Chapter 8 of Penrod and Sam This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Jonathan Burchard, April 2009. Penrod and Sam by Booth Tarkington, Chapter 8, Salvage. The two boys shrieked with excitement as they beheld the coincidence of the strange return. They burst into the stable, making almost as much noise as Duke, who had become frantic at the invasion. Sam laid hands upon a rake.  I ain't afraid to drive them out, I— Wait a minute! Penrod shouted, Wait till I— Sam was manfully preparing to enter the stall.  I'm going to hit him. Quit! Penrod shouted, grasping the handle of the rake so that Sam could not use it. Wait a minute, can't you? He turned with ferocious voice and gestures upon Duke. Duke! And Duke, in spite of his excitement, was so impressed that he prostrated himself in silence, and then unobtrusively withdrew from the stable. Penrod ran to the alley doors and closed them. My gracious Sam protested, What are you going to do? I'm going to keep this horse, said Penrod, whose face showed the strain of a great idea. What for? For the reward, Penrod said simply. Sam sat down in the wheelbarrow and stared at his friend almost with awe. My gracious, he said, I never thought of that. How much do you think we'll get, Penrod? Sam's thus admitting himself to a full partnership in the enterprise meant no objection from Penrod, who was absorbed in the contemplation of Whitey. Well, he said judicially, We might get more and we might get less. Sam rose and joined his friend in the doorway opening upon the two stalls. Whitey had preempted the nearer and was hungrily nuzzling the old frayed hollows in the manger. Maybe a hundred dollars or something, Sam asked in a low voice. Penrod maintained his composure and repeated the newfound expression that had sounded well to him a moment before. He recognized it as a symbol of the non-committal attitude that makes people looked up to. Well, he made it slow and frowned. We might get more and we might get less.  Sam gasped. Well, said Penrod. We might get more and we might get less. This time, however, he felt the need of adding something. He put a question in an indulgent tone, as though he were inquiring, not to add to his own information, but to discover the extent of Sam's. How much do you think we'll get? I don't think horses are worth anyway. I don't know, Sam said frankly, and unconsciously he added, they might be more and they might be less. Well, when our old horse died, Penrod said, Papa said he wouldn't take in five hundred dollars for him. That's how much horses are worth. My gracious, Sam exclaimed. Then he had a practical afterthought. But maybe he was a better horse in this one. What color was he? He was big. Looky here, Sam, and now Penrod's men are 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?  Well, a bay horse is worth five hundred dollars, because that's what Papa said, and this horse, Sam interrupted rather timidly. He's awfully bony, Penrod. You don't think they'd make any Penrod laugh contemptuously? Bony? All he needs is a little food, and he'll fill right up and look good as ever. You don't know much about horses, Sam, I expect. Why, our old horse, do you expect he's hungry now? Ask Sam, staring at Whitey. Let's try him, said Penrod. Horses like hay and oats the best, but they'll eat most anything. I guess they will. He's trying to eat that manger up right now, and I bet it ain't good for him. Come on, said Penrod, closing the door that gave entrance to the stalls. We got to get this horse some drinking water and some good food. They tried Whitey's appetite first with an autumnal branch that they wrenched from a hardy maple in the yard. They had seen horses nibble leaves, and they expected Whitey to nibble the leaves of this branch, but his ravenous condition did not allow him time for cool discriminations. Sam poked the branch at him from the passageway, and Whitey, after one backward movement of alarm, seized it venomously. Here, you stop that, Sam shouted.  What's the matter, called Penrod from the hydrant, where he was filling a bucket? What's he doing now? Doing. He's eating the wood part too. He's chewing up sticks as big as baseball bats. He's crazy. Penrod rushed to see this sight and stood aghast. Take it away from him, Sam, he commanded sharply. Go on, take it away from him yourself, was the prompt retort of his comrade. You had no business to give it to him, said Penrod. Anybody with any sense ought to know it'd make him sick. What do you want to go and give it to him for? Well, you didn't say not to. Well, what if I didn't? I never said I did, did I? You go on in that stall and take it away from him. Yes, I will, Sam returned bitterly. Then, as Whitey had dragged the remains of the branch from the manger to the floor of the stall, Sam scrambled to the top of the manger and looked over. There ain't much left to take away. He swallowed it all except some splinters. Better give him the water to try and wash it down with. And as Penrod complied, My gracious, look at that horse drink! They gave Whitey four buckets of water, and then debated the question of nourishment. Obviously, this horse could not be trusted with branches, and after getting their knees black and their backs sodden, they gave up trying to pull enough grass to sustain him. Then Penrod remembered that horses like apples, both cooking apples and eating apples, and Sam mentioned the fact that every autumn his father received a barrel of cooking apples from a cousin who owned a farm. That barrel was in the William cellar now, and the cellar was providentially supplied with outside doors, so that it could be visited without going through the house. Sam and Penrod set forth for the cellar. They returned to the stable bulging, and after a discussion of Whitey's digestion, Sam claiming that eating the corn seeds as Whitey did would grow trees in his inside, they went back to the cellar for supplies again, and again. They made six trips, carrying each time a capacity cargo of apples, and still Whitey ate in a famished manner. They were afraid to take more apples from the barrel, which began to show conspicuously the result of their raids. Wherefore, Penrod made an un-austentatious visit to the cellar of his own house. From the inside, he opened a window, and passed vegetables out to Sam, who placed them in a bucket and carried them hurriedly to the stable, while Penrod returned in a casual manner through the house. Of his sang froid under a great strain, it is sufficient to relate that, in the kitchen, he said suddenly to Della the cook, Oh, look behind you! And by the time Della discovered that there was nothing unusual behind her, Penrod was gone, and a loaf of bread from the kitchen table was gone with him. Whitey now ate nine turnips, two heads of lettuce, one cabbage, 11 raw potatoes, and the loaf of bread. He ate the loaf of bread last, and he was a long time about it, so the boys came to a not unreasonable conclusion. Well, sir, I guess we got him filled up at last, said Penrod. I bet he wouldn't eat a saucer of ice cream now if we gave it to him. He looks better to me, said Sam, staring critically at Whitey. I think he's kind of begun to fill out some. I expect he must like us, Penrod. We've been doing a good deal for this horse. Well, we got to keep it up, Penrod insisted rather pompously. Long as I got charge of this horse, he's going to get good treatment. What we better do now, Penrod? Penrod took on the outward signs of deep thought. Well, there's plenty to do, all right. I got to think. Sam made several suggestions, which Penrod, maintaining his air of preoccupation, dismissed with mere gestures. Oh, I know, Sam cried finally. We ought to wash him, so as he'll look wider in what he does now. We can turn the hose on him across the manger. No, not yet, Penrod said. It's too soon after his meal. You ought to know that yourself. What we got to do is make up a bed for him, if he wants to lay down or anything. Make up a what for him? Sam echoed dumbfounded. What are you talking about? How can't sawdust? Penrod said. That's the way the horse we used to have used to have it. We'll make this horse's bed in the other stall, and then he can go in there and lay down whenever he wants to. How are we going to do it? Look, Sam, there's the hole into the sawdust box.  