Claude Blakely, he felt
instinctively that, in a certain contingency, Mar-
garet's indignation woidd be even more severe to-day
than on the former occasion.

Mr. Blakely coughed faintly and was able to con-
tinue.

"I mean to say that when I say that what Tenny-
son says — ^ah — seems to — ^to apply to — ^to a feeling
about you "

At this point, finding too little breath in himself
to proceed, ir spite of the fact that he had spoken
in an almost inaudible tone, Mr. Blakely stopped
again.

Something about this little scene was making a
deep impression upon Penrod. What that impres-
sion was, he could not possibly have stated; but he
had a sense of the imminence of a tend^ crisis, and
he perceived that the piquancy of affairs in the
library had reached a point which would brand an
intentional interruption as the act of a cold-blooded
ruffian. Suddenly it was as though a strong light
shone upon him: he decided that it was Mr. Blakely
who had told Margaret that her eyes were like blue
stars in heaven — this was the person who had caused

PENROD'S BUSY DAY 243

the hateful letter to be written! That decided
Penrod; his inspiration, so long waited for, had

come.

I — ^I feel that perhaps I am not plain,** said Mr.
Blakely, and immediately became red, whereas he
had been pale. He was at least modest enough about
his looks to fear that Margaret might think he had
referred to them. "I mean, not plain in another
sense — ^that is, I mean not that / am not plain in
saying what I mean to you — ^I mean, what you mean
tome I I feel **

This was the moment selected by Penrod. He
walked carelessly into the library, inquiring in a loud,
bluff voice:

"Has anybody seen my dog around here any-
wheres?"

Mr. Blakely had inclined himself so far toward
Margaret, and he was sitting so near the edge of the
chair, that only a really wonderf id bit of instinctive
gymnastics landed him upon his feet instead of \ipon his
back. As for Margaret, she said, " Good gracious ! "
and regarded Penrod blankly.

"Well," said Penrod breezily, "I guess it's no use
lookin' for him — ^he isn't anywheres around. I guess
I'll sit down." Herewith, he sank into an easy

244 FENROD AND SAM

chair, and remarked, as in comfortable expla]iatk>n«
"Fm kind of tired 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
dVe do?"

"I'm well," said Penrod.

Margaret bent a perplexed gaze upon him, and
he saw that she had not divined his intentions^
though the expression of Mr. Blakely was already
beginning to be a little compensation for the am-
monia outrage. Then, as the protracted silence
which followed the introduction began to be a severe
strain upon all parties, Penrod felt called upon to
relieve it.

"I didn't have anything much to do this after-
noon, anyway," he said. And at that there leaped
a spark in Margaret's eye; her expression became
severe.

"You should have gone to Sunday-school,'* she

told him crisply.

PENROD'S BUSY DAY 245

"Well, I didn't!*' said Penrod, with a bitterness
so significant of sufferings 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 minute ago,'* he said, "and I
saw a dog nm across the street and turn the comer."

"What kind of a lookin' dog was it?" Penrod in-
quired, with languor.

"Well," said Mr. Blakely, "it was a — ^it was a
nice-loeking dog."

"What colour was he?"

"He was — ah — white. That is, I think "

"It wasn't Duke," said Penrod. "Duke's kind
ofbrownish-gray-like."

Mr. Blakely brightened.

"Yes, that was it," he said. "This dog I saw first
had another dog with him — ^a brownish-gray dog."

"Little or big?" Penrod asked, without interest.

"Why, Duke's a little dog!" Margaret intervened.
"Of coursCy if it was little, it must have been Duke."

"It was little," said Mr. Blakely too enthusiasti-
cally. "It was a little bit of a dog. I noticed it
because it was so little."

246 FENROD AND SAM

"Couldn't 'a* been Duke, then,** said Penrod.
" Duke's a kind of a middle-sized dog." He yawned,
and added: "I don't want him now. I want to
stay in the house this afternoon, anyway. And
it's better for Duke to be out in the fresh air."

Mr. Blakely coughed again and sat down, finding
little to say. It was evident, also, that Margaret
shared his perplexity; and another silence became 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, and presently 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 mind opening a window?"

"By all means!" the young man responded ear-
nestly, as he rose. "Maybe I'd better open two?"

"Yes," said Margaret; "that would be much
better."

But Penrod watched Mr. Blakely open two win-
dows to their widest, and betrayed no anxiety. His
remarks upon the relative temperatures of the saw-
dust-box and the library had been made merely for
the sake of creating sound in a silent place. Wheu

PENROD'S BUSY DAY 247

the windows had been open for several minutes,
Penrod*s placidity, though gloomy, denoted any-
thing but discomfort from the draft, which was
powerful, the day being windy.

It was Mr. Blakely's turn to break a silence, and
he did it so unexpectedly that Margaret started.
He sneezed.

"Perhaps '* Margaret began, but paused appre-
hensively. "Perhaps-per-per " Her apprehen-
sions became more and more poignant; her eyes
seemed fixed upon some incredible disaster; she ap-
peared to inflate while the catastrophe she foresaw
became more and more imminent. All at once she
collapsed, but the power decorum had over her was
attested by the 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, I think."

Mr. Blakely closed the windows, and, returning
to a chair near Margaret, did his share in the pro-
duction of another long period of quiet. Penrod
allowed this one to pass without any vocal disturb-
ance on his part. It may be, however, that his

248 PENROD AND SAM

gaze was disturbing to Mr. Blakely, upon whose
person it was glassily fixed with a self-forgetfukiess
that was aknost morbid.

"Didn't you enjoy the last meeting of the Cotil-
lion Club?" Margaret said finally.

And upon Mr. Blakely's answering absently in the
affirmative, she suddenly began to be talkative. He
seemed to catch a meaning in her fluency, and fol-
lowed her lead, a conversation ensuing which at
first had all the outward signs of eagerness. They
talked with warm interest of people and events un-
known to Penrod; they laughed enthusiastically
about things beyond his ken; they appeared to have
arranged a perfect way to enjoy themselves^ no
matter whether he was with them or elsewhere — ^but
presently their briskness began to slacken; the ap-
pearance of interest became perfunctory. Within
ten minutes the few last scattering semblances of
gayety had passed, and they lapsed into the longest
and most prof oimd of all their silences indoors that
day. Its effect upon Penrod 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.

PENROD'S BUSY DAY 249

By George!'* he exclaimed, under his breath.
What is it? '* Margaret asked. " Did you remem-
ber something?"

"No, it's nothing," he said. "Nothing at all.
But, by the way, it seems a pity for you to be missing
the fine weather. I wonder if I could persuade you
to take a little walk?"

Margaret, somewhat to the smrprise of both the
gentlemen present, looked uncertain.

"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 lu'ged, with a significant glance toward
Penrod.

Margaret also glanced keenly at Penrod. "Well,
perhaps." And then, "I'll get 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 that taken by his sister, and he joined
her and her escort not till they were at the front
door, whither Mr. Blakely — ^with a last flickering of
hope — ^had urged a flight in haste.

"I been thinkin' of takin' a walk, all afternoon,"

250 PENROD AND SAM

said Penrod pompously. ^* Don't matter to me
which way we go."

The exquisite oval of Mr. Claude Blakely's face
merged into outlines more rugged than usual; the
conformation of his jaw became perceptible^ and it
could be seen that he had conceived an idea which
was crystallizing into a determination.

*T. believe it happens that this is our first walk
together," he said to Margaret, as they reached the
pavement, "but, from the kind of tennis you play,
I judge that you could go a pretty good gait Do you
like walking 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 seemed a little sinister to Penrod,
though he was convinced that he could do anything
that Margaret could do, and also that neither she nor
her comely friend could sustain such a speed for
long. On the contrary, they actually increased it
with each fleeting block they covered.

"Here!" he panted, when they had thus put some-
thing more than a half-mile behind them. "There

PENROD'S BUSY DAY 261

isn't anybody has to have a doctor, I guess ! What's
the use our walkin' so fast?"

In truth, Penrod was not walking, for his shorter
legs permitted no actual walking at such a speed;
his gait was a half -trot.

"Oh, we\e out for a walk I** Mr. Blakely returned,
a note of gayety beginning to sound in his voice.
" Marg — ^ah — ^Miss Schofield, keep your head up and
breathe through your nose. That's it! You'll find
I was right in suggesting this. It's going to
turn out gloriously! Now, let's make it a little
faster."

Margaret murmured inarticulately, for she woidd
not waste her breath in a more coherent reply. Her
cheeks were flushed; her eyes were brimming with
the wind, but when she looked at Penrod, they were
brimming with something more. Gurgling soimds
came from her.

Penrod's expression had become grim. He of-
fered no second protest, mainly because he, likewise,
would not waste his breath, and if he would, he could
not. Of breath in the ordinary sense — ^breath,
breathed automatically — ^he had none. He had only
gasps to feed his straining lungs, and his half-trot,
which had long since become a trot, was changed for

£62 PENROD AND SAM

a lope when Mr. Blakely reached his own best burst
of speed.

And now people stared at the flying three. The
gait of Margaret and Mr. Blakely could be called a
walk only by courtesy, while Penrod's was becoming
a kind of blind scamper. At times he zigzagged;
other times, he fell behind, wabbling. Anon, with
elbows flopping and his face sculptured like an an-
tique mask, he would actually forge ahead, and then
carom from one to the other of his companions as he
fell back again.

Thus the trio sped through the coming of autumn
dusk, outflying the fallen leaves that tumbled upon
the wind. And still Penrod held to the task that he
had set himself. The street lamps flickered into
life, but on and on Claude Blakely led the lady, and
on and on reeled the grim Penrod. Never once was
he so far from them that they could have exchanged a
word unchaperoned by his throbbing ear.

"OA/" Margaret cried, and, halting suddenly, she
draped herself about a lamp-post like a strip of
bunting. " Guh-uh-guh-graoc?ne55 / " she sobbed.

Penrod immediately drooped to the curb-stone,
which he reached, by pure f ortime, in a sitting posi-
tion. Mr. Blakely leaned against a fence, and said

PENROD'S BUSY DAY 253

nothing, though his breathing was eloquent. "We —

we must go — ^go home," Margaret gasped. "We
must, if— if we can drag ourselves!"

Then Penrod showed them what mettle they had
tried to crack. A paroxysm of coughing shook him;
he spoke through it sobbingly:

"^Drag!' 'S jus' lul-like a girl ! Ha-whylwalk—
oof! — ^faster'n that every day — on my — way to
school." He managed to subjugate a tendency to
nausea. "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 and sentiments
may not be stated.

. . . Mrs. Schofield was looking rather anx-
iously forth from her front door when the two adult
figures and the faithful smaller one came up the walk.

"I was getting imeasy," she said. "Papa and I
came in and found the house 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."

254 PENROD AND SAM

"Good-night/'

"Well, good-night,** Penrod called, staring after
him. But Mr. Blakely was already too far away to
hear him, and a moment later Penrod followed his
mother and sister into the house.

"I let Delia go to church,'* Mrs. Schofield said to
Margaret. "You and I might help Katie get sup-
per.

"Not for a few minutes," Margaret returned
gravely, looking at Penrod. "G>me upstairs,
mamma; I want to tell you something."

Penrod cackled hoarse triumph and defiance.

"Go on! Tell! What 7 care? You try to
poison a person in church again, 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, he began to feel disturbed in
spite of his firm belief that his cause was wholly
that of justice victorious. Margaret had insidious
ways of stating a case; and her point of view, no
matter how absurd or imjust, was almost always
adopted by Mr. and Mrs. Schofield in cases of con-
troversy.

Penrod became uneasy. Perceiving himself to
be in danger, he decided that certain measures were

PENROD'S BUSY DAY 255

warranted. Unquestionably, it would be well to
know beforehand in what terms Margaret would
cx>uch the charges which he supposed he must face
in open coiui; — ^that is to say, at the supper-table.
He stole softly up the stairs, and, flattening himself
against the wall, approached Margaret's door, which
was about an inch ajar.

He heard his mother making soimds which ap-
palled him — ^he took them for sobs. And then Mar-
garet's voice rang out in a peal of insane laughter.
Trembling, he crept nearer the door. Within the
room Margaret was clinging to her mother, and both
were trying to control their hilarity.

"He did it all to get even!'* Margaret exclaimed,
wiping her eyes. "He came in at just the right
time. That goose was beginning to talk his silly,
soft talk — ^the way he does with every girl in town —
and he was almost proposing, and I didn't know
how to stop him. And then Penrod came in and
did it for me. I could have hugged Penrod, mamma,
I actually could! 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 I Mam-
ma, mamma, if you could have seen that walk!
That goose kept thinking he could wear Penrod out

266 PENROD AND SAM

or drop him behind, but I knew he couldn't so long
as Penrod believed he was worrying us and getting
even. And that goose thought I wanted to get rid
of Penrod> too; and the conceited thing said it would
turn out ^gloriously/ meaning we'd be alone together
pretty soon — ^I'd like to shake him! You see, I
pretended so well, in order to make Penrod stick to
us, that goose believed I meant it! And if he hadn't
tried to walk Penrod oflF his legs, he wouldn't have
wilted his own collar and worn himself out, and I
think he'd have hung on until you'd have had to
invite him to stay to supper, and he'd have stayed
on all evening, and I wouldn't have had a chance to
write to Robert Williams. Mamma, there have
been lots of times when I haven't been thankful
for Penrod, but to-day I coidd have got down on my
knees to you and papa for giving me such a brother ! "

In the darkness of the hall, as a small but crushed
and broken form stole away from the crack in the
door, a gigantic Eye seemed to form — seemed to glare
down upon Penrod — ^warning him that the way of
vengeance is the way of baflBiement, and that genius
may not prevail against the trickeries of women.

