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Sam had a premonition that something even more painful than Penrod's knuckle was going to be inflicted upon him. "THAT don' hurt," said Penrod, pushing him away. "Yes, it does, too!" Sam rubbed his temple. "Puh! It didn't hurt me, did it, Rupie? Come on in, Rupe: show this baby where he's got a wart on his finger." "You showed me that trick," Sam objected. "You already did that to me.
At this bidding, Rupe approached, while Sam, still protesting, moved to the threshold of the outer door; but Penrod seized him by the shoulders and swung him indoors with a shout. "Little baby wants to run home to its Mom-muh! Here he is, Rupie."
Sam, maintaining his position near the other door, Penrod went to him and caught him round the neck. "Watch me, Rupie!" Penrod called, and performed upon Sam the knuckle operation which he had himself just undergone, Sam submitting mechanically, his eyes fixed with increasing uneasiness upon Rupe Collins.
"Who you callin' 'bo?" was the ungracious response, accompanied by immediate action of a similar nature. Rupe held Penrod's head in the crook of an elbow and massaged his temples with a hard-pressing knuckle. "I was only in fun, Rupie," pleaded the sufferer, and then, being set free, "Come here, Sam," he said. "What for?" Penrod laughed pityingly. "Pshaw, I ain't goin' to hurt you. Come on."
Our captors belonged to the Twenty-first Prussian Regiment and were, so far as we knew, the first of their kind we had been up against, all previous comers on our front having been Bavarians and latterly of the army group of Prince Ruprecht of Bavaria "Rupie," we called him. They wore the baggy grey clothes and clumsy looking leather top boots of the German infantryman.
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