Oh, I got to do, Sam cried. What are you going to do? I'm going to be right here, Penrod answered reassuringly. He won't kick or anything, and it isn't going to take you half a second to slip around behind him to the other stall. What makes you think he won't kick? Well, I know he won't, and besides, you could hit him with the shovel if he tried to. Anyway, I'll be right here, won't I? I don't care where you are, Sam said earnestly. What difference would it make if he kicked? Why, you were going right in the stalls, Penrod reminded him. When he first came in, you were going to take the rake, and I don't care if I was, Sam declared. I was excited then. Well, you can get excited now, can't you? His friend urged. You can just as easy get. He was interrupted by a shout from Sam, who was keeping his eye upon Whitey through the discussion. Look, looky there. And undoubtedly renewing his excitement, Sam pointed at the long gaunt head beyond the manger. It was disappearing from view. Look, Sam shouted. He's laying down. Well then, said Penrod, I guess he's going to take a nap. If he wants to lay down without waiting for us to get the sawdust fixed for him, that's his lookout, not ours. On the contrary, Sam perceived a favorable opportunity for action. I'd just as soon go and make his bed up while he's laying down, he volunteered. You climb up on the manger and watch him, Penrod. And I'll sneak in the other stall and fix it all up nice for him. So as he can go in there any time when he wakes up and lay down again, or anything. And if he starts to get up, you holler, and I'll jump out over the other manger. Accordingly, Penrod established himself in a position to observe the recumbent figure. Whitey's breathing was rather labored but regular. And as Sam remarked, he looked better, even in his slumber. It is not to be doubted that although Whitey was suffering from a light attack of colic, his feelings were in the main those of contentment. After trouble, he was soulless. After exposure, he was sheltered. After hunger and thirst, he was fed and watered. He slept. The noon whistles blew before Sam's task was finished. But by the time he departed for lunch, there was made a bed of such quality that Whitey must needs have been borne a fault finder if he complained of it. The friends parted, each urging the other to be prompt in returning. But Penrod got into threatening difficulties as soon as he entered the house. End of Chapter 8 Chapter 9 of Penrod and Sam This Liber Vox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Jonathan Berchard, April 2009. Penrod and Sam by Abuth Tarkington, Chapter 9, Reward of Merritt. Penrod, said his mother, What did you do with that loaf of bread Delis says you took from the table? Ma'am, what loaf of bread? I believe I can't let you go outdoors this afternoon, Mrs. Cofield said severely.  But I wasn't hungry. You can explain later, Mrs. Cofield said. You'll have all afternoon. Penrod's heart grew cold. I can't stay in, he protested. I've asked Sam Williams to come over. I'll telephone Mrs. Williams. Mama, Penrod's voice became agonized. I had to give that bread to a poor old man. He was starving. And so were his children and his wife. They were all just starving, and they couldn't wait while I took time to come and ask you, mama. I got to go outdoors this afternoon. I got to. Sam, she relented. In the carriage house, half an hour later, Penrod gave an account of the episode. Where'd we been? I'd just like to know, he concluded, if I hadn't got out here this afternoon. Well, I guess I could manage him, all right, Sam said. I was in the passageway a minute ago, taken a look at him. He's standing up again. I expect he wants more to eat. Well, we got to fix about that, said Penrod. But what I mean, if I'd had to stay in the house, where would we have been about the most important thing in the whole business? What are you talking about? Well, why can't you wait till I tell you? Penrod's tone had become peevish. For that matter, so had Sam's. They were developing one of the little differences, or quarrels, that composed the very texture of their friendship. Well, why don't you tell me then? Well, how can I, Penrod demanded. You keep talking every minute. I'm not talking now, am I, Sam protested. You can tell me now, can't you? I'm not talking, you are too, Penrod shouted. You talk all the time, you. He was interrupted by Whitey's peculiar cough. Both boys jumped and forgot their argument. He means he wants some more to eat, I bet, said Sam. Well, if he does, he's got to wait, Penrod declared. We got to get the most important thing of all fixed up first. What's that, Penrod? The reward, said Penrod mildly. That's what I was trying to tell you about, Sam, if you'd ever give me half a chance. Well, I did give you a chance.  You kept saying they renewed this discussion, protracting it indefinitely. But as each persisted in clinging to his own interpretation of the facts, the question still remains unsettled. It was abandoned, or rather it merged into another during the later stages of the debate. This other being concerned with which of the debaters had the least sense. Each made the plain statement that if he were more deficient than his opponent in that regard, self-destruction would be his only refuge. Each declared that he would rather die than be talked to death, and then, as the two approached a point bluntly recriminative, Whitey coughed again, whereupon they were miraculously silent, and went into the passageway in the perfectly amiable manner. I got to have a good look at him for once, Penrod said, as he stared frowningly at Whitey. We got to fix up about that reward. I want to take a good ol' look at him myself, Sam said. After supplying Whitey with another bucket of water, they returned to the carriage house and seated themselves thoughtfully. In truth, they were something a shade more than thoughtful. The adventure to which they had committed themselves was beginning to be a little overpowering. If Whitey had been a dog, a goat, a fowl, or even a stray calf, they would have felt equal to him. But now that the earlier flow of their wild daring had disappeared, vague apprehensions stirred. Their good look at Whitey had not reassured them. He seemed large, gothic, and unusual. Whispering within them began to urge that for boys to undertake an enterprise connected with so huge an animal, as an actual horse was perilous. Beneath the surface of their musings, dim but ominous prophecies moved. Both boys began to have the feeling that somehow this affair was going to get beyond them, and that they would be in heavy trouble before it was over. They knew not