"This has been a nice day!" Penrod muttered
hoarsely.

CHAPTER XVra

ON ACCOUNT OF THE WEATHEB

TEDBRE is no boredom (not even an invalid's)
comparable to that of a boy who has noth-
ing to do. When a mail says he has
nothing to do, he speaks idly; there is always more
than he can do. Grown women never say they have
nothing to do, and when girls or little girls say they
have nothing to do, they are merely airing an af-
fectation. But when a boy has nothing to do, he
has actually nothing at all to do; his state is pathetic,
and when he complains of it, his voice is haimting.

Mrs. Schofield was troubled by this uncomfort-
able quality in the voice of her son, who came to
her thrice, in his search for entertainment or even
employment, one Saturday afternoon during the
February thaw. Few facts are better established
than that the February thaw is the poorest time of
year for everybody. But for a boy it is worse than
poorest; it is bankrupt. The remnant streaks of
old soot-speckled snow left against the north walb

258 PENROD AND SAM

of houses have no power to inspire; rather » they
are dreaiy reminders of sports long sinee carried to
satiety. One cares little even to eat such snow, and
the eating of icicles, also, has come to be a flaccid and
stale diversion. There is no ice to bear a skate;
there is only a vast sufficiency of cold mud, practi-
cally useless. Sunshine flickers shiftily, coming and
going without any honest purpose; snow-squalls
blow for five minutes, the flakes disappearing as
they touch the earth; half an hour later rain sputters,
turns to snow, and then 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 dows, he must be
harassed about his overcoat and rubbers; he is
warned against tracking up the plastic lawn and
sharply advised to stay inside the house. Saturday
might as well be Sunday.

Thus the season. Penrod had sought all possible
means to pass the time. A full halt-hour of vehe-
ment yodelling in the Williams's yard had failed to
bring forth comrade Sam; and at last a coloured
woman had opened a window to inform Penrod
that her intellect was being unseated by his vocal-
izations, which surpassed in unpleasantness, she

ON ACCOUNT OF THE WEATHER 259

claimed, every sound in her previous experience —
and, for the sake of d^niteness, she stated her age
to be fifty-three years and four months. She added
that all members of the Williams family had gone
out of town to attend the fimeral of a relative, but
she wished that they might have remained to attend
Penrod's, which she confidently predicted as im-
minent if the neighbourhood followed its natural
impulse.

Penrod listened for a time, but departed before
the conclusion of the oration. He sought other
comrades, with no success; he even went to the
length of yodelling in the yard of that best of boys,
Georgie Bassett. Here was failure again, for Georgie
signalled to him, through a closed window, that a
closeting with dramatic literature was preferable to
the society of a playmate; and the book which
Georgie exhibited was openly labelled, "300 Choice
Declamations." Georgie also managed to convey
another reason for his refusal of Penrod's companion-
ship, the visitor being conversant with lip-reading
through his studies at the "movies.**

''ToomvMyr

Penrod went home.

**Well,'' said Mrs. Schofield, having almost ex-

260 PENROD AND SAM

hausted a mother's powers of suggestion, "well,
why don't you give Duke a bath?" She was that
far depleted when Penrod came to her the third
time.

Mothers' suggestions are wonderful for little
children but sometimes lack lustre when a boy is
about twelve — an age to which the ideas of a Swede
farm-hand would usually prove more congenial.
However, the dim and melancholy eye of Penrod
showed a pale gleam, and he departed. He gave
Duke a bath.

The entertainment proved damp and discouraging
for both parties. Duke began to tremble even be-
fore he was lifted into the water, and after his first
immersion he was revealed to be a dog weighing
about one-fourth of what an observer of Duke, when
Duke was dry, must have guessed his weight to
be. His wetness and the disclosure of his extreme
fleshly insignificance appeared to mortify him pro-
foimdly. He wept. But, presently, imder Penrod*s
thorough ministrations — ^for the yoimg master was

inclined to make this bath last as long as possible —
Duke plucked up a heart and began a series of pas-
sionate attempts to close the interview. As this
was his first bath since September, the eflFects were

ON ACCOUNT OF THE WEATHER 261

lavish and impressionistic, both upon Penrod and
upon the bathroom. However, the imperious boy*s
loud remonstrances contributed to bring about the
result desired by Duke.

Mrs. Schofield came running, and eloquently put
an end to Duke's winter bath. When she had sug-
gested this cleansing as a pleasant means of passing
the time, she assumed that it would take place in a
washtub in the cellar; and Penrod's location of the
performance in her own bathroom was far from her
intention.

Penrod foimd her language oppressive, and, hav-
ing been denied the right to rub Duke dry with a
bath-towel — or even with the cover of a table in the
next room — the dismal boy, accompanied by his
dismal dog, set forth, by way of the kitchen door,
into the dismal weather. With no purpose in mind,
they mechanically went out to the alley, where
Penrod leaned morosely against the fence, and Duke
stood shivering close by, his figure still emaciated
and his tail absolutely withdrawn from view.

There was a cold, wet wind, however; and before
long Duke found his condition imendurable. He was
past middle age and cared little for exercise, but
he saw that something must be done. Therefore^

262 PENROD AND SAM

he made a vigorous attempt to dry himself in a
dog's way. Throwing himself, shoulders first,
upon the aUey mud, he slid upon it, back downward;
he rolled and rolled and rolled. He began to feel
Kvely and rolled the more; in every way he convinced
Fenrod that dogs have no r^ard for appearances.
Also, having discovered an ex-fish near the Hemum
and Verman cottage, Duke confirmed an impres-
sion of Fenrod's that dogs have a peculiar fancy in
the matter of odours which they like to wear.

Growing livelier and livelier, Duke now wished to
play with his master. Fenrod was anything but
fastidious; nevertheless, imder the circumstances,
he withdrew to the kitchen, leaving Duke to play
by himself, outside.

Delia, the cook, was comfortably making rolls
and entertaining a caller with a cup of tea. Fenrod
lingered a few moments, but foimd even his atten-
tion to the conversation ill received, while his at-
tempts to take part in it met outright rebuff. His
feelings were hurt; he passed broodingly to the front
part of the house, and flung himself wearily into an
armchair in the library. With glazed eyes he stared
at shelves of books that meant to him just what
the waU-paper meant, and he sighed from the

ON ACCOUNT OF THE WEATHER 263

abyss. His l^gs tossed and his arms flopped; he got
up, scratched himself exhaustively, and shuffled to a
window. Ten desolate minutes he stood there,
gazing out sluggishly upon a soggy world. During
this time two wet delivery-wagons and four elderly
women under umbrellas were all that crossed his
field of vision. Somewhere in the world, he thought^
there was probably a boy who lived across the street
from a jail or a fire-engine house, and had windows
worth looking out of. Penrod rubbed his nose up
and down the pane slowly, continuously, and with-
out the slightest pleasure; and he again scratched
himself wherever it was possible to do so, though
he did not even ilch. There was nothing in his
life.

Such boredom as he was suffering can become
agony, and an imaginative creature may do wild
things to escape it; many a grown person has taken
to drink on accoimt of less pressure than was upon
Penrod during that intolerable Saturday.

A faint soimd in his ear informed him that Delia,
in the kitchen, had uttered a loud exclamation, and
he decided to go back there. However, since his
former visit had resulted in a rebuff that stiU ran-
kled, he paused outside the kitchen door, which was

264 PENROD AND SAM

slightly ajar, and listened. He did this idly, and
with no hope of hearing anything interesting or
helpful.

"Snakes!** Delia exclaimed. "Didja say the poor
man was seein* snakes, Mrs. Cnllen?**

"No, Delia,*' Mrs Cnllen returned dolorously;
**jist one. Flora says he niver see more th'n one —
jist one big, long, ugly-faced horr*ble black one; the
same one comin* back an* makin* a fizzin' n*ise at
um iv*ry time he had the fit on um. *Twas alw'ys
the same snake; an* he*d holler at Mora, ^ere if
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*d holler. Ter th*
love o* hivin*. Flora,* he*d holler, *it*s got a little
black man wit' a gassly white forehead a-pokin* of
it along wit' a broom-handle, an' a-sickin* it on me,
the same as a boy sicks a dog on a poor cat. Fer
the love o' hivin'. Flora,' he'd holler, 'cantcha fright
it away from me before I go out o* me head? ' **

"Poor Tom!** said Delia with deep compassion.
"An* the poor man out of his head all the time, an*
ttot knowin* it! *Twas awfid fer Flora to sit there
an* hear such things in the night like that!*'

\
\

ON ACCOUNT OF THE WEATHER 265

"You may believe yerself whin ye say it!" Mrs.
CuUen agreed. "Right the very night the poor soul
died, he was hollerin' how the big black snake and 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-faced snake, as black as a black
stockin' an' thicker roimd than me leg at the thigh
before I was wasted away!' he says, poor man. *It's
makin' the fizzin' n'ise awful to-night,* he says.
*An' the h'ttle black man wit* the gassly white fore-
head is a-laughin',' he says. *He's a-laughin* an'
a-pokin' the big, black, fizzin,* ugly-faced snake wit'
his broomstick * "

Delia was unable to endure the description.

"Don't tell me no more, Mrs. Cullen!" she pro-
tested. "Poor Tom! I thought 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 the first time.

266 PENSOD AND SAM

Poor woman, she says he talked so plain she sees
'em both herself, iv'ry time she looks at the poor body
where it's laid out. She says "

"Don't tell me!** cried the impressionable Delia.
"Don't tell me, Mrs. Cullen! I can most see 'em
meself, right here in me own kitchen! Poor Tom!
To think whin I bought me new hat, only last week,
the first time I'd be wearin' it'd be to his funeral.
To-morrow afternoon, it is?"

"At two o'clock," said Mrs. Cullen. " Ye'U be
comin' to th' house to-night, o* course, Delia? "

"I will," said Delia. "After what I've been
hearin' from ye, I'm most afraid 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 back stairs. Life and light — ^and pur-
pose — ^had come to his face once more.

Margaret was out for the afternoon. Unostenta-
tiously, he went to her room, and for the next few
minutes occupied himself busily therein. He was so
quiet that his mother, sewing in her own room, woidd
not have heard him exc^t for the obstinacy of one
of the drawers in Margaret's bureau. Mrs. Scho*
field went to the door of her daughter's room.

ON ACCOUNT OP THE WEATHER 267

"What are you doing, Penrod?"

"Nothin'."

"You're not disturbing any of Margaret's tilings,
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 would be in Margaret's room,
Penrod, don't you?"

"Ma'am?"

"What was it you wanted?" she asked, rather im-
patiently.

"I was just lookin' for some pins."

"Very well," she said, and handed him two from
the shoulder of her blouse.

"I ought to have more,," he said. "I want about
forty."

"What for?"

"I just want to make sumpthing, mamma," he
said plaintively. **My goodness! Can't I even
want to have a few pins without everybody makin'
$uch a fuss about it you'd think I was doin' a snme !

>»

888 PENROD AND SAM

Doing a what, Penrod?"

A srimel** he repeated, with emphasis; and a
moment's reflection enlightened his mother.

"Oh, a crime!" she exclaimed. "You must quit
reading the murder trials in the newspapers, Penrod.
And when you read words you don't know how to
pronoimce you ought to ask either your papa or me.***

"Well, I am askin' you about sumpthing now,**
said Penrod. " Can't I even have a few pins without
stoppin' to talk about everything in the newspapiers,
mamma?"

"Yes," she said, laughing at his seriousness; and
she took him to her room, and bestowed upon him
five or six rows torn from a paper of pins. "That
ought to be plenty," she said, "whatever you want
to make."

And she smiled after his retreating figure, not
noting that he looked softly bulky aroimd the body,
and held his elbows imnaturally tight to his sides.
She was assured of the innocence of anything to be
made with pins, and forebore to press investigation.
For Penrod to be playing with pins seemed almost
girlish. Unhappy woman, it pleased her to have her
son seem girlish!

Penrod went out to the stable, tossed his pins into

ON ACCOUNT OF THE WEATHER 269

the wheelbarrow, then took from his pocket and un-
folded six pairs of long black stockings, indubitably
the property of his sister. (Evidently Mrs. Scho-
field had been a little late in making her appearance
::t the door of Margaret's room.)

