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Updated: June 11, 2025
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."
"Well, anyway," said Marjorie, "you ought to quit bumping into people so it hurts." "Poh! It wouldn't hurt a fly!" "Yes, it did. It hurt when you bumped Maurice and me that time." "It didn't either. WHERE'D it hurt you? Let's see if it " "Well, I can't show you, but it did. Penrod, are you going to keep on?" Penrod's heart had melted within him; but his reply was pompous and cold.
She added that all members of the Williams family had gone out of town to attend the funeral of a relative, but she wished that they might have remained to attend Penrod's, which she confidently predicted as imminent if the neighbourhood followed its natural impulse. Penrod listened for a time, but departed before the conclusion of the oration.
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 nature did suffer from the strain, he was not unique.
Perhaps Penrod's mind was not working well, for he failed to remember that no law compelled him to remain under the eye of the red-faced man, but the virulent repulsion excited by his attempt to take a bite of the third sausage inspired him with at least an excuse for postponement. "Mighty good," he murmured feebly, placing the sausage in the pocket of his jacket with a shaking hand.
Looky here, Sam" and now Penrod's manner changed from the superior to the eager "you 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; but the best they have are white all over. Well, what kind of a horse is this we got here?
"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 our 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.
Penrod's reiteration of his new-found 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?"
Her cheeks were flushed; her eyes were brimming with the wind, but when she looked at Penrod, they were brimming with something more. Gurgling sounds came from her. Penrod's expression had become grim. He offered no second protest, mainly because he, likewise, would not waste his breath, and if he would, he could not. Of breath in the ordinary sense breath, breathed automatically he had none.
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 concerning this work of rescue. "Can you see it, Sam? Why don't it grab hold? What's it doin' now, Sam?" "It's spittin' at Herman's trousers," said Sam.
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