why. They knew why no more than they knew why they felt it imperative to keep the fact of Whitey's presence in the stable a secret from their respective families. But they did begin to realize that keeping a secret of that size was going to be attended with some difficulty. In brief, their sensations were becoming comparable to those of the man who stole a house. Nevertheless, after a short period given to unspoken misgivings, they returned to the subject of the reward. The money value of bay horses, as compared to Whitey, was again discussed, and each announced his certainty that nothing less than a good all hundred dollars would be offered for the return of Whitey. But immediately after so speaking, they fell into another silence due to sinking feelings. They had spoken loudly and confidently, and yet they knew somehow that such things were not to be. According to their knowledge, it was perfectly reasonable to suppose that they would receive this fortune, but they frightened themselves in speaking of it. They knew that they could not have a hundred dollars for their own. An oppression, as from something awful and criminal, descended upon them at intervals. Presently, however, they were warmed to a little cheerfulness again by Penrod's suggestion that they should put a notice in the paper. Neither of them had the slightest idea how to get it there, but such details as that were beyond the horizon. They occupied themselves with the question of what their advertisement ought to say. Finding that they differed irreconcilably, Penrod went to his cash in the sawdust box and brought two pencils and a supply of paper. He gave one of the pencils and several sheets to Sam, then both boys bent themselves in silence to the labor of practical composition. Penrod produced the briefer paragraph, C figure one. Sam's was more ample. C figure two. Figure one, reward. White horse in Schofield's alley. Finders got him in Schofield's stable and will let him taken away by crossed out pay. Paying for good food, he has eaten while crossed out W. Crossed out what? Waiting and reward of crossed out one hundred, twenty, fifteen, five, ten dollars. Figure two, fund. Horse on Saturday morning. Owner can get him by crossed through word unreadable. Replying at stable behind Mr. Schofield. You will have to prove he is your horse. He is wit with hind of browned crossed out speck. Specks and wore out crossed out tail. Tail. He is getting good care and food. Reword. Crossed out one hundred, twenty, seventy-five cents to each one, or we will keep him locked up. Neither Sam nor Penrod showed any interest in what the other had written, but both felt that something praiseworthy had been accomplished. Penrod exhaled a sigh as of relief, and in a matter he had observed for his father you sometimes he said, Well, thank goodness that's off my mind anyway. What we going to do next, Penrod? Sam asked deferentially, the borrowed manner having some effect upon him. I don't know what you are going to do, Penrod returned, picking up the old cigar box that had contained the paper and pencils. I'm going to put mine in here, so it'll come in handy when I have to get at it. Well, I guess I'll keep mine there too, Sam said. Thereupon he deposited his scribbled slip besides Penrod's in the cigar box, and the box was solemnly returned to the secret place once it had been taken. There, that's tended to, Sam said, and unconsciously imitating his friend's imitation, he gave forth audibly a breath of satisfaction and relief. Both boys felt that the financial side of their great affair had been conscientiously looked to, that the question of the reward was settled, and that everything was proceeding in a business-like manner. Therefore, they were able to turn their attention to another matter. This was the question of Whitey's next meal. After their exploits of the morning, and the consequent imperilment of Penrod, they decided that nothing more was to be done in apples, vegetables, or bread. It was evident that Whitey must be fed from the bosom of nature. We couldn't pull enough of that frostbite old grass in the yard to feed him, Penrod said gloomily. We could work a week and not get enough to make him swallow more and about twice. All we got this morning, he blew most of it away.  Well, and you know how he acted about that maple branch. We can't trust him with branches. Sam jumped up. I know, he cried. There's lots of leaves left on the branches. We can give them to him. I just said, I don't mean the branches, Sam explained. We'll leave the branches on the trees, but just pull all the leaves off the branches and put them in the bucket and feed them out of the bucket. Penrod thought this plan worth trying, and for three quarters of an hour the two boys were busy with the lower branches of various trees in the yard.  And the work of his purveyors might have been more tedious if it had been less damp, for a boy is seldom bored by anything that involves his staying out in the rain without protection.  They attained a noteworthy state of soggyness. Finally they were brought to the attention of the authorities indoors, and Della appeared upon the back porch. Musta, Penrod! she called. Your mama says you'll come in the house this minute and change your shoes and stockings and everything else you got on. Do you hear me? Penrod, taken by surprise and unpleasantly alarmed, darted away from the tree he was depleted and ran for the stable. You tell her I'm dry as toast! He shouted over his shoulder. Della withdrew, wearing the air of a person gratuitously insulted, and a moment later she issued from the kitchen carrying an umbrella. She opened it and walked resolutely to the stable. She says I'm to bring you in the house, said Della, and I'm going to bring you. Sam had joined Penrod in the carriage house, and with the beginnings of an unnamed terror, the two beheld this grim advance. But they did not stay for its culmination. Without a word to each other, they hurriedly tiptoed up the stairs to the gloomy loft, and there they paused, listening. They heard Della's steps upon the carriage house floor. Ah, there's plenty of places to hide in! They heard her say, But I'll show you, she told me to bring you, and I'm. She was interrupted by a peculiar sound, loud, chilling, dismal, and unmistakably not of human origin. The boys knew it for Whitey's cough, but Della had not their experience. A smothered shriek reached their ears, there was a scurrying noise, and then with horror, they heard Della's footsteps in the passing way that ran by Whitey's manger. Immediately there came a louder shriek, and even in the anguish of knowing their secret discovered, they were shocked to hear distinctly the words, O Lord of Heaven! in the well-known voice of Della. She shrieked again, and they heard the rush of her footfalls across the carriage house floor. Wild words came from the outer air, and the kitchen door slammed violently. It was all over, she had gone to tell. Penrod and Sam plunged down the stairs and out of the stable. They climbed the back fence and fled up the alley. They turned into Sam's yard, and without consultation headed for the cellar doors, nor paused till they found themselves in the farthest, darkest, and gloomiest recess of the cellar. There, perspiring, stricken with fear, they sank down upon the earthen floor with their moist backs against the stone wall. Thus with boys, the vague apprehensions that had been creeping upon Penrod and Sam all afternoon had become