Penrod worked systematically; he himg the twelve
stockings over the sides of the wheelbarrow, and
placed the wheelbarrow beside a large packing-box
which was half full of excelsior. One after another,
he stuflfed the stockings with excelsior, till they
looked like twelve long black sausages. Then he
pinned the top of one stocking securely over the
stuffed foot of another, pinning the top of a third
to the foot of the second, the top of a fourth to the
foot of the third — and continued operations in this
fashion imtil the twelve stockings were the semblance
of one long and sinuous black body, sufficiently sug-
gestive to any normal eye.

He tied a string to one end of this unpleasant-'
looking thing, led it aroimd the stable, and, by
vigorous manipulations, succeeded in making it
wriggle realistically; but he was not satisfied, and,
dropping the string listlessly, sat down in the wheel-
barrow to ponder. Penrod sometimes proved that
there were within him the makings of an artist;

270 PENROD AND SAM

he had become fascinated by an idea, and could not be
content until that idea was beautifully realized. He
had meant to create a big, long, ugly-faced horrible
black snake with which to interest Delia and her
friend, Mrs. Cullen; but he felt that results, so far,
were too crude for exploitation. Merely to lead the
pinned stockings by a string was little to fulfill his
ambitious vision.

FinaUy, he rose from the wheelbarrow.
If I only had a cat!'' he said dreamily*

€€

CHAPTER XIX

CREATIVE ABT

HE WENT forth, seeking.
The Schofield household was catless this
winter, but there was a nice white cat at
the Williams*. Penrod strolled thoughtfully over to
the Williams' yard.

He was entirely successful, not even having been
seen by the sensitive coloured woman, aged fifty-
three years and four months.

But still Penrod was thoughtful. The artist within

him was unsatisfied with his materials: and upon his

return to the stable he placed the cat beneath an

overturned box, and once more sat down in the

inspiring wheelbarrow, pondering. His expression,

concentrated and yet a little anxious, was like that

of a painter at work upon a portrait which may or

may not turn out to be a masterpiece. The cat did

not disturb him by her purring, though she was, in-

deed, already purring. She was one of those cozy,

youngish cats — plump, even a little full-bodied, per-

£71

272 PENROD AND SAM

haps, and rather conscious of the figure — ^thataie
entirely conventional and domestic by nature, and
will set up a ladylike housekeeping anywhere without
making a fuss about it. If there were a fault in
these cats, overcomplacency might be the name for
it; they are a shade too siu^ of themselves, and their
assumption that the world means to treat them re-
spectfully 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 which life sometimes holds in store
for them. They lack the pessimistic imagination.

Mrs. Williams' cat was content upon a strange
floor and in the confining enclosure of a strange box.
She purred for a time, then trustfully fell asleep,
'Twas well she slumbered; she would need all her
powers presently.

She slumbered, and dreamed not that she would
wake to mingle with events which were to alter her
serene disposition radically, and cause her to become
hasty-tempered and abnormaUy suspicious for the
rest of her life.

Meanwhile, Penrod appeared to reach a doubtful
solution of his problem. His expression was still
somewhat clouded as he brought from the storeroom

CKEATIVE ART 273

of the stable a small fragment of a broken niirror> two
paint brushes, and two old cans, one containmg
black paint and the other white. He regarded him-
self earnestly in the mirror; then, with some reluc-
tance, he dipped a brush into one of the cans, and
slowly painted his nose a midnight black. He was
on the point of spreading this decoration to cover
the lower part of his face, when he paused, brush
halfway between can and chin.

What arrested him was a soimd from the alley — ^a
sound of drumming upon tin. The eyes of Penrod
became significant of rushing thoughts; his expres-
sion cleared and brightened. He ran to the alley
doors and flimg them open.

"Oh, Verman!" he shouted.

Marching up and down before the cottage across
the alley, Verman plainly considered himself to be
an army. Hanging from his shoulders by a string
was an old tin wash-basin, whereon he beat cheerily
with two dry bones, once the chief supports of a
chicken. Thus he assuaged his ennui.

"Verman, come on in here,'' Penrod called. "I
got sumpthing for you to do you'll like awful well."

Verman halted, ceased to drum, and stared. His
gaze was not fixed particularly upon Penrod's nose.

«74 PENROD AND SAM

however, and neither now nor later did he make any
remark or gesture referring to this casual eccentricity.
He expected things like that upon Fenrod or Sam
Williams. And as for Fenrod himself, he had already
forgotten that his nose was painted.

"Come on, Verman!"

Verman continued to stare, not moving. He had
received such invitations before, and they had not
always resulted to his advantage. Within that
stable things had happened to him the like of which
he was anxious to avoid in the future.

"Oh, come ahead, Verman!'' Fenrod urged, and,
divining logic in the reluctance confronting him, he
added, " This ain't goin' to be anything like 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?" Fenrod pleaded. "It
isyi't anything goin* to hurt you, is it? I tell you
it's sumpthing you'd give a good deal to jjr^ to do,
if you knew what it is."

"Mo!" said Verman firmly. "I mome maw woo!^

Fenrod offered arguments.

CREATIVE ART 275

" Look, Vennan ! " he said. " Listen here a minute,
can't you? How d'you know you don't want to
until you know what it is? A person carCt know they
don't want to do a thing even before the other person
tells 'em what they're goin' to get 'em to do, can
they? For aU you know, this thing I'm goin' to get
you to do might be sumpthing you wouldn't miss
doin' for anything there is ! For all you know, Ver-
man, it might be sumpthing like this: well, f'rin-
stance, 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 sumpthing I was goin' to get yon to do; and
you'd say you wouldn't do it, even before you heard
what it was, why where'd be any sense to that 9 For
all you know, I might of been goin' to get you to eat
a five-cent bag o' peanuts."

Verman had listened obdurately imtil he heard the
last few words, but as they fell upon his ear, he re-
laxed, and advanced to the stable doors, smiling and
extendmg his open right hand.

"Aw wi'," he said. "Gi'm here.'*

"Well," Fenrod returned, a trifle embarrassed,
"I didn't say it was peanuts, did I? Honest, Ver-
man, it's sumpthing you'll like better'n a few old

276 PENKOD AND SAM

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 to come 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 reason-
able, even to Verman, especially since its eflFect was
aided by the promising words, "See what I got for
you." Certainly Verman yielded to it, though per-
haps a little suspiciously. He advanced a few cau*
tious steps into the stable.

"Look!" Penrod cried, and he ran to the stuffed
and linked stockings, seized the leading-string, and
vigorously illustrated his further remarks. "How*s
that for a big, long, ugly-faced horr'ble black ole
snake, Verman? Look at her follow me all round
anywhere I feel like goin* ! Look at her wiggle, will
you, though? Look how I make her do anything I
tell her to. Lay down, you ole snake, you! See her
lay down when I tell her to, Verman? Wiggle,
you ole snake, you ! See her wiggle, Verman? *'

CREATIVE ART 277

"Hi!" Undoubtedly Verman felt some pleasure.

"Now, listen, Verman!" Penrod continued, hasten-
ing to make the most of the 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 uncon-
nected with cats, and likely to prejudice Verman,
Penrod decided to postpone mentioning Mrs. Wil-
liams' pet until he should have secured Verman's
cooperation in the enterprise irretrievably.

"All you got to do," he went on, "is to chase this
good ole snake aroimd, and sort o' laugh and keep
pokin' it with the handle o' that rake yonder. I'm
goin' to saw it oflf just so's you can poke your good
ole snake with it, Verman."

"Aw wi'," said Verman, and extending his open
hand again, he uttered a hopeful request.

"Peamup?"

His host perceived that Verman had misimderstood
him. "Peanuts!" he exclaimed. "My goodness!
I didn't say I had any peanuts, did I? I only said
s'pose f'rinstance I did have some. My goodness!
You don't expeck me to go round here all day workin'
like a dog to make a good ole snake for you and then

278 PENROD AND SAM

give you a bag o' peanuts to hire you to Tplay with it,
do you, VCTman? 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' guide your good
ole snake around with it; but first — ^weU, first there's
just one more thing's got to be done. I'U show you —
it won't take but a minute." Then, while Verman
watched him wonderingly, he went to the can of
white paint and dipped a brush therein. "It won't
get on your do'es much, or anything, Verman," he
explained. "I only just got to "

But as he approached, dripping brush in hand, the
wondering look was aU gone from Verman; deter-
mination 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 teeny bit o'
paint was goin' to kill you! What's the matter of
you? I only just got to paint the top part of your

CREATIVE ART 279

face; I'm not goin' to Umch the other part of it — ^nor
your hands or anythmg. All / want "

"Jfo/" said Verman from the doorway.

"Oh, my goodness!" moaned Penrod; and in des-
peration he drew forth from his pocket his entire
fortime. "All right, Verman," he said resignedly.
"If you won't do it any other way, here's a nickel,
and you can go and buy 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 promise to do anything I tell you to. You
goin' to promise?"

The eyes of Verman glistened; he returned, gave
bond, and, grasping the coin, burst into the rich
daughter of a gourmand.

Penrod immediately painted him dead white above
the eyes, all roimd his head and including his hair.
It took all the paint in the can.

Then the artist mentioned the presence of Mrs.
Williams' cat, explained in full his ideas concerning
the docile animal, and the long black snake, and
Delia and her friend, Mrs. CuUen, while Verman
listened with anxiety, but remained true to his oath.

They removed the stocking at the end of the long
black snake, and cut four holes in the foot and ankle

280 PENROD AND SAM

of it. They removed the excelsior, placed Mrs. Wil*
liams' cat in the stoddng, shook her down into the
lower section of it; drew her feet through the four
holes there, leaving her head in the toe of the stock-
ing; then packed the excelsior down on top 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
«ts in his dressing-gown to write: "The enemy at-
tacked in force " The tranquil pen, moving in a

doud of tobacco smoke, leaves upon the page its
little hieroglyphics, serenely summing up the mon-
strous deeds and sufferings of men of action. How
cold, how niggardly, to state merely that Pernod and
the painted Verman succeeded in giving the long,
black snake a motive power, or tractor, apparently
its own but consisting of Mrs. Williams' cat!

She was drowsy when they lifted the box; she was
still drowsy when they introduced part of her into
the orifice of the stocking; but she woke to full,
vigorous young life when she perceived that their
purpose was for her to descend into the black depths
of that stocking head first.

Verman held the mouth of the stocking stretched^
and Penrod manipulated the cat; but she left her

CREATIVE ART 281

hearty maxk on both of them before, in a moment of
unfortunate inspiration, she humped her back whUe
she was upside down, and Penrod took advantage
of the concavity to increase it even more than she *
desired. The next instant she was assisted down-
ward into the gloomy interior, with excelsior already
beginning to block the means of egress.

Gymnastic moments followed; there were times
when both boys hurled themselves full-length upon
the floor, seizing the animated stocking with far-
extended hands; and even when the snake was a
complete thing, with legs growing from its imques-
tionably ugly face, either Penrod or Verman must
keep a grasp upon it, for it would not be soothed,
and^fused, over and over, to calm itself, even when
addressed as, "Poor pussy! '* and " Nice 'ittle kitty!'*

Finally, they thought they had their good ole
snake "about quieted down," as Penrod said, be-
cause the animated head had remained in one place
for an imusual length of time, though the legs pro-
duced a rather sinister effect of crouching, and a
noise like a distant planing-mill came from the in-
terior — and then Duke appeared in the doorway.

He was still feeling lively.

CHAPTER XX

THE DEPARTING GUEST

BY THE time Penrod returned from oTiflirfTig
i Duke to the next comer, Verman had the
long, black snake down from the rafter where
its active head had taken refuge, with the rest of it
dangling; and both boys agreed that Mrs. Williams'
cat must certainly be able to "see somey anyway,'*
through the meshes of the stocking.

"Well," said Penrod, "it's gettin' pretty near
dark, what with all this bother and mess we been
havin' around here, and I expeck as soon as I get
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 trouble /or."

. . . . Mr. Schofield had brought an old
friend home to dinner with him: "Dear old Joe
Gilling," he called this friend when introducing him
to Mrs. Schofield. Mr. Gilling, as Mrs. Schofield
WHS already informed by telephone, had just hap-

THE DEPARTING GUEST 28S

pened to turn up in town that day, and had called
on his classmate at the latter's office. The two
had not seen each other in eighteen years.

Mr. Gilling was a tall man, clad highly in the
mode, and brought to a polished and powdered finish
by barber and manicurist; but his colour was pecu-
liar, being almost unhumanly florid, and, as Mrs.
Schofield afterward claimed to have noticed, his
eyes "wore a nervous, apprehensive look," his hands
were tremulous, and his manner was "queer and
jerky" — ^at least, that is how she defined it.

She was not surprised to hear him state that he
was travelling for his health and not upon business.
He had not been really well for several years, he
said.

At that, Mr. Schofield laughed and slapped him
heartily on the back.

"Oh, mercy!" cried Mr. Gilling, leaping in his
chair. "What is the matter?"

