noon
`` Fix it so 's your horses 'll step on their feet if they do n't do what I say ! '' Then , from his shining saddle , he watched the throngs slinking away . `` I guess they know who I am NOW ! '' These broodings helped a little ; but it was a severe morning , and on his way home at noon he did not recover heart enough to practice the bullfrog 's croak , the craft that Sam Williams had lately mastered to inspiring perfection . This sonorous accomplishment Penrod had determined 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 .