monstrous. The unknown was before them, how great their crime would turn out to be, now that it was in the hands of grown people, they did not know, but since it concerned a horse, it would undoubtedly be considered of terrible dimensions. Their plans for a reward, and all the things that had seemed both innocent and practical in the morning, now staggered their minds as manifestations of criminal folly. A new and terrible light seemed to play upon the day's exploits. They had chased a horse belonging to strangers, and it would be said that they deliberately drove him into the stable and there concealed him. They had in truth virtually stolen him, and they had stolen food for him. The waning light through the small window above them warned Penrod that his inroads upon the vegetables in his own cellar must soon be discovered. Della, that nemesis, would seek them in order to prepare them for dinner, and she would find them not. But she would recall his excursion to the cellar, for she had seen him when he came up, and also the truth would be known concerning the loaf of bread. Although Penrod felt that his case was worse than Sam's, until Sam offered a suggestion that roused such horrible possibilities concerning the principal item of their offense, that all thought of the smaller indictments disappeared. Listen, Penrod, Sam Quavered, what if that old horse maybe belonged to a policeman? Sam's indignation was not of the comforting kind. What did they do to us, Penrod, if it turned out he was some policeman's horse? Penrod was only able to shake his head. He did not reply in words, but both boys thenceforth considered it almost inevitable that Whitey had belonged to a policeman, and in their sense of so ultimate a disaster, they ceased for a time to brood upon what their parents would probably do to them. The penalty for stealing a policeman's horse would only be a step short of capital, they were sure. 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 hunting for us by now, Sam said huskily. I don't like it much down here, Penrod. Penrod's horse whisper came back from the profound gloom. Well, whoever said you did. Well, Sam paused, then he said plaintively, I wish we'd never seen that darn old horse. It was every bit his fault, said Penrod. We didn't do anything.  He rose. I'm going to get out of here. I guess I've stood about enough for one day. Where, where are you going, Penrod? You aren't going home, are you? No, I'm not. What you take before, you think I'm crazy? Well, where can we go? How far Penrod's desperation actually would have led him is doubtful, but he made this statement. I don't know where you're going, but I'm going to walk straight out in the country till I come to a farmhouse and say my name's George and live there. I'll do it too, Sam whispered eagerly. I'll say my name's Henry. Well, we better get started, said the executive Penrod. We got to get away from here anyway, but when they came to ascend the steps leading to the outside doors, they found that those doors had been closed and locked for the night. It's no use, Sam lamented, and we can't bust them because I tried to once before. Fanny always locks them about five o'clock, I forgot. We got to go up the stairway and try to sneak out through the house. They tiptoed back and up the inner stairs. They paused at the top, then breathlessly stepped out into a hall that was entirely dark. Sam touched Penrod's sleeve in warning and bent to listen at a door. Immediately that door opened, revealing the bright library, where sat Penrod's mother and Sam's father. It was Sam's mother who had opened the door. Come into the library, boys, she said. Mrs. Schofield is just telling us about it. And as the two comrades moved dumbly into the lighted room, Penrod's mother rose and, taking him by the shoulder, urged him close to the fire.  You better make Sam keep near the fire, too, Mrs. Williams, because they both got ringing wet. Think of their running off just when most people would have wanted to stay. Well, I'll go on with the story then. Della told me all about it and what the cook next door said she'd seen, how they'd been trying to pull grass and leaves for the poor old thing all day, and all about the apples they carried from your cellar, and getting wet and working in the rain as hard as they could, and then giving him a loaf of bread. Shake him on you, Penrod. She paused to laugh, but there was a little moisture about her eyes even before she laughed. And they'd fed him on potatoes and lettuce and cabbage and turnips out of our cellar. And I wish you'd seen the sawdust bed they made for him. Well, when I'd telephoned and the humane society man got there, he said it was the most touching thing he ever knew. It seems he knew this horse and had been looking for him. He said 99 boys out of 100 would have chased the poor old thing away, and he was going to see to it that this case didn't go unnoticed, because the local branch of the society gives little silver medals for special acts like this. And the last thing he said was that he was sure Penrod and Sam each would be awarded one at the meeting of the society next Thursday night. On the following Saturday, a yodel sounded from the sunny sidewalk in front of the Schofield's house, and Penrod, issuing forth, beheld the familiar figure of Sam Williams waiting. Upon Sam's breast, there glided a round bit of silver suspended by a white ribbon from a bar of the same metal. Upon the breast of Penrod was a decoration precisely similar. Lo, Penrod, said Sam, what are you going to do? Nothing. I got mine on, said Sam. I have, too, said Penrod. I wouldn't take $100 for mine. I wouldn't take $200 for mine, said Sam. Each glanced pleasantly at the other's metal. 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 metal 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 neighborhood. Then he looked southward toward the busy heart of the town where the multitudes were. Let's go down and see what time it is by the courthouse clock, said Penrod. End of Chapter 9 Mrs. Schofield had been away for three days, visiting her sister in Dayton, Illinois, and on the train coming back she fell into a reverie. Little dramas of memory were re-enacted in her pensive mind, and through all of them moved the figure of Penrod as a principal figure or star. These little dramas did not present Penrod as he really was, much less do they glow with the uncertain but glamorous light in which Penrod saw himself. No, Mrs. Schofield had indulged herself in absence from her family merely for her own pleasure, and now that she was homeward bound, her conscience was asserting itself, the fact that she had enjoyed her visit began to take on the aspect of a crime. She had heard from her family only once during the three days. The message, All well, don't worry, enjoy yourself, telegraphed by Mr. Schofield, and she had followed his suggestions to a reasonable extent. Of course, she had worried, but only at times, and therefore she now suffered more and more poignant pangs of shame because she had not worried constantly. Naturally, the figure of Penrod in her railway reverie was that of an invalid. She recalled all the illnesses of his babyhood and all those of his boyhood. She reconstructed scene after scene with the hero always prostrate and the family physician opening the black case of files. She emphatically renewed her recollection of accidental misfortunes to the body of Penrod Schofield, omitting neither the considerable