"Nothing!" Mr. Schofield laughed. "I just
slapped you the way we used to slap each other on
the campus. What I was going to say was that you
have no business being a bachelor. With all your
money, and nothing to do but travel and sit around
hotels and clubs, no wonder you've grown bilious."

284 PENROD AND SAM

^*0h, no; I'm not bilious/' said Mr. Gilling uBeom-
fortably. "I'm not bilious at all."

"You ought to get married," Mr. Schofidd re-
turned. "You ought " He paused, for Mr.

Gilling had jumped again. "What's the trouble,
Joe?"

"Nothing. I thought perhaps — ^perhaps you were
going to slap me on the back again."

"Not this time," said Mr. Schofield, renewing
his laughter. "Well, is dinner about ready?" he
asked, turning to his wife. "Where are Margaret
and Penrod?"

"Margaret's just come in," Mrs. Schofield an-
swered. "She'll be down in a minute, 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 oiu- young son," he said. "He's not
much for looks, maybe, but he's been pretty good
lately, and sometimes we're almost inclined to be
proud of him. You'U see him in a minute, old
Joe!"

Old Joe saw him even sooner. Instantly, as Mr.

THE DEPARTING GUEST 285

Schofield finished his little prediction, the most
shocking uproar ever heard in that house burst forth
in the kitchen. Distinctly Irish shrieks unlimited
came from that quarter — ^together with the clash-
ing of hurled metal and tin, the appealing soimd of
breaking china, and the hysterical barking of a dog.

The library door flew open, and Mrs. Cullen ap-
peared as a mingled streak crossing the room from
one door to the other. She was followed by a boy
with a coal-black nose; and between his feet, as he
entered, there appeared a big, long, black, horr'ble
snake, with frantic legs springing from what appeared
to be its head; and it further fulfilled Mrs. Cullen's
description by making a fizzin' noise. Accompany-
ing the snake, and still faithfully endeavoiu*ing to
guide it with the detached handle of a rake, was a
small black demon with a gassly white forehead and
gasslier white hair. Duke, evidently still feeling
his bath, was doing aU in his power to aid the demon
in making the snake step lively. A few kitchen im-
plements followed this fugitive procession through
the library doorway.

The long, black snake became involved with a
leg of the heavy table in the centre of the room.
The head developed spasms of agility; there were

286 PENROD AND SAM

clawings and rippings; then the foremost section of
the long, black snake detached itself, bounded into
the air, and, after turning a number of somersaults,
became, severally, a torn stocking, excelsior, and a
lunatic cat. The ears of this cat were laid back
flat upon its head and its speed was excessive upon
a fairly circular track it laid out for itself in the
library. Flying round this orbit, it perceived the
open doorway; passed through it, thence to the
kitchen, and outward and onward — ^Della having
left the kitchen door open in her haste as she retired
to the backyard.

The black demon with the gassly white forehead
and hair, finding himself in the presence of grown
people who were white all over, turned in his tracks
and followed Mrs. Williams' cat to the great out-
doors. Duke preceded Verman. Mrs. Cullen van-
ished. Of the apparition, only wreckage and a
rightfully apprehensive Penrod were left.

"But where — " Mrs. Schofield began, a few min*
utes later, looking suddenly mystified — ^**where —
where "

"Where what?" asked Mr. Schofield testily.
"What are you talking about?" His nerves were

THE DEPARTING GUEST 287

jarred, and he was rather hoarse after what he had
been saying to Penrod. (That regretful necromancer
was now upstairs doing unhelpful things to his
nose over a washstand.) "What do you mean by,
* Where, where, where?'*' Mr. Schofield demanded.
"I don't see any sense to 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
wold Joe?"

Margaret intervened. "You mean that tall, pale
man who was calling? " she asked.

"Pale, no!" said her father. "He's as flushed

He was pale when I saw him," said Margaret.

He had his hat and coat, and he was trying to
get out of the front door when I came running down-
stairs. He couldn't work the catch for a minute,
but before I got to the foot of the steps he managed
to turn it and open the door. He went out before
I could think what to say to him, he was in such a
hurry. I guess everything was so confused you
didn't notice — ^but he's certainly gone."

Mrs. Schofield turned to her husband.

288 PENROD AND SAM

*^^But I thought he was going to stay to dinner!'*
she cried.

Mr. Schofield shook his head, admitting himself
floored. Later, having mentally gone over every-
thing that might shed light on the curious behaviour
of old Joe, he said, without preface:

"He wasn't at all dissipated when we were in col-
lege."

Mrs. Schofield nodded severely. "Maybe this
was just the best thing could have happened to him,
after all," she said.

"It may be," returned her husband. **I don't
say it isn't. But that isn't going to make any differ-
ence in what I'm going to do to Penrod!"

CHAPTER XXI

YEABNINGS

THE next day a new ambition entered into
Penrod Schofield; it was heralded by a flour-
ish of trumpets and set up a great noise
within his being.

On his way home from Sunday-school he had
paused at a comer to listen to a brass band, which
was returning from a fimeral, playing a medley of
airs from " The Merry Widow," and as the musicians
cam ) down the street, walking so gracefully, the
sun picked out the gold braid upon their uniforms
and splashed fire from their poUshed instruments.
Penrod marked the shapes of the great bass horns,
the suave sculpture of their brazen coils, and the
grand, sensational flare of their mouths. And he saw
plainly that these noble things, to be mastered, needed
no more than some breath blown into them during the
fingering of a few simple keys. Then obediently they
gave forth those vast but dulcet sounds which stirred
his spirit as no other sounds could stir it quite.

290 PENROD AND SAM

The leader of the band, walking ahead, was a
pleasing figure, nothing more. Penrod supposed
him to be a mere decoration, and had never sym-
pathized with Sam Williams' deep feeling about
drum-majors. The comets, the trombones, the
smaller horns were rather interesting, of course; and
the drums had charm, especially the bass drum,
which must be partially supported by a youth in
front; but, immeasiu'ably above all these, what fas-
cinated 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 high lights, and so overwhelming,
with its mouth as wide as a tub, that there was some-
thing almost threatening about it.

The little, elderly band-musician walked man-
fully as he blew his great horn; and in that pompous
engine of soimd, the boy beheld a spectacle of huge
forces under human control. To Penrod, the horn
meant power, and the musician meant mastery
over power, though, of coiu-se, Penrod did not
know that this was how he really felt about the
matter.

Grandiloquent sketches were passing and inter-
changing before his mind's eye — ^Penrod, in noble

YEARNINGS 291

raiment, marching down the staring street, his shoul-
ders swaying profesoionally, the roar of the horn he
bore submerging all other sounds; Penrod on horse-
back, blowing the enormous horn and leading wild
hordes to battle, while Marjorie Jones looked on
from the sidewalk; Penrod astounding his mother
and father and sister by suddenly serenading them
in the Kbrary. "Why, Penrod, where did you learn
to play like this?"

These were vague and shimmering glories of vision
rather than definite plans for his life work, yet he
did with all his will determine to own and play upon
some roaring instrument of brass. And, after all,
this was no new desire of his; it was only an old one
inflamed to take a new form. Nor was music the
root of it, for the identical desire is often uproarious
among them that hate music. What stirred in
Penrod was new neither in him nor in the world,
but old — old as old Adam, old as the childishness of
man. All children have it, of course: they are all
anxious to Make a Noise in the World.

While the band approached, Penrod marked the
time with his feet; then he fell into step and accom-
panied the musicians down the street, keeping as
near as possible to the little man with the big horn.

292 PENROD AND SAM

There were four or five other boys, strangers, also
marching with the band, but these were light spirits,
their flushed faces and prancing legs proving that
they were merely in a state of emotional reaction to
music. Penrod, on the contrary, was grave. He
kept his eyes upon the big horn, and, now and then,
he gave an imitation of it. His fingers moved upon
invisible keys, his cheeks puffed out, and, from far
down in his throat, he produced strange sounds:
"Taw, p'taw-p'taw! Taw, p'taw-p'taw! PAW!*^

The other boys turned back when the musicians
ceased to play, but Penrod marched on, still keeping
dose to what so inspired him. He stayed with the
band till the last member of it disappeared up a
staircase in an office-building, down at the business
end of the street; and even after that he lingered a
while, looking at the staircase.

Finally, however, he set his face toward home,
whither he marched in a procession, the visible part
of which consisted of himself alone. All the way
the rhythmic movements of his head kept time with
his marching feet and, also, with a slight rise and
fall of his fingers at about the median line of his ab-
domen. And pedestrians who encoimtered him in
this preoccupation were not surprised to hear, a9

YEARNINGS 293

he passed, a few explosive little vocalizations: "Taw,
p'taw-p'taw! taw! Taw-aw-HAW!''

These were the outward symptoms of no fleeting
impulse, but of steadfast desire; therefore they were
persistent. The likenei^s of the great bass horn re-
mained upon the retina of his mind's eye, losing
nothing of its brazen enormity with the passing of
hours, nor abating, in his mind's ear, one whit of its
fascinating blatancy. Fenrod might have forgotten
almost anything else more readily; for such a horn
has this double compulsion: people cannot possibly
keep themselves from looking at its possessor — ^and
they certainly have got to listen to him!

Fenrod was preoccupied at dinner and during the
evening, now and then causing his father some ir-
ritation by croaking, "Taw, p'taw-p'taw!" while
the latter was talking. And when bedtime came
for the son of the house, he moimted the stairs in a
rhythmic manner, and p'tawed himself through the
upper hall as far as his own chamber.

Even after he had gone to bed, there came a re«
vival of these manifestations. His mother had put
out his light for him and had returned to the library
downstairs; three-quarters of an hour had elapsed
since then, and Margaret was in her room, next to

294 PENROD AND SAM

his, when a continuous low croaking (which she was
just able to bear) suddenly broke out into loud,
triumphal blattings:

"taw, p'taw-p'taw-aw-HAW! P'taw-WAW-aw!
Aw-PAW!"

"Penrod,"" Margaret caUed, "stop that! I'm
trying to write letters. If you 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 faint croaking which finally died out; but
there can be little doubt that Penrod's last waking
thoughts were of instrumental music. And in the
morning, when he woke to face the gloomy day's
scholastic tasks, something unusual and eager
dawned in his face with the return of memory.
"Taw-p'taw!" he began, "paw!"

All day, in school and out, his mind was busy
with computations — ^not such as are prescribed by
mathematical pedants, but estimates of how much
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 problem from his mind: he
learned that his Uncle Joe would be passing through
town, on his way from Nevada, the following after-
noon, and all the Schofield family were to go to the

YEARNINGS 296

station to see him. Penrod would be excused 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 Joe
invariably gave Penrod money. Moreover, he al-
ways managed to do it privately, so that later there
was no bothersome supervision^ Last time he had
given Penrod a silver dollar.

At thirty-five minutes after two, Wednesday after-
noon. Uncle Joe's train came into the station, and
Uncle Joe got out and shouted among his relatives
At eighteen minutes before three he was waving
to them from the platform of the last car, having
just slipped a two-dollar bill into Penrod's breast-
pocket. And, at seven minutes after three, Penrod
opened the door of the largest "music store*' in
town.

A taU, exquisite, fair man, evidently a musical
earl, stood before him, leaning whimsically upon a
piano of the highest polish. The sight abashed
Penrod not a bit — ^his remarkable financial condition
even made him rather peremptory.

"See here," he said brusquely: "I want to look
at that big horn in the window.'*

JB96 PENROD AND SAM

"Very well/' said the earl; "look at it." And he
leaned more luxuriously upon the polished piano.

"I meant " Penrod began, but paused, some-
thing daunted, while an unnamed 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 and swallow a little air that ob-
structed his throat, as the difference between eighty-
five and two became more and more startling. He
had entered the store, rich; in the last ten seconds he
had become poverty-stricken. Eighty-five dollars
was the same as eighty-five millions.

"Shall I put it aside for you," asked the salesman-
earl, "while you look aroimd the other stores to see
if there's anything you like better?"

"I guess — ^I guess not," said Pem-od, whose face
had grown red. He swallowed again, scraped the
floor with the side of his right shoe, scratched the
back of his neck, and then, trying to make his man-
ner casual and easy, "Well I can't stand around

YEARNINGS 297

here all day," he said. "I got to be gettin* on up the
street/*

"Business, I suppose?''

Penrod, turning to the door, suspected jocularity,
but he found himself without recourse; he was non-
plussed.

"Siu'e you won't let me have that horn tied up
in nice wrapping-paper in case you decide to take
it?"

Penrod was almost positive that the spirit of this
question was satirical; but he was imable to reply,
except by a feeble shake of the head — ^though ten
minutes later^ as he plodded forlornly his homeward
way, he looked over his shoulder and sent backward
a few words of morose repartee:

"Oh, I am, am I?" he muttered, evidently con-
cluding a conversation which he had continued men-
tally with the salesman. "Well, you're double any-
thing you call me, so that makes you a smart Aleck
twice! Ole double smart Aleck!"

