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Updated: June 11, 2025
The audience had recovered breath, but had lost self-control, and there ensued something later described by a participant as a sort of cultured riot. The actors in the "pageant" were not so dumfounded by Penrod's costume as might have been expected.
And a few minutes later he added, "And I think I know the place to do it in." Again the faithful voice of Duke was heard, pleading outside the bolted door. "One-two-three; one-two-three glide!" said Professor Bartet, emphasizing his instructions by a brisk collision of his palms at "glide." "One-two-three; one-two-three glide!" The school week was over, at last, but Penrod's troubles were not.
"Nothin' but a little good ole mud." On a fair Saturday afternoon in November Penrod's little old dog Duke returned to the ways of his youth and had trouble with a strange cat on the back porch.
Besides, it is oftener than is expected the case that extremely peculiar expressions upon the countenances of boys are entirely overlooked, and suggest nothing to the minds of people staring straight at them. Certainly Penrod's expression which, to the perception of his family, was perfectly horrible caused not the faintest perturbation in the breast of Mr. Kinosling. Mr.
He began to feel lively and rolled the more; in every way he convinced Penrod that dogs have no regard for appearances. Also, having discovered an ex-fish near the Herman and Verman cottage, Duke confirmed an impression of Penrod's that dogs have a peculiar fancy in the matter of odours that they like to wear. Growing livelier and livelier, Duke now wished to play with his master.
Verman endeavoured to oblige, though giggles continued to leak from him at intervals, and the three boys stole along the fence in single file, proceeding in this fashion until they reached Penrod's own front gate. Here the leader ascertained, by a reconnaissance as far as the corner, that the hostile forces were still looking for them in another direction.
This operation being completed, and Penrod's right thumb severely bitten, Mitchy-Mitch closed his eyes tightly, stamped, squealed, bellowed, wrung his hands, and then, unexpectedly, kicked Penrod again. Penrod put a hand in his pocket and drew forth a copper two-cent piece, large, round, and fairly bright. He gave it to Mitchy-Mitch.
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, so 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?"
I bet you hated to give up that good ole horn, Penrod." But Penrod was serene. He was even a little superior. "Pshaw!" he said. "I'm goin' to learn to play on sumpthing better'n 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.
Each glanced pleasantly at the other's medal. They faced each other without shame. Neither had the slightest sense of hypocrisy in himself 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 little disappointment, to the lifeless street and to the empty yards and spectatorless windows of the neighbourhood.
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