nor the inconsiderable for getting no strain, sprain, cut, bruise, or dislocation of what she had knowledge. And running this film in a sequence unrelieved by brighter interludes, she produced a biological picture of such consistent and unremittant gloom that Penrod's past appeared to justify disturbing thoughts about his present and future. She became less and less at ease, reproaching herself for having gone away, wondering how she had brought herself to do such a crazy thing, for it seemed to her that the members of her family were almost helpless without her guidance. They were apt to do anything, anything at all, or to catch anything. The more she thought about her having left these irresponsible hair brains unprotected and undirected for three days, the less she was able to account for her action. It seemed to her that she must have been a little flighty, but shaking her head grimly, she decided that flightiness was not a good excuse, and she made up her mind that if upon her arrival she found poor little neglected Penrod and Margaret and Mr. Schofield spared to her, safe and sound, she would make up to them, especially to Penrod, for all her lack of care in the past, and for this present wild folly of spending three whole days and nights with her sister far away in Dayton, Illinois. Consequently, when Mrs. Schofield descended from that train, she wore the hurried but determined expression that was always the effect upon her of a guilty conscience. You're sure Penrod is well now, she repeated, after Mr. Schofield had seated himself at her side in a vehicle known to its driver as a depot hack. Well now, he said. He's been well all the time. I've told you twice that he's all right. Men can't always see, she shook her head impatiently. I haven't been a bit sure he was well lately. I don't think he's been really well for two or three months. How has he seemed today? In fair health, Mr. Schofield replied thoughtfully. Della called me up at the office to tell me that one of the telephone men had come into the house to say that if the Dern Boy didn't quit climbing their poles, they'd have him arrested. They said he, that's it, Mrs. Schofield interrupted quickly. He's nervous. It's some nervous trouble makes him act like that. He's not like himself at all. Sometimes, Mr. Schofield said, I wish he weren't. When he's himself, Mrs. Schofield went unanxiously, he's very quiet and good. He doesn't go climbing telegraph poles and reckless things like that. And I noticed before I went away that he was growing twitchy and he seemed him getting the habit of making unpleasant little noises in his throat. Don't fret about that, her husband said. He was trying to learn Sam Williams' imitation of a bullfrog's croak. I used to do that myself when I was a boy. No, I can't do it now. But nearly all boys feel obliged to learn it. You're entirely mistaken, Henry, she returned a little sharply. That isn't the way he goes in his throat. Penrod is getting to be a very nervous boy and he makes noises because he can't help it. He works part of his face too. Sometimes, it's so much that I've been afraid it would interfere with his looks. Interfere with his what? For the moment, Mr. Schofield seemed to be dazed. When he's himself, she returned crisply. He's quite a handsome boy. He is. Handsomer than the average anyhow, Mrs. Schofield said firmly. No wonder you don't see it. When we let his system get all run down like this. Good heavens, the mystified Mr. Schofield murmured. Penrod's system hasn't been running down. It's just the same as it always was. He's absolutely all right. Indeed, he is not, she said severely. We've got to take better care of him than we have been. Why, how could I know what I'm talking about? She interrupted. Penrod is anything but a strong boy and it's all our fault.  That's what's the matter with him and it makes him so nervous. Thus she continued and as she talked, Mr. Schofield began by imperceptible processes to adopt her views. As for Mrs. Schofield herself, these views became substantial by becoming vocal. This is to say, with all deference, that as soon as she heard herself stating them, she was convinced that they were accurately represented facts. And the determined look in her eyes deepened when the depot hack turned the familiar corner and she saw Penrod running to the gate followed by Duke. Never had Penrod been so glad to greet his mother. Never was he more boisterous in the expression of happiness of that kind and the tokens of his appetite at dinner a little later were extraordinary. Mr. Schofield began to feel reassured in spite of himself, but Mrs. Schofield shook her head. Don't you see, it's abnormal, she said, in a low decisive voice. That night Penrod awoke from a sweet, conscious slumber or rather he was awakened. A rapid form lurked over him in the gloom. Ow, he muttered and turned his face from the dim light that shone through the doorway. He sighed and sought the depths of sleep again. Penrod, his mother said softly, and while he resisted feebly, she turned him over to face her. God, leave me alone, he muttered. Then, as a little sphere touched his lips, he jerked his head away, startled. What's that? Mrs. Schofield replied in tones honey sweet and coaxing.  Don't want any, he protested, keeping his eyes shut, clinging to the sleep from which he was being riven. Be a good boy, Penrod, she whispered. Here's a nice glass of cool water to swallow it down with. Come, dear, it's going to do you lots of good.  I'll bust that old pill, he muttered, still with closed eyes. Let me give my hands on it and I will. Penrod, please go away, mama. I will, just as soon as you take this little pill. I did, no, dear. I did, Penrod insisted plaintively. You made me take it just before I went to bed. Oh yes, that one. But, dearie, Mrs. Cofield explained, I got to thinking about it after I went to bed and I decided you better have another. I don't want another. Yes, dearie, please go away and let me sleep, not till you've taken the little pill, dear. Oh, golly. Growning, he propped himself upon an elbow and allowed the pill to pass between his lips. He would have allowed anything whatever to pass between them if that passing permitted his return to slumber. Then, detaining the pill in his mouth, he swallowed half a glass of water and again was recumbent. Good night, mama. Good night, dearie, sleep well. Yes. After her departure, Penrod drowsily enjoyed the sugarcoating of the pill, but this was indeed a brief pleasure, a bitterness that was like a pang suddenly made itself known to his sense of taste, and he realized that he had dallied too confidingly with the product of a manufacturing chemist who should have been indicted for criminal economy. The medicinal portion of the little pill struck the wall with a faint tap, then dropped noiselessly to the floor, and after a time, Penrod slept. Some hours later, he began to dream. He dreamed that his feet and legs were becoming uncomfortable as a result of Sam Williams' activity with a red hot poker. You quit that, he said aloud and awoke indignantly. Again, a dark, rapid figure hovered over the bed. It's only a hot water bag, dear, Mrs. Goldfield said, still laboring under the covers with an extended arm.  Put your feet down on it. And as he continued to hunt himself, she moved the bag in the direction of his withdrawal. Ow, murder, he exclaimed convulsively. What you trying to do, scald me to death? Penrod. My goodness, mama, he wailed.  