After that, he walked with the least bit more
briskness, but not much. No wonder he felt dis-
couraged: there are times when eighty-five dollars
can be a blow to anybody ! Penrod was so stunned
that he actually forgot what was in his pocket. He

298 PENBOD AND SAM

passed two drug stores, and they had absolutelly no
meaning to him. He walked all the way without
spending a cent.

At home he spent a moment in the kitchen panti;
while the cook was in the cellar; then he went out
to the stable and began some really pathetic experi-
ments. His materials were the small tin funnel
which he had obtained in the pantry, and a short
section of old garden hose. He inserted the funnel
into one end of the garden hose, and made it fast
by wrappings 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 had observed the little musician with
the big horn set his, and blew and sputtered, and
sputtered and blew, but nothing of the slightest im-
portance happened in the orifice of the funnel. Still
he blew. He began to be dizzy; his eyes watered;
his expression became as horrible as a strangled
person's. He but blew the more. He stamped his
feet and blew. He staggered to the wheelbarrow,
sat, and blew — and yet the funnel uttered nothing;
it seemed merely to breathe hard.

It would not soimd like a horn, and, when Penrod

YEARNINGS 299

finally gave up, he had to admit piteously that it
did not look like a horn. No boy over nine could
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 Roderick Magsworth Bitts,
Junior.

"Yay, there!''

Penrod made no response.

The two came in, and Sam picked up the poor
contrivance Penrod had tossed upon the floor.

"What's this ole dingu3?'' Sam asked.

"Nothin'."

"Well, what's it for?'*

"Nothin*," said Penrod. "It's a kind of a horn.'*

"What kind?"

"For nnisic/' said Penrod simply.

Master Bitts laughed loud and long; he was de-
risive. "Music!" he yipped. "I thought you
meant a cow's horn! He says it's a music-horn,
Sam? What you think o' that?"

Sam blew into the thing mdustriously.

"It won't WOTk," he annoimced.

800 FENROD AND SAM

"Course it won't!" Roddy Bitts shouted. "Yon
can't make it go without you got a real horn. I'm
goin' to get me a real horn some day before long,
and then you'll see me goin' up and down here
playm' it like sixty! I'll "

« t(

Some day before long!'" Sam mocked. **Yes»
we wiD ! Why'n't you get it to-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 few jibing sounds.

"I'd get my father to buy me a fire-engine and
team o' horses,'* Sam bellowed, "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 last Satur-
day, because I got paint on one of our dogs, and he
came in the house with it on him, and got some on
pretty near everything. If it hadn't 'a' been for
that "

"Oh, yes!" said Sam. "H it hadn't V been for
that! It's always sumpthing /"

"It is not!"

YEARNINGS 301

"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 renewal of some interesting recol-
lection became visible in his expression. "Why, I
could, if I wanted to," he said more calmly. "It
wouldn't be a new one, 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 three years old, and your mother
stuck it up in the attic to keep till you're dead, or
sumpthing!"

"It's not either any toy horn," Roddy insisted.
"It's a reg'lar horn for a band, and I could have it
as easy as anything."

The tone of this declaration was so sincere that
it roused the lethargic Penrod,

"Roddy, is that true?" he sat up to inquire
piercingly.

" Of coiu'se it is ! " Master Bitts returned. " What
you take me for? I could go get that horn this
minute if I wanted to."

" A real one — ^honest? "

"Well, didn't I say it was a real one?"

''lAke in the band f'

S02 PENROD AND SAM

"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 a big circle that would go all
the way aroimd a pretty fat man/*

"What store is it in?'*

"It's not in any store,*' said Roddy. **It*s at
my TJnde Ethelbert's. He's got 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 Bitts maldn' up lies!"

" You look out, Sam Williams ! " said Roddy threat-
eningly. " You look out how you oall 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?

i»

YEARNINGS 303

"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 prove what I said wasnH 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 it is, Roddy."

"Well, then," said Roddy, "come on over to my
Uncle Ethelbert's, and I'll show you!"

"No," said Sam. "I woiddn't walk over there
just to find out smnpthing I already know isn't so.
Outside of a music store there isn't anybody in the
worid got forty-one guitars! I've heard lots o'
people toZA?, but I never heard such a big I "

"You shut up!" shouted Roddy. "You ole ''

Penrod interposed.

Why'n't you show us the horn, Roddy? " he asked.
You said you could get it. 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?"

304 PENBOD AND SAM

''Yes," said Sam, and added: ''He liaan'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
m show you!"

And he ran furiously from the stable.

CHAPTER XXn

THE HORN OF FAMB

BET he won't come back!'' said Sam.
" WeU, he might."
"Well, if he does and he hasn't got any
horn, I got a right to call him anything I want to,
and he's got to stand it. And if he doesn't come
back," Sam continued, as by the code, "then I got
a right to call him whatever 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 had decided that they were
legally entitled to call him whatever they thought
fitting, when he burst in, puffing; and in his hands he
bore a horn. It was a "real" Q^e, and of a kind
that neither Penrod nor Sam had ever seen before,
though they failed to realize this, because its shape
was instantly familiar to them. No horn could have

30ff PENROD AND SAM

been simpler: it consisted merely of one circular coll
of brass with a mouthpiece at one end for the musi-
cian, and a wide-flaring mouth of its own^ for the
noise, at the other. But it was obviously a second-
hand horn; dents slightly marred it» here and there,
and its surface was duU, rather greenish. There
were no keys; and a badly faded green cord and
tassel hung from the coil.

Even so shabby a horn as this electrified Penrod.
It was not a stupendous horn, but it was a horn;
and when a boy has been sighing for the moon, a
piece of green cheese wiU satisfy him, for he can
play that it is the moon.

** Ginune that horn I " Penrod shouted, as he dashed
for it.

^^Yay /'* Sam cried, and sought to wrest it from
him. Roddy joined the scuffle, trying to retain
the horn; but Penrod managed to secure it. With
one free hand he fended the others off while he blew
into the mouthpiece.

"Let me have it,'* Sam lu^ed. "You can't do
anything with it. Lemme take it, Penrod."

"No!*" said Roddy. "Let rnet My goodness!
Ain't I got any right to blow my own horn?"

They pressed upon Penrod, who frantically fended

THE HORN OF FAME 307

and frantically blew. At last he remembered to
compress his Ups, and force the air through the com-
pression.

A magnificent snort from the horn was his reward.
He removed his lips from 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 captiured the horn. But
Sam had not made the best of his opportunities
as an observer of bands; he thrust the mouthpiece
deep into his mouth, and blew until his expression
became one of agony.

"No, no!" Penrod exclaimed. "You haven't got
the secret of blowin' a horn, Sam. What's the use
yoiur keepin' hold of it, when you don't know any
more about it 'n that? It ain't makin' a sound!
You lemme have that good ole horn back, Sam.
Haven't you got sense enough to see I know how
\joTplay?''

Laying hands upon it, he jerked it away from Sam,
who was a httle piqued over the failiure of his own
efforts, especially as Penrod now produced a son-
orous blat — quite a long one. Sam became cross.

"My goodness!" Roddy Bitts said peevishly.

308 PENBOD AND SAM

''Ain't I ever goin' to get a turn at my own horn?
Here you've had two turns, Penrod, and eveai Sam
Williams ''

Sam's petulance at once directed itself toward
Roddy partly because of the latter's tactless use of
the word ''even," and the two engaged in contro-
versy, while Penrod was left free to continue the ex-
periments which so enraptured him.

"Your own horn!" Sam sneered. **I bet it isn't
yours! Anyway, you can't prove 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 nune:

f»»

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 yoiurs; so I got a perfect right to call
you whatev "

"I do not haf to take it back where I got it, either!"
Roddy cried, more and more irritated by his op-
ponent's persistence in stating his rights in this
matter.

"I bet they told you to bring it back," said Sam
taimtingly .

"They didn't, either! There wasn't anybody
there."

THE HORN OF FAME, 809

"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 Simday he didn't want it. He
said he wished somebody'd take that horn off his
hands so's he could buy sumpthing else. That's just
exactly what he said. I heard him tell my mother.
He said, *I guess I prackly got to give it away if
I'm ever goin' to get rid of it.' Well, when my own
uncle says he wants to give a horn away, and he
wishes he could get rid of 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 demon-
strate those rights of his and did not mean to yield
them.

"Yes; you'll have a nice time," he said, "next time
your uncle goes to play 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 horn nobody 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!"

SIO PENROD AND SAM

"I can, too!**

''No, you can't. You can't 'profoe you can, and
unless you prove it, I got a perf ^^

Boddy stamped his foot. ''I can, too!'' he
shrieked. '' You ole dum jackass, I can, too ! I can,
can, can, can ^"

Fenrod suddenly stopped his intermittent pro-
duction of blats, and intervened* *'/ know how you
can prove it, Roddy," he said briskly. ** There's
one way anybody can always prove sumpthing be-
longs to them, so that nobody'd have a right to call
them what they wanted to. You can prove it's
yoiurs, easy V^

"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 away that do^^sn't belong to
you, can you?"

"No."

"So, then," the resourceful boy continued, "fr
instance, if you give this ole horn to me, that'd prove
it was yours, and Sam'd haf to say it was, and he
wouldn't have any right to "

"I won't do it!" said Roddy sourly. •*! don't

THE HORN OF FAME 311

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 were too heavy for him. " WeU, if
you don't want to prove it, and rather let 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, in spite of the pains Penrod
was taking with him. '^I don't haf to prove it.
IVs miner*

"What kind o' proof is that?" Sam Williams de-
manded severely. "You got to prove it and you
can't do it!"

Roddy began a reply, but his agitation was so
great that what he said had not attained coherency
when Penrod again intervened. He had just re-
membered something important.

"Oh, I know, Roddy!" he exclaimed. "If you
sell it, that'd prove it was yours almost as good as
givin' it away. What'U 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 and sound had now
become almost unbearable to Master Bitts. Sam

812 PENBOD AND SAM

was usually so good-natured that the only explana*
tion of his conduct must lie in the fact that Roddy
constitutionally got on his nerves. ^^He knows he
can't prove it! He's a goner, and now we can b^;in
callin' him anything we can think of! I choose to
call him one first, Penrod. Roddy, you're a **

"Wait!" shouted Penrod, for he really believed
Roddy's claims to be both moral and l^al. When
an unde who does not even play upon an old second-
hand horn wishes to get rid of that horn, and even
complains of having it on his hands, it seems reason-
able to consider that the horn becomes the property
of a nephew who has gone to the trouble of carrying
the undesired thing out of the house*

Penrod determined to deal fairly. The difference
between this horn and the one in the ^^music-store"
window seemed to him just about the difference
between two and eighty-five. He drew forth the
green bill from 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 a moment, the confused and bad-
gered Roddy was incredulous; he had not dreamed
that Penrod possessed such a simi.

THE HORN OF FAME 313

'^Lemme take a look at that money!'* he said.

If at first there had been in Roddy's mind a little
doubt about his present rights of ownership, he had
talked himself out of it. Also, his financial supplies
for the month were cut off, on account of the careless
dog. Finally, he thought that the horn was worth
about fifty cents.

"I'll do it, Penrod!" he said with decision.

Thereupon Penrod shouted aloud, prancing up
and down the carriage-house with the horn. Roddy
was happy, too, and mingled his voice vrfth Penrod's.

•'Hi! Hi! Hi!" shouted Roddy Bitts. ' "I'm goin*
to buy me an air-gun down at Fox's hardware store!"

And he departed, galloping.

• • • He returned the following afternoon.
School was over, and Penrod and Sam were again in
the stable; Penrod "was practising" upon the horn,
with Sam for an unenthusiastic spectator and audi-
tor. Master Bitts' brow was heavy; he looked un*
easy.

"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 said severely. "I got to practise."

814 PENROD AND SAM

And he again pressed the mouthpiece to his Iq)s.
He was not of those whom importance Tn<>^lrAfl gra«
cious.

**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 his manner was both dogged and ap-
prehensive, the apprehension being more prevalent
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 to dance triumphantly.

"Yay! It wjflum'f his, after all! Roddy Bitts told

a big 1 "

\ 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't I?"

Penrod's face had flushed with indignation.

"You look here, Sam," he began hotly. ** Didn't
you hear Roddy say this was his horn?"

"Yes, drr

*ct\:j^9m. t i_; "l j £ "xaw

THE HORN OF FAME 815

*'He said it!" Sam declared. ^^He said it a mil-
lion times!"

"Well, and didn't he sell this horn to me?"
Yes, sirt
Didn't I pay him money cash down for it?

"Two doUars!"

"Well, and ain't it my horn now, Sam?"

"You bet you!"

*'YeSy sir!" Penrod went on with vigoitt. "It's
my horn now whether it belonged to you or not,
Roddy, because you sold it to me and I paid my good
ole money for it. I guess a thing belongs to the
person that paid their own money for it, doesn't it?
I don't haf to give up my own propaty, even if you
did come on over here and told us a big 1 "

"I never r^ shouted Roddy. "It was my horn,
too, and I didn't tell any such a thing!" He paused;
then, reverting to his former manner, said stub-
bornly, "I got to have that horn back. I got to!"

