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Updated: May 28, 2025
The noon whistles failed to disturb this little Arcady; only the sound of Mrs. Jones' voice for the third time summoning Marjorie and Mitchy-Mitch to lunch sent Penrod on his way. "I could come back this afternoon, I guess," he said, in parting. "I'm not goin' to be here. I'm goin' to Baby Rennsdale's party." Penrod looked blank, as she intended he should.
However, upon excruciating entreaty, he consented to explore the surface of the water with a clothes-prop, but reported that the luckless trousers had disappeared in the depths, Herman having forgotten 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 remarked.
Contrariwise, the unfortunate Penrod, largely because of his recent dazzling but disastrous attempts to control forces far beyond him, had been given a clear title as the Worst Boy in Town.
Consequently, having been driven into a cul-de-sac, as a result of flagrant and unfounded boasting, he was ready to take advantage of what appeared to be a triumphal way out. "Roddy," said Penrod again, with solemnity, "is Rena Magsworth some relation of yours?" "IS she, Roddy?" asked Sam, almost hoarsely. "She's my aunt!" shouted Roddy. Silence followed.
"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.
Although the pressure had thus been relieved and Penrod found peace with himself, nevertheless there were times during the rest of that week when he felt a strong distaste for Margaret.
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!
"Doesn't the Bible say it ain't never right to hit the weak sex?" "Ow! SAY, look OUT!" "So you'd go and punch a pore, weak, little girl, would you?" said the barber, reprovingly. "Well, who said I'd hit her?" demanded the chivalrous Penrod. "I bet I'd FIX her though, all right. She'd see!" "You wouldn't call her names, would you?" "No, I wouldn't! What hurt is it to call anybody names?"
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.
We're having lunch early just on your account, so you'll have plenty of time to be dressed for the pageant. Hurry!" There was silence in Penrod's aerie. "PEN-rod!" Mrs. Schofields voice sounded nearer, indicating a threatened approach. Penrod bestirred himself: he blew out the lantern, and shouted plaintively: "Well, ain't I coming fast's I can?"
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