It's very bad for you to let your feet get cold, dear. They weren't cold. I don't want any all hot water. Penrod, she said firmly, you must put your feet against the bag. It isn't too hot. Oh, isn't it? He retorted. Well, I don't suppose you'd care if I burned my feet right off. Mama, won't you please, please let me get some sleep? Not till you. She was interrupted by a groan that seemed to come from an abyss. All right, I'll do it. Let him burn then. Thus spake the desperate Penrod. And Mrs. Goldfield was able to ascertain that one heel had been placed in light contact with the bag. No, both feet, Penrod. With a tragic shiver he obeyed. That's right, dear. Now keep them that way. It's good for you. Good night. Good night. The door closed softly behind her, and the body of Penrod from the hips upward rose invisibly in the complete darkness of the bed chamber. A moment later, the hot water bag reached the floor in his noiseless manner, as that previously adopted by the remains of the little pill. And Penrod once more bespread his soul with poppies. This time he slept until the breakfast bell rang. He was late to school and at once found himself in difficulties. Government demanded an explanation of the tardiness, but Penrod made no reply of any kind. Tass eternity is seldom more strikingly out of place than under such circumstances, and the penalties imposed took account not only of Penrod's tardiness, but of his suppositious defiance of authority and declining to speak. The truth was that Penrod did not know why he was tardy, and with mine still lethargic, found it impossible to think of an excuse, his continuing silence being due merely to the persistence of his efforts to invent one. Thus were his meek searchings misinterpreted, and the unloved hours of improvement in science and arts made odious. They'll see, he whispered sorely to himself as he bent low over his desk a little later. Someday he would show him.  Make him step back there. He commanded his myrmidons savagely. Fix it so as your horses will step on their feet if they don't do what I say. Then, from his shining saddle, he watched the throngs slinking away. I guess they know who I am now. Booth Tarkington, Chapter 11, The Tonic 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 to the ear of imagination. Is the poor makeshift that must be employed to indicate it? Penrod uttered one half-hearted Luke as he turned out his own gate. However, this stimulated him and he paused to practice. He croaked. Mrs. Schofield leaned out of an open window upstairs. Don't do that, Penrod, she said anxiously. Please don't do that. Why not? Penrod asked, and feeling encouraged by his progress in the new art, he continued. Please try not to do it, she urged pleadingly. You can stop it if you try, won't you, dear? But Penrod felt that he was almost upon the point of attaining a mastery equal to Sam Williams's. He had just managed to do something in his throat that he had never done before, and he felt that unless he kept on doing it at this time, his newborn facility might evade him later. He croaked. And he continued to croak, persevering monotonously, his expression indicating the depth of his preoccupation. His mother looked down solicitously, murmured in a melancholy undertone, shook her head, then disappeared from the window, and after a moment or two, opened the front door. Come in, dear, she said. I've got something for you. Penrod's look of preoccupation vanished. He brightened and ceased to croak. His mother had already given him a small leather pocketbook with a nickel in it as a souvenir of her journey. Evidently, she had brought another gift as well, delaying its presentation until now. I've got something for you. These were auspicious words. What is it, Mama? He asked, and as she smiled tenderly upon him, his gaiety increased. Yay, he shouted. Mama, is it that regular carpenter's tool chest I told you about? No, she said. But I'll show you, Penrod. Come on, dear. He followed her with alacquity to the dining room, and the bright anticipation in his eyes grew more brilliant. Until she opened the door of the china closet, simultaneously with that action announcing cheerfully, It's something that's going to do you lots of good, Penrod. He was instantly chilled, for experience had taught him that when predictions of this character were made, nothing pleasant need be expected. Two seconds later, his last hope departed as she turned from the closet, and he beheld in her hands a quart bottle containing what appeared to be a section of a grassy swamp immersed in a cloudy brown liquor. He stepped back, grave suspicion in his glance. What is that, he asked in a hard voice. Mrs. Schofield smiled upon him. It's nothing, she said. That is, it's nothing you'll mind at all. It's just so you won't be so nervous. I'm not nervous. Well, you don't think so, of course, dear, she returned, and as she spoke, she poured some of the brown liquor into a tablespoon. People often can't tell when they're nervous themselves, but your papa and I have been getting a little anxious about you, dear, and so I got this medicine for you. Where'd you get it, he demanded. Mrs. Schofield set the bottle down and moved toward him, insinuatingly extending the full tablespoon. Here, dear, she said. Just take this little spoonful like a good I want to know where it came from, he insisted darkly, again stepping backwards. Nowhere, she echoed absently, watching to see that nothing was spilled from the spoon as she continued to move toward him. Why, I was talking to old Mrs. Wata at the market this morning, and she said her son, Clark, used to have nervous trouble, and she told me about this medicine and how to have it made at the drug store. She told me it cured, Clark, and I don't want to be cured, Penrod said, adding inconsistently. I haven't got anything to be cured of. Now, dear, Mrs. Schofield began, you don't want your papa and me to keep on worrying about it. I don't care whether you worry or not, the heartless boy interrupted. I don't want to take any horrible old medicine. What's that grass and weeds in the bottle for? Mrs. Schofield looked grieved. There isn't any grass and there aren't any weeds. Those are helpful herbs.  She sighed. Penrod, we're trying to make you well. But I am well, I tell you. No, dear, your papa's been very much troubled about you. Come, Penrod, swallow this down and don't make such a fuss about it. It's just for your own good. And she advanced upon him again, the spoon extended toward his lips. It almost touched them, for he had retreated until his back was against the wallpaper. He could go no farther, but he evinced his unshaken repugnance by averting his face. What's it taste like, he demanded. It's not unpleasant at all, she answered, poking the spoon at his mouth. Mrs. Wautau said Clark used to be very fond of it. It doesn't taste like ordinary medicine at all, she said. How often I gotta take it, Penrod mumbled, as the persistent spoon sought to enter his mouth. Just this once? No, dear, three times a day. I won't do it. Penrod, she spoke sharply, you swallow this down and stop making such a fuss. I can't be all day, hurry. She inserted the spoon between his lips, so that its rim touched his clenched teeth. He was still reluctant. Moreover, his reluctance was natural and characteristic, for a boy's sense of taste is as simple and as peculiar as a dog's, though of course altogether different from a dog's. A boy, passing through the experimental age, may eat and drink astonishing things, but they must be of his own choosing. His palate is tender and, in one sense, might be called fastidious. Nothing is more sensitive or more easily shocked. A boy tastes things much more than grown people taste them.  