"Why 'n't you tell us what /or, 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.

816 PENROD AND SAM

''You gimme that horn badk! I got to have it.**

But Pemxxl followed Sam's lead.

"Well, why can't you tell us what /or ?'* he asked.

Perhaps if Sam had not been there. Redd j could
have imbosomed himself. He had no doubt of his
own virtue in this affair, and he was conscious that
he had acted in good faith throughout — ^though,
perhaps, a Uttle impulsively. But he was in a pre-
dicament, and he knew that H he became more
explicit, Sam could establish with undeniable logic
those rights about which he had been so odious the
day before. Such triumph for Sam was not within
Roddy's power to contemplate; he felt that he would
rather die, or sumpthing.

"I got to have that horn!" he reiterated woodenly.

Penrod had no intention to humour this prepos-
terous boy, and it was only 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, and three 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?''

THE HORN OF FAME 317

^*I can't. Papa took the air-gun away from me
because he didn't like sumpthing 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 this horn and blow on it than
have you owe me two dollars?"

There was something about this simple question
which convinced Roddy that his cause was lost.
His hopes had been but faint from the beginning of
the interview.

"Well ^" said Roddy. For a time he scuflPed

the floor with his shoe* "Daw-gone it!" he said, at
last; and he departed morosely.

Penrod had already begun to "practise" again,
and Mr. Williams, after vain appeals to be permitted
to practise in turn, sank into the wheelbarrow in a
state of boredom, not remarkable under the circum-
stances. Then Penrod contrived — ^it may have been
accidental — ^to produce at one blast two tones which
varied in pitch.

His pride and excitement were extreme though
not contagious. "Listen, Sam!" he shouted. "How's
(hot for high?"

The bored Sam made no response other than to rise
languidly to his feet, stretch, and start for home.

818 FENBOD AND SAM

Left alone, Penrod's practice became less ardent;
he needed the stimulus of an auditor. "With the
horn upon his lap he hegsai to rub the greenish brass
surface with a rag. He meant to make this good ole
two-dollar horn of his look like sumpthing^!

Presently, moved by a better idea, he left the horn
in the stable and went into the house, soon afterward
appearing before his mother in the library.

''Mamma,'' he said, complainingly, ^ Delia
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 the last light of the early sunset
Well, I know it," said Penrod, lowering his voice.

But I wish you'd tell Delia to let me have the
silver polish. She says she won't, and I want to "

''Be quiet, Penrod, you can't have the sihrtf
polish."

"But, mamma ^"

"Not another word. Can't you see you're inter-
rupting yoiu* father. Go on, papa."

Mr. Schofield read aloud several des^tches from
abroad, and after each one of them Penrod began in
a low but pleading tone:

THE HORN OF FAME S19

•* Mamma, I want ''

"SA, Pemwl!"

Mr* Schofield continued to read, and Penrod re-
mained in the room, for he was determined to have
the silver polish.

^* Here's something curious," said Mr. Schofield,
as his eye fell upon a paragraph among the
"locals/*

"What?'*

" Valuable relic missing,** Mr. Schofield read. ** It
was reported at police headquarters to-day that a
valuable object had been stolen from the collection
of antique musical instruments owned by E. Mags-
worth Bitts, 724 Central Avenue. The police insist
that it must have been an inside job, but Mr. Mags-
worth Bitts inclines to think it was the work of a
n^ro, as only one article was removed and nothing
else found to be distiurbed. The object stolen was
an ancient hunting-hom dating from the eighteenth
century and claimed to have belonged to Louis XV,
King of France. It was valued at about twelve hun-
dred and fifty dollars.*'

Mrs. Schofield opened her mouth wide. "Why,
that is curious ! ** she exclaimed.

She jumped up. " Penrod ! *'

820 PENBOD AND SAM

But Penrod was no longer in the room.

"TVhat's the matter?" Mr. Schofield h

"Penrod!" said Mrs. Schofield breathlessly. "Be
txnight an old hom — like one in old hunting-pic*
tures — yesterday! He bought it with some money
Unde Joe gave him! He bought it from Boddy
Bitts!"

"Where'd he go?"

Together they rushed to the back pcnx^

Penrod had removed the lid of the cistem; he
was kneeling beside it, and the fact that theVliam-
efer of the opening into the cistem was one inch
less than the diameter of the coil of Louis the Fif-
teenth's hunting-horn was all that had just saved
Louis the Fifteenth's hunting-horn from joining the
drowned trousers~of Herman.

Such was Fenrod's instinct, and thus loyally he
had followed it.

• • • He was dragged into the library, expect-
ing anything whatever. The dreadful phrases of
the newspaper item rang through his head like the
gongs of delirium: "Police headquarters!" **Work of
a negro f" " King of France !" " Valued at about twelve
hundred and fifty dollars I '^

THE HORN OF FAME S21

Eighty-five dollars had dismayed him; twelve hun-
dred and fifty was unthinkable. Nightmares were
coming to life before his eyes.

But a light broke slowly; it came first to Mr. and
Mrs. Schofield, and it was they who illiuninated
Penrod. Slowly, slowly, as they spoke more and
more pleasantly to him, it began to dawn upon him
that this trouble was 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 re-
turn he reported that Roddy's father had been sum-
moned by telephone to bring his son to the house of
TJnde Ethelbert. Mr. Bitts had forthwith appeared
with Roddy, and, when Mr. Schofield came away,
Roddy was still (after half an hour's previous efforts)
explaining his honourable intentions. Mr. Scho-
field indicated that Roddy's condition was agitated*
and that he was having a great deal of difficulty la
making his position dear.

Penrod's imagination paused outside the thresh-
old of that room in Mr. Ethelbert Magsworth Bitts'
house, and awe fell upon him when he thought
of it. Roddy seemed to have disappeared within

S2je PENROD AND SAM

a shrouding mist where Penrod's mind refused to
foUow

**WelI, he got back his ole horn!" said Sam after
school the next afternoon. *'I Icnew we had a per-
fect right to call him whatever we wanted to! 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. "Fm goin* to learn to play
on siunpthing better'n any ole horn. It's lots better,
because you can carry it around with you anywhere,
and you couldn't a horn."

"What is it?" Sam asked, not too much pleased
by Penrod's air of superiority and high content.
"You mean a jew's-harp?"

"I guess not! I mean a flute with all silver on it
and everything. My father's goin' to buy me one."

"I bet he isn't!"

"He is, too," said Penrod; "soon as I'm tw«ity-
one years old."

CHAPTER XXin

THE PARTY

Miss Amy Rennsdcde

At Home

Saturday, the twerdy4h%rd

from three to six

R. 9, r. p. Dancing

THIS little card, delicatdy engraved, betok-
ened the hospitaUty incidental to the ninth
birthday anniversary of Baby Bennsdale,
youngest member of the Friday Afternoon Danc-
ing Class, and, by the same token, it represented
the total social activity (during that season) of a
certain Umited bachelor set consisting of Messrs.
Penrod Schofield and Samuel Williams. The truth
must be faced: Penrod and Sam were seldom in-
vited to small parties; they were considered too
imaginative. But in the case of so large an affair as
Miss Rennsdale's, the feeling that their parents
would be sensitive outweighed fears of what Penrod

823

S24 PENROD AND SAM

and Sam might do at the party. Reputation is in-
deed a bubble, but sometimes it is blown of sticky
stuff.

The comrades set out for the fgte in company,
final maternal outpourings upon deportment and
the duty of dancing with the hostess evaporating in
their freshly cleaned ears. Both boys, however,
were in a state of mind, body, and decoration ap-
propriate to the gala scene they were approaching.
Their collars were wide and white; inside the pockets
of their 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 conmiingled with glit-
tering anticipations. Before them, like a Christ-
mas tree glimpsed through lace curtains, they beheld
joy shinunering — ^music, ice-cream, macaroons, tinsel
caps, and the starched ladies of their hearts. Fenrod
and Sam walked demurely yet almost boundingly;
their faces were shining but grave — ^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?**

THE PARTY 325

"Well, whyn't you say he was 'cross the street
in the first place?" Sam returned plaintively, "Be-
sides, he's so Kttle you can't hardly see him." This
was, of course, a violent exaggeration, though Master
Chitten, 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 the street, but, in spite of its
non-committal character, the manner of both com-
mentators seemed to indicate that they had just
exchanged views upon an interesting and even
curious subject. They walked along in silence for
several minutes, staring speculatively at Master
Chitten.

His appearance was pleasant and not remarkable.
He was a handsome, dark little boy, with quick eyes
and a precociously reserved expression; his air was
"well-bred"; he was exquisitely neat, and he had a
look of manly competence which grown people found
attractive and reassuring. In short, he was a boy
of whom a timid adult stranger would have inquired
the way with confidence. And yet Sam and Penrod

S26 PENKOD AND SAM

had mysterious thoughts about him — obviously there
was something subterranean here. ^

They continued to lode at him for the greater
part of a block, when, their progress bringing them
in sight of Miss Amy Bennsdale's {Jace of residence,
their attention was directed to a group of men bear-
ing festal burdens — encased violins, a shrouded harp,
and other beckoning shapes. There were signs, too,
that most of ^* those invited" intended to miss no
moment , of this party; guests already indoors
watched from the windows the approach of the
musicians. Washed boys in black and white, aiul
girls in tender colours converged from various direc-
tions, making gayly for the thrilling gateway — and
the most beautiful little girl in all the world, Maijorie
Jones, of the amber curls, jumped from a carriage
step to the curbstone as Penrod and Sam came up.
She waved to them.

Sam responded heartily, but Penrod, feeling real
emotion and seeking to conceal it, muttered, '*'Lo,
Marjorie!'* gruffly, offering no further demonstra-
tion. Marjorie paused a moment, expectant, and
then, as he did not seize the opportunity to ask her
for the first dance, she tried not to lo(^ disajqiointed
and ran into the house ahead of the two boys. Fen-

THE PARTY 327

rod was scarlet; he wished to dance the first dance
With Marjorie, and the second and the third and
all the other dances, and he strongly desired to sit
with her "at refreshments," but he had been unable
to ask for a single one of these privileges. It would
have been impossible for him to state why he was
thus dumb, although the reason was simple and
wholly complimentary to Marjorie: she had looked
so overpoweringly pretty that she had produced in
the bosom of her admirer a severe case of stage fright.
That was " all the matter with him," but it was the
beginning of his troubles, and he did not recover
until he and Sam reached the "gentleman's dressing-
room," whither they were directed by a polity
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 even went
so far — after removing their shoes and putting on
their pumps — ^as to wash traces of blacking from their
hands in the adja^nt bathroom before assuming their
gloves. Fenrod, being in a strange mood, was one
of these, sharing the basin with little Maurice Levy.

"Carhe Chitten's here," said Maurice, as they
soaped their hands.

S28 PENBOD AND SAM

**I guess I know it," Fenrod returned. **I bet
he does sumpthing, too/'

Maurice shook his head ominously. ^WeD,
I'm gettin' tired of it. I know he was the one
stuck that cold fried egg in P'fesser Bartet's
overcoat pocket at dandn'-school, and ole p'fesser
went and blamed it on me. Then, Carlie, he c'm
up to me, th' other day, and he says, * Smell my but-
tonhole bokay.' He had some vi'lets stiddn' in his
buttonhole, and I went to smell 'em and water
squirted on me out of 'em. I guess I've stood about
enough, and if he does another thing I don't like,
he better look out!"

Fenrod showed some interest, inquiring for details,
whereupon Maiuice explained that if Master Chitten
displeased him further. Master Chitten would re-
ceive a blow upon one of his features. Maurice
was simple and homely about it, seeking rhetorical
vigour rather than elegance; in fact, what he defi-
nitely promised Master Chitten was **a bang on the
snoot."

"Well," said Fenrod, "he never bothered ms any.
I expect he knows too much for that!"

A cry of pain was heard from the dressing-room
at this juncture, and, glancing through the doorway>

THE PARTY 829

Maurice and Fenrod beheld Sam Williams in the act
of sucking his right thumb with vehemence, the
while his brow was contorted and his eyes watered.
He came into the bathroom and held his thumb under
a faucet.

" That dam little Carlie Chitten !" he complained,
** He ast me to hold a Kttle tin box he showed me. He
told me to hold it between my thumb and fingers and
he'd show me sumpthing. Then he pushed the lid,
and a big needle came out of a hole and stuck me half
through my thumb. That's a nice way to act, isn't
it?"

Carlie Chitten's dark head showed itself cau-
tiously beyond the casing of the door.
How's your thumb, Sam?" he asked.
You wait!" Sam shouted, turning fmiously, but
the small prestidigitator was gone. With a smoth-
ered laugh, CarEe dashed through the groups of boys
in the dressing-room and made his way downstairs,
his manner reverting to its usual polite gravity before
he entered the drawing-room, where his hostess
waited. Music soimding at about this time, he was
followed by the other boys, who came trooping down,
leaving the dressing-room empty.