Therefore, not knowing what might be encountered, Penrod continued to be reluctant.  If you don't swallow it right down, open your mouth. Penrod, it isn't going to taste bad at all. Open your mouth, there! The reluctant jaw relaxed at last, and Mrs. Schofield dexterously elevated the handle of the spoon so that the brown liquor was deposited within her son. There, she repeated triumphantly, it wasn't so bad after all was it. Penrod did not reply. His expression had become odd, and the oddity of his manner was equal to that of his expression. Uttering no sound, he seemed to distend, as if he had suddenly become a pneumatic boy under dangerous pressure. Meanwhile, his reddening eyes fixed awfully upon his mother, grew unbearable. Now, it wasn't such a bad taste, Mrs. Schofield said rather nervously. Don't go acting that way, Penrod. But Penrod could not help himself. In truth, even a grown person hardened to all manner of flavors and able to eat caviar or liquid camembert would have found the cloudy brown liquor virulently repulsive. It contained in solution, with other things, the vital element of surprise, for it was completely odorless, and unlike the chivalrous rattlesnake, gave no warning of what it was about to do. In the case of Penrod, the surprise was complete, and its effect visibly shocking. The distention by which he began to express his emotion appeared to be increasing. His slender throat swells as his cheeks puffed. His shoulders rose towards his ears. He lifted his right leg in an unnatural way and held it rigidly in the air. Stop that, Penrod, Mrs. Schofield commanded. You stop it! He found his voice. He said thickly, and collapsed, a mere ordinary everyday convulsion taking the place of his nomadic symptoms. He began to writhe, at the same time opening and closing his mouth rapidly and repeatedly, waving his arms, stamping on the floor. Ow, ow, ow, ow! He vociferated. Reassured by these normal demonstrations of a type with which she was familiar, Mrs. Schofield resumed her fond smile.  Then, picking up the bottle, she replenished the tablespoon, and told Penrod something she had considered undiplomatic to mention before. Here's the other one, she said sweetly. Uh, uhf! He expudered. Other, uh, what? Two tablespoons before each meal, she informed him. Instantly, Penrod made the first of a series of passionate efforts to leave the room. His determination was so intense and the manifestations of it so ruthless that Mrs. Schofield exhausted found herself to oblige to call for the official head of the house. In fact, she found herself oblige to shriek for him, and Mr. Schofield hastily entering the room, beheld his wife apparently in the act of sawing his son back and forth across the sill of an open window. Penrod made a frantic effort to reach the good green earth, even after his mother's clutch upon his ankle had been reinforced by his father's. Nor was the lad's revolt subdued when he was deposited upon the floor and the window closed. Indeed, it may be said that he actually never gave up, though it is a fact that the second potion was successfully placed inside him. But by the time this feat was finally accomplished, Mr. Schofield had proved that, in spite of middle age, he was entitled to substantial claims and honors both as an athlete and orator, his oratory being founded less upon the School of Webster and more upon that of Jeremiah. So the thing was done, and the double dose put within the person of Penrod Schofield. It proved not ineffective there, and presently, as its new owner sat morosely at table, he began to feel slightly dizzy and his eyes refused in perfect service. This was natural, because two tablespoons of the cloudy brown liquor contained about the amount of alcohol to be found in an ordinary cocktail. Now, a boy does not enjoy the effects of intoxication, and enjoyment of that kind is obtained only by studious application. Therefore, Penrod spoke of his symptoms complainingly and even showed himself so vindictive as to attribute them to the new medicine. His mother made no reply.  Bilius too, she whispered to her husband. That evening, during the half-hour preceding dinner, the dining room was the scene of another struggle, only a little less desperate than that which had been the prelude to lunch. And again, an appeal to the head of the house was found necessary. Muscular activity and a liberal imitation of the Jeremiah's once more subjugated the rebel, and the same rebellion and its suppression in a like manner took place the following morning before breakfast. But this was Saturday, and without warning or apparent reason, a remarkable change came about at noon. However, Mr. and Mrs. Gofield were used to inexplicable changes in Penrod, and they missed its significance. When Mrs. Gofield, with dread in her heart, called Penrod into the house to take his medicine before lunch, he came briskly and took it like a lamb. What Penrod? That's splendid, she cried. You see, it isn't that bad at all. No, he said meekly. Not when you get used to it. And aren't you ashamed, making all that fuss? She went unhappily. Yes, I guess so. And don't you feel better?  Yes, I guess so. Upon a holiday morning, several weeks later, Penrod and Sam Williams revived a pastime that they called Drugstore, setting up display counters, selling chemical, cosmetic, and other compounds to imaginary customers, filling prescriptions and variously conducting themselves in a pharmaceutical manner. They were in the midst of affairs when Penrod interrupted his partner and himself with a cry of recollection. I know, he shouted. I got some mighty good old stuff we want. You wait. And dashing to the house, he disappeared. Returning immediately, Penrod placed upon the principal counter of the Drugstore a large bottle. It was a quart bottle, in fact, and it contained what appeared to be a section of grassy swamp immersed in a cloudy brown liquor. There, Penrod exclaimed, how's that for some good old medicine? It's good old stuff, Sam had said approvenly. Where'd you get it? Who's is it, Penrod? It was mine, said Penrod, up to about several days ago it was. They quit giving it to me. I had to take two bottles and a half of it. What did you have to take it for? I got nervous or something, said Penrod. You all well again now? I guess so. Uncle Passlow and cousin Ronald came to visit, and I expect she got too busy to think about it or something. Anyway, she quit making me take it and said I was lots better. She's forgot all about it by this time. Sam was looking at the bottle with great interest. What's all that stuff in there, Penrod? He asked. What's all that stuff in there looks like grass? It is grass, said Penrod. How did it get in there? I stuck it in there. The candid boy replied.  