Fenrod, among the tail-enders of the procession.

330 PENKOD AND SAM

made his dancing-school bow to Miss Rennsdale and
her grown-up supporters (two maiden aunts and a
governess) then he looked about for Maijorie, dis-
covering her but too easily. Her amber curls were
swaying gently in time to the music; she looked
never more beautiful, and her partner was Master
Chitten!

A pang of great penetrative power and equal un-
expectedness foimd the most vulnerable spot be-
neath the simple black of Fenrod SchoJBeld's jacket
Straightway he turned his back upon the crash-
covered floors where the dancers were, and moved
gloomily toward the hall. But one of the maiden
aunts Rennsdale waylaid him.

"It's Penrod Schofield, isn't it?'' she asked. *'0r
Sammy Williams? I'm not sure which. Is it Pen-
rod?"

"Ma'am?" he said. "Yes'm."

" Well, Penrod, I can find a partner for you. There
are several dear little girls over here, if you'll come
with me.

" Well " He paused, shifted from one foot to

the other, and looked enigmatic. "I better not," he
said. He meant no offence; his trouble was only
that he had not yet learned how to do as he pleased

THE PARTY 8S1

at a party and, at the same time, to seem polite
about it. "I guess I don't want to," he added.

"Very well!'' And Miss Bennsdale instantly
left him to his own devices.

- He went to lurk in the wide doorway between the
hall and the drawing-room — ^under such conditions
the universal refuge of his sex at all ages. There he
foimd several boys of notorious shyness, and stood
with them in a mutually protective group. Now
and then one of them would lean upon another until
repelled by action and a husky "What's matter 'th
you? Get oflf o' me!" They all twisted their slen-
der necks uneasily against the inner bands of their
collars at intervals, and sometimes exchanged face-
tious blows under cover. In the distance Penrod
caught glimpses of amber curls flashing to and fro,
and he knew himself to be among the derelicts.

He remained in this questionable sanctuary during
the next dance, but, edging along the wall to lean more
comfortably in a comer, as the music of the third
sounded, he overheard part of a conversation which
somewhat concerned him. The participants were
the governess of his hostess. Miss Lowe, and that one
of the aunts Bennsdale who had offered to provide
him with a partner. These two ladies were stand

8S2 PENROD AND SAM

ing just in front of him, unconscious of his nea^
ness.

^'I never/' said 'Miss Rennsdale, *^ never saw a more
fascinating little boy than that Carlie Chitten.
There'll be some heartaches when he grows up; I
can't keep my eyes ofif him."

^^Yes; he's a charming boy," said Miss Lowe.
'^His manners are remarkable."

*^He's a little man of the world," the enthusiastic
Miss Rennsdale went on, "very different from such
boys as Penrod Schofield!"

"Oh, Penrod r* Miss Lowe exdaimed. "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 danc-
ing dass some Friday with Amy and me, you'd under-
stand why."

They moved away. Penrod heard his name again
mentioned between them as they went, and though
he did not catch the accompanying remark^ he was
inclined to think it unfavourable. He remained
where he was, brooding morbidly.

He understood that the government was against

THE PARTY SSS

him, nor was his judgment at fault in this conclusion.
He was affected, also, by the conduct of Marjorie.
who was now dancing gayly with Maurice Levy, a
fonner rival of Penrod's. The fact that Penrod had
not gone near her did not make her culpability seem
the less; in his gloomy heart he resolved not to ask
her for one single dance. He would not go near her.
He would not go near any of *em I

His eyes began to bum, and he swallowed heavily;
but he was never one to succimib piteously to such
emotion, and it did not even enter his head that he
'vas at liberty to return to his own home. Neither
he nor any of his friends had ever left a party until
it was officially concluded. What his sufferings de-
manded of him now for their alleviation was not
departure but action!

Underneath the surface, nearly all children's par-
ties contain a group of outlaws who wait only for a
leader to hoist the black flag. The group consists
mainly of boys too shy to be at ease with the girls,
but who wish to distinguish themselves in some way;
and there are others, ordinarily well behaved, whom
the mere actuality of a party makes drunken. The
effect of music^ too* upon children is incalculable,
especially when they do not hear it often — and both

8S4 PENKOD AND SAM

a snare-drum and a bass drum were in the expenave
orchestra at the Rennsdale party.

Nevertheless, the outlawry at any party may remain
incipient unless a chieftain appears, but in Penrod's
comer were now gathering into one anarchical mood
all the necessary qualifications for leadership. Out
of that bitter comer there stepped, not a Penrod Scho-
field subdued and hoping to win the lost favour of the
Authorities, but a hot-hearted rebel determined on an
uprising.

Smiling a reckless and challenging smile, he re-
turned to the cluster of boys in the wide doorway and
began to push one and another of them about. They
responded hopefuUy with counter-pushes, and pres-
ently there was a tumultuous surging and eddying in
that quarter, accompanied by noises which b^an to
compete with the music. Then Penrod allowed him-
self to be shoved out among the circling dancers,
so that he collided with Marjorie and Maurice Levy,
almost oversetting them.

He made a mock bow and a mock apology, being
inspired to invent a jargon phrase.

"Excuse me,*' he said, at the same time making
vocal his own conception of a taimting laugh. ** Ex-
cuse me, but I must V got your bumpus!**

THE PARTY 335

Marjorie looked grieved and turned away with
Maurice, but the boys in the doorway squealed with
maniac laughter.

"Gotcher biunpus! Gotcher bumpus!" they
shrilled. And they began to push others of their
number against the dancing couples, shouting,
"'Scuse me! Grotcher bumpus!'*

It became a contagion and then a game. As the
dances went on, strings of boys, led by Penrod, pur-
sued one another across the rooms, howling, ** Gotcher
bumpus!" at the top of their Iimgs. They dodged
and ducked, and seized upon dancers as shields;
they caromed from one couple into another, and even
into the musicians of the orchestra. Boys who were
dancing abandoned their partners and joined the
marauders, shrieking, "Gotcher bumpus!" Potted
plants went down; a slender gilt chair refused to sup-
port the hurled body of Master Roderick Magsworth
Bitts, and the sound of splintering wood mingled with
otker sounds. Dancing became impossible; Miss Amy
Rennsdale wept in the midst of the riot, and every-
body knew that Penrod Schofield had "started it."

Under instructions, the leader of the orchestra,
clapping his hands for attention, stepped to the cen-
tre of the drawing-room, and shouted,

SS6 PENBOD AND SAM

"A moment silenoe» if you bleaoe!"

Slowly the hubbub ceased; the virtuous and the
wicked paused alike in their courses to listen. Miss
Amy Rennsdale was borne away to have her teaiful
face washed, and Marjorie Jones and Carlie Chitten
and Georgie Bassett came forward oonsciousIy» es-
corted by Miss Lowe. The musiciaii waited until
the return of the small hostess; then he announced
in a loud voice:

"A fency dence called *Les Papillons% denoed by
Miss Amy Rennstul, Miss Chones, Mister Chorch
Passett, ant Mister Jitten. Some young chentlemen
haf mate so much noise ant confoosion. Miss Lowe
wish me to ask bleace no more such a nonsense.
Fency dence, *Les Papillons.' **

Thereupon, after formal salutations, Mr. Chitten
took Marjorie's hand, Greorgie Bassett took Miss
Rennsdale's, and they proceeded to dance **Les Papil-
lons" in a manner which made up in conscientious-
ness whatever it may have lacked in abandon. The
outlaw leader looked on, smiling a smile intended to
represent careless contempt, but in reality he was
unpleasantly siuprised. A fancy dance by Greoigie
Bassett and Baby Rennsdale was customary at every
party attended by members of the Friday Afternoon

THE PARTY 337

Dancing Class, but Marjorie and Carlie Chilten were
new performers, and Penrod had not heard that they
had learned to dance "Les Papillons" 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 the insurgent cluster,
which had been awed to temporary quiet but still
maintained its base m the drawing-room" doomay.
There was a general "iSA/" followed by a shocked
whispering, as well as a general turning ot eyes to-
ward Penrod. But it was not Penrod who had
laughed, though no one would have credited him
with an alibi. The laughter came from two throats
that breathed as one with such perfect simultaneous-
ness that only one was credited with the disturbance.
These two throats belonged respectively to Samuel
Williams and Maurice Levy, who were standing
in a strikingly Rosencrantz-and-Guildenstem atti-
tude.

"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 he says,
*Here, you take it!' all of a sudden, and he stuck it in
my hand so quick I never thought. And then, bim I

9S8 FENROD AND SAM

his olc needle shot out and perty near went thiou^
my thumb-bone or sumpthing. He'U be sony before
this day's over!'*

"Well," said Sam darkly, "he's goin' to be sorry
he stuck TM^ anyway!" Neither Sam nor Maurice
had even the vaguest plan for causing the desired
regret in the breast of Master Chitten, but both
derived a"^ little consolation from these prophecies.
And they, too, had aligned themselves with the insur-
gents. Their motives were personal — Carlie Chitten
had wronged both of them, and Carlie was conspicu-
ously in high favour with the Authorities."*: Naturally
Sam and Maurice were against the Authorities.

"Les Papillons" came to a conclusion.* ' Carlie and
Georgie bowed; Marjorie Jones and Baby Beims-
dale courtesied, and there was loud applause. In
fact, the demonstration became so uproarious that
some measure of it was open to suspicion, especially
as hisses of reptilian venomousness were commingled
with it, and also a hoarse but vociferous repetition
of the dastard words, " Carlie dances rotten I " Again
it was the work of Rosencrantz and Guildenstem,
but the plot was attributed to another.

^^ShamCy Penrod Schofield!" said both the aunts
Rennsdale publicly, and Penrod, wholly innocent.

THE PARTY 889

became scarlet with indignant mortification. Carlie
Chitten himself » however, marked the true offenders.
A sUght flush tinted his cheeks, and then, in his quiet,
self-contained way, he sKpped through the crowd of
girls and boys, unnoticed, into the hall, and ran noise-
lessly up the stairs and into the "gentlemen's dress-
ing room," now inhabited only by hats, caps, over-
coats, and the temporarily discarded shoes of the
dancers. Most of the shoes stood in rows against
the wall, and Carlie examined these rows attentivdy,
after a tune discovering a pair of shoes with patent
leather tips. He knew them; they belonged to Mau-
rice Levy, and pickmg them up, he went to acomer
of the room where four shoes had been left together
under a chair. Upon the chair were overcoats and
caps which he was able to identify as the property of
Penrod Schofield and Samuel WilUams, but, as he
was not sure which pair of shoes belonged to Penrod
and which to Sam, he added both pairs to Maurice's
and carried them into the bathroom. Here he set
the plug in the tub, turned the faucets, and, after
looking about him and discovering large supplies of
all sorts in a wall cabinet, he tossed six cakes of green
soap into the tub. He let the soap remain in the
water to soften a Uttle, and, returning to the dressing

340 FENBOD AND SAM

room, whiled away the time in mixing and Tnignudrog
pairs of shoes along the walls, and also in tyisg
the strings of the mismated shoes together in hard
knots.

Throughout all this, his expression wa3 grave and
intent; his bright eyes grew brighter, but he did not
smile. Carlie Chitten was a singular boy, though
not unique: he was an "only child," lived at a hotel,
and found life there favourable to the development
of certain peculiarities in his nature. He played a
lone hand, and with what precodous diplomacy he
played that curious hand was attested by the fact
that Carlie was brilliantly 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 up-
stairs to prepare a vengenace upon Sam and Maiuioe
in return for their slurs upon his dancing, he did not
confine his efforts to the belongings of those two
alone. He provided every boy in the house with
something to think about later, when shoes should be
resumed; and he was far from stopping at that
Casting about him for some material that he desired,
he opened a door of the dressing-room and found
himself confronting the apartment of Miss LowOi

THE PARTY 341

Upon a desk he beheld the bottle of mucilage he
wanted, and» having taken possession of it, he al-
lowed his eye the privilege of a rapid glance into a
dressing table drawer, accidentally left open.

He returned to the dressing room, five seconds
later, carrying not only the mucilage but a "switch"
worn by Miss Lowe when her hair was dressed in a
fashion different from that which she had favoured
for the party. This "switch*' he placed in the pocket
of a juvenile overcoat unknown vto him, and then he
took the mucilage into the bathroom. There he
rescued from the water the six cakes of soap, placed
one in each of the six shoes, poimding it down securely
into the toe of the shoe with the handle of a back
brush. After that, Carlie poured mucilage into all
six shoes impartially imtil the bottle was empty,
then took them back to their former positions in the
dressing room. Finally, with careful forethought,
he placed his own shoes in the pockets of his overcoat,
and left the overcoat and his cap upon a chair near
the outer door of the room. Then he went quietly
downstairs, having been absent from the festivities
a little less than twelve minutes. He had been
^lergetic — only a boy could have accomplished so
much in so short a time. In fact, CarUe had been

S4t FENROD AND SAM

so busy that his forgetting to turn off the faucets in
the bathroom is not at all siuprising.

No one had noticed his absence. That infectious
pastime, *^ Gotcher bumpus/' had broken out again,
and the general dancing, which had been resumed
upon the conclusion of ^^Les Papillons," was onee
more becoming demoralized. Despairingly the aunti
Rennsdale and Miss Lowe brought forth from the
rear of the house a couple of waiters and commanded
them to arrest the ringleaders, whereupon hilarious
terror spread among the outlaw band. Shouting
taimtingly at their pursuers, they fled — and bellow-
ing, trampling flight swept throu^ every quarter
of the house.

Refreshments quelled this outbreak for a time.
The orchestra played a march; Carlie Chitten and
Georgie Bassett, with Amy Rennsdale and Marjorie,
formed the head of a procession, while all the boys
who had retained their sense of decorum immediately
sought partners and fell in behind. The outlaws,
succumbing to ice cream himger, 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," the children paraded out
bo the dining-room. Two and two they marched}

/-I

THE PARTY 843

eaccept at tlie extreme tail end of the line, where,
8mce there were three more boys than girls at the
party, the three left-over boys were placed. These
three were also the last three outlaws to succumb and
return to civilization from outlying portions of the
house after the pursuit by waiters. They were
Messieurs Maurice Levy, Samuel Williams, and Fen*
rod Schofield.

They took their chairs in the capacious dining
room quietly enough, though their expressions
were eloquent of bravado, and they jostled one
another and their neighbours intentionally, even in
the act of sitting. However, it was not long before
delectable foods engaged their whole attention and
Miss Amy Rennsdale's party relapsed into etiquette
for the following twenty minutes. The refection
concluded with the mild explosion of papen ^^crack*
ers,*' which erupted bright-coloured, fantastic head-
gear, and during the snapping of the ^^crackers,"
Fenrod heard the voice of Marjorie calling from
somewhere behind him, "Carlie and Amy, will you
change chairs with Georgie Bassett and me — just
for fun? " The chairs had been placed in rows, back
to back, and Fenrod would not even turn his head
to see if Master Chitten and Miss Rennsdale ac-

344

PENROD AND SAM

cepted Marjorie's prcq[>08al, though they were di-
rectly behind him and Sam, but he grew red and
breathed hard. A moment later, the liberty-cai
which he had set upon his head was softly removed
and a little crown of silver paper put in its place.

''Penrodr'

The whisper was dose to his ear, and a gentl
breath cooled the back of his neck.

CHAPTER XXIV

THE HEABT OF MABJOBIE JONES

WELL, what you want?" Penrod asked»
brusquely.
Marjorie's wonderful eyes were dark
itnd mysterious, like still water at twilight.

"What makes you behave so awful ?^^ she whis-
pered.

"I don't either! I guess I got a right to do the
way I want to, haven't I?"

Well, anyway," said Marjorie, "you ou^ht to
quit bumping into people so it hurts.

** VYeu, anyway, soiu xYxorjurit;,

S."

"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 and cold. "I will if I feel like

845

S46 FENBOD AND SAM

it, and I won't if I fed like it. You wait and

06C*

But Marjorie jumped up and ran around to liim
abandoning her esoorL All the children were leav-
ing their chairs and moving toward the dandng-
rooms; the orchestra was playing dance-music
again.

"Come on, Penrod!'* Marjorie cried. "Let^s
go dance this together. Come on!"

With seeming reluctance, he suffered her to lead
him away. "Well, I'll go with you, but I won't
dance," he said. "I wouldn't dance with the Presi-
dent of the United States !''

"Why, Penrod?''

"Well— because— well, I won't do it!"

"All right. I don't care. I guess Fve danced
plenty, anyhow. Let's go in here." She led him
into a room too small for dancing, used ordinarily
by Miss Amy Bennsdale's papa as his study, and
now vacant. For a while there was silence, but
finally Marjorie pointed to the window and said
shyly:

"Look, Penrod, it's getting dark. The partyll
be over pretty soon, and you've never danced one
single time!'

>»

THE HEART OF MABJORIE JONES 847

**Well, I guess I know that, don't I?"

He was unable to cast aside his outward trueulence,
though it was but a reKc. However, his voice was
gentleir, and Marjorie seemed satisfied. From the
other rooms came the swinging music, shouts of
**Gotcher bumpus!** sounds of stumbling, of scramb-
ling, of running, of muffled concussions, and squeals
of dismay. Penrod's followers were renewing the
wild work, even in the absence of their chief.

"Penrod Schofield, you bad boy,** said Marjorie,
"you started every bit of that! You ought to be
ashamed of yourself."

**/ didn't do anything," he said — and he believed
it. "Pick on me for everything!"

"Well, they wouldn't if you didn't do so much,"
«aid Marjorie.

They would, too.'

They wouldn't, either. Who would?

"That Miss Lowe," he specified bitterly. "Yes,
and Baby Rennsdale's aunts. If the house'd bum
down, I bet they'd say Penrod Schofield did it!
Anybody does anything at all, they say, * Penrod
Schofield, shame on you!* When you and Carlie
were dan **

"Penrod, I just hate that little Carlie Chitten.

S48 PENROD AND SAM

P'fesser Bartet made me learn that dance with him,
but I just hate him."

Penrod was now ahnost completely mollified;
nevertheless, he continued to set forth his grievance.
"Well, they all tinned aroimd to me and they said,
*Why, Penrod Schofield, shame on you!* And
1 hadn't done a single thing! 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 house was 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 rain-
ing in here ! A drop fell on my ^"

"Why, it couldn't " he began. But at this

instant a drop fell upon his head, too, and, looking
up, they beheld a great oozing splotch upon the
ceiling. Drops were gathering upon it and falling;
the tinted plaster was cracking, and a little stream
began to patter down and splash upon the floor.

THE HEART OF MABJORIE JONES 349

Then there came a resounding thump upstairs, just
above them, and fragments of wet plaster fell.

" The roof must be leaking,'* said Marjorie, begin-
ning to be alarmed.

"Couldn't be the roof," said Penrod. "Besides
there ain't any rain outdoors."

As he spoke, a second slender stream of water
began to patter upon the floor of the hall outside the
door.

"Good gracious!" Marjorie cried, while the ceiling
above them shook as with earthquake — or as with
boys in numbers jumping, and a great uproar burst
forth overhead.

"I believe the house is falling down, Penrod!"
she quavered.

"Well, they'll blame me for it!" he said. "Any-
ways, we better get out o' here. I guess i^umpthing
must be the matter."

His guess was accurate, so far as it went. The
dance-music had swung into "Home Sweet Home"
some tune before, the children were preparing to
leave, and Master Chitten had been the first boy to
ascend to the gentleinen's dressing-room for his
cap, overcoat, and shoes, his motive being to avoid
by departure any difficulty in case his earlier activi-

850 PENROD AND SAM

ties should cause him to be suspected by the olhef
boys. But in the doorway he halted^ aghast.

The lights had not been turned on» but even the
dim windows showed that the polished floor gave
back reflections no floor-polish had ever equalled.
It was a gently steaming lake, from an eighth to a
quarter of an inch deep. And Carlie realized that
he had forgotten to turn off the faucets in the bath-
room.

For a moment, his saooirfaire deserted him, and he
was filled with ordinary, human-boy panic. Then, at
a sound of voices behind him, he lost his head and
rushed into the bathroom. It was dark, but cer-
tain sensations and the splashing of his pumps warned
him that the water was deeper in there. The next
instant the lights were switched on in both bathroom
and dressing-room, and Carlie beheld Sam Williams in
the doorway of the former. •

**0h, look, Maurice!" Sam shouted, in frantic
excitement. "Somebody's let the tub run over, and
it's about ten feet deep! Carlie Chitten's sloshin'
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 slipped and went swishing full l^igth

THE HEART OF MABJORIE JONES 351

along the floor, creating a little surf before him as
he slid, to the demoniac happiness of Sam and Mau-
rice. They closed the door, however, and, as other
boys rushed, shouting and splashing, into the flooded
dressing-room, Carlie began to hammer upon the
panels. Then the owners of shoes, striving to res-
cue them from the increasing waters, made discov-
eries.

The most dangerous time to give a large children's
party is when there has not been one for a long
period. The Rennsdale party had that misfortune,
and its climax was the complete and convulsive
madness of the gentlemen's dressing-room during
those final moments supposed to be given to quiet
preparations, on the part of guests, for departure.

In the upper hall and upon the stairway, panic-
stricken little girls listened, wild-eyed, to the uproar
that went on, while waiters and maid servants rushed
with pails and towels into what was essentially the
worst ward in Bedlam. Boys who had behaved
properly all afternoon now gave way and joined the
confraternity ci lunatics. The floors of the house
shook to tramplings, rushes, wrestlings, falls, and
collisions. The walls resounded to chorused bel-

852 PENROD AND SAM

lowings and roars. There were pipings of pain and
pipings of joy; there was whistling to pierce the
drums of ears; there were hootings and howlings and
bleatings and screechings, while over all bleated the
heathen battle-cry incessantly: **Gotcker bumpusl
Gotcher humjms /" For the boys had been inspired
by the unusual water to transform Penrod's game of
*' Gotcher bumpus" into an aquatic sport, 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 the deafened and distracted maids and
waiters who were working to stem the tide, while
the other of the aunts Rennsdale stood with her niece
and Miss Lowe at the foot of the stairs, trying to
say good-night reassuringly to those of the terrified
little girls who were able to tear themselves away.
This latter aimt Rennsdale marked a dripping figure
which came unobtrusively, and yet in a self-contained
and gentlemanly manner, down the stairs.

"Carlie Chitten!" she cried. "You poor dear
child, you're soaking! To think those outrageous
little fiends wouldn't even spare you/** As she

THE HEART OF MARJORIE JONES S5S

spdke, another departing male guest came from be-
hind Carlie and placed in her hand a snakelike
article — ^a thing which Miss Lowe seized and con-
cealed with one sweeping gesture.

^'It's some false hair somebody must of put in
my overcoat pocket," said Roderick Magsworth
Bitts. "Well, g*-night. Thank you for a very nice
time."

"Good-night, Miss Rennsdale," said Master Chit-
ten demiu-ely. "Thank you for a "

But Miss Rennsdale detained him.

"Carlie," she said earnestly, "you're a dear boy,
and I know you'll tell me something. It was all
Penrod Schofield, wasn't it? "

"You mean he left the "

"I mean," she said, in a low tone, not altogether
devoid of ferocity, "I mean it was Penrod who left
the faucets running, and Penrod who tied the boys'
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 the eye, Carlie!
They were all shouting that silly thing he started.
Didn't he do it?"

Carlie cast down thoughtful eyes. "I wouldn't
like to tell, Miss Rennsdale," he said. "I guess I

354 PENROB AND SAM

better be going or I'll catch cold. Thank you for n
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 just know
it was that terrible Penrod Schofield."

Behind her, a low voice, unheard by all except the
person to whom it spoke, repeated a part of thiB
speech: "What did I tell you?'*

This voice belonged to one Penrod Schofield.

Penrod and Marjorie had descended by another
stairway, and he now considered it wiser to pass to
the rear of the little party at the foot of the stairs.
As he was still in his pumps, his choked shoes occupy-
ing his overcoat pockets, he experienced no difficulty
in reaching the front door, and getting out of it
unobserved, although the noise upstairs was greatly
abated. Marjorie, however, made her courtesies
and farewells in a creditable manner.

"There!" said Penrod again, when she rejoined
him in the darkness outside. "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
put mucilage and soap in my own shoes."

Marjorie delayed at the gate until some eagerly

THE HEART OF MAKJORIE JONES 855

talkmg little girls had passed out. The name "Fen-
rod Schofield" was thick and scandalous among them.

"Well," said Marjorie, "/ wouldn't care, Penrod,
'Course, about soap and mucilage in your shoes,
anybody*d know some other 'boy must of put 'em
there to get even for what you put in his/*

Pem*od gasped.

"But I didrCt /" he cried. "I didn't do anything !
That ole Miss Rennsdale can say what she wants
to, I didn't do a "

"Well, anyway, Penrod," said Marjorie, softly,
"they can't ever Tprove it was 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 at all!"

She leaned toward him a little, and the lights from
her waiting carriage illumined her dimly, but enough
for him to see that her look was fond and proud,
yet almost awed.

"Anyway, Penrod," she whispered, "I don't be-
lieve there's any other boy in the whole world could
of done half as much!"

And with that she left him, and ran out to the
carriage.

-— Wfli I Wmmi ' mAUSk t\mwmm\

t
t

t
I

■

856 FENROD AND SAM

But Fenrod remained by the gate to wait for Sam,
and the 'burden of his sorrows was beginning to
lift. In fact, he felt a great deal better, in spite
of his having just discovered why Marjorie loved
him.

■r^'-tiL- _, .^

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