But after they got three doses down me, I took the bottle out in the yard and cleaned her all out and pulled a lot of good old grass and stuffed her pretty full, porting a lot of good old hydrant water on top of it. Then when they got the next bottle, I did the same way, and it don't look like water. Sam objected. Penrod laughed a superior laugh. That's nothing, he said, with the slight swagger of young and conscious genius. Of course, I had to slip in and shake her up sometimes, so as they wouldn't notice. But what did you put in it to make it look like that? Penrod, upon the point of replying, happened to glance toward the house. His gaze, lifting, rested for a moment upon a window. The head of Mrs. Schofield was framed in that window. She nodded gaily to her son. She could see him plainly, and she thought that he seemed perfectly healthy and as happy as a boy could be. She was right. What did you put in it, Sam insisted? And probably it was just as well that, though Mrs. Schofield could see her son, the distance was too great for her to hear him. Oh, nothing, Penrod replied. Nothing but a little good old mud. End of Chapter 11. Chapter 12 of Penrod and Sam This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Jonathan Burchard, April 2009 Penrod and Sam by Booth Tarkington, Chapter 12, Gypsy On a fair Saturday afternoon in November, Penrod's little old dog, Duke, returned to the ways of his youth and had trouble with the strange cat on the back porch. This indiscretion, so uncharacteristic, was due to the agitation of a surprised moment. For Duke's experience had inclined him to a peaceful pessimism, and he had no ambition for hazardous undertakings of any sort. He was giving him using but not to avoidable action, and he seemed habitually to hope for something that he was pretty sure would not happen. Even in his sleep, this gave him an air of wistfulness. Thus, being asleep in a nook behind the metal refuse can, when the strange cat ventured to ascend the steps of the porch, his appearance was so unwarlike that the cat felt encouraged to extend its field of reconnaissance for the cook had been careless, and the backbone of a three-pound whitefish lay at the foot of the refuse can. The cat was, for a cat, needlessly tall, powerful, independent, and masculine. Once, long ago, he had been a roly-poly pepper and salt kitten. He had a home in those days and a name, Gypsy, which he abundantly justified. He was precocious in dissipation, long before his adolescence, his lack of domesticity was ominous, and he had formed bad companion ships. Meanwhile, he grew so rangy and developed such length and power of leg and such traits of character that the father of the little girl who owned him was almost convincing when he declared that the young cat was half Bronco and half Malay pirate. Though, in the light of Gypsy's later career, this seems bitterly unfair to even the lowest orders of Broncos and Malay pirates. No, Gypsy was not the pet for a little girl. The rosy hearthstone and sheltered rug were too circumspect for him. Surrounded by the comforts of middle-class respectability and profoundly oppressed, even in his youth, by the Puritan ideals of the household, he sometimes experienced a sense of suffocation. He wanted free air and he wanted free life. He wanted the lights, the lights, and the music. He abandoned the bourgeois irrevocably. He went forth in a May twilight, carrying the evening beefsteak with him and joined the underworld. His extraordinary size, his daring, and his other lack of sympathy soon made him the leader, and at the same time the terror of all the loose-lived cats in a wide neighborhood. He contracted no friendships and had no confidence. He seldom slept in the same place twice in succession, and though he was wanted by the police, he was not found. In appearance, he did not lack distinction of an ominous sort, the slow, rhythmic, perfectly controlled mechanism of his tale, as he impressively walked abroad was incomparably sinister. This stately and dangerous walk of his, his long, vibrant whiskers, his scars, his yellow eyes, so ice-cold, so fire-hot, haughty as the eye of Satan, gave him the deadly air of a mouse-keteer dualist. His soul was in that walk and in that eye, it could be read, the soul of a bravo of fortune, living on his wits and his valor, asking no favors and granting no quarter. Intolerant, proud, sullen, yet watchful and constantly planning, purely a militarist, believing in slaughter as in a religion, and confident that art, science, poetry, and the good of the world were happily advanced thereby, Gypsy had become, though technically not a wild cat, undoubtedly the most untamed cat at large in the civilized world. Such, in brief, was the terrifying creature that now elongated its neck, and over the top step of the porch, bent a calculating scrutiny upon the whistful and slumbering Duke. The scrutiny was searching but not prolonged. Gypsy muttered contemptuously to himself, oh she-o, I'm not afraid of that, and he approached the fishbone, his padded feet making no noise upon the boards. It was a desirable fishbone, large, with a considerable portion of the fish's tail, still attached to it.  This faithful sentinel, on guard even while Duke slept, signaled that hilarums and excursions by parties unknown were taking place, and suggested that attention might well be paid. Duke opened one drowsy eye. What that eye beheld was monstrous. Here was a strange experience, the horrific vision in the midst of things so accustomed. Sunshine fell sweetly upon porch and backyard. Yonder was the familiar stable, and from its interior came the busy hum of a carpenter's shop, established that morning by Duke's young master in association with Samuel Williams and Herman. Here close by were the quiet refuse can and the wanted brooms and mops leaning against the lattice wall at the end of the porch. And there, by the foot of the steps was the stone slab of the cistern, with the iron cover displaced and lying beside the round opening, where the carpenters had left it, not half an hour ago, after lowering a stick of wood into the water to season it. All about Duke were these usual and reassuring environs of his daily life, and yet it was his fate to behold, right in the midst of them and in ghastly juxtaposition to his face, a thing of nightmare and lunacy. Gypsy had seized the fishbone by the middle. Out from one side of his head and mingling with his whiskers projected the long spiked spine of the big fish, down from the other side of that ferocious head dangled the fish's tail, and from above the remarkable effect thus produced shot the intolerable glare of two yellow eyes. To the gaze of Duke, still blurred by slumber, this monstrosity was all of one piece. The bone seemed a living part of it. What he saw was like those interesting insect faces that the magnifying glass reveals to great M favor. It was impossible for Duke to maintain the philosophic calm of M favor, however, there was no magnifying glass between him and this spined and spiky face. Indeed, Duke was not in a position to think the matter over quietly. If he had been able to do that, he would have said to himself, We have here an animal of most peculiar and unattractive appearance, though upon examination it seems to be only a cat stealing a fishbone. Nevertheless, as the thief is large beyond all recollection of cats and has an unpleasant stare, I will leave this spot at once. On the contrary, Duke was so electrified by his horrid awakening that he completely lost his presence of mind.  The latter loosing upon the quiet air one shriek of mental agony before the little dog scrambled to his feet and gave further employment to his voice in a frenzy of profanity. At the same time, the subterranean diapason of a demoniac-based vial was heard. It rose to a wail and rose and rose again till it screamed like a small siren. It was Gypsy's war cry and at the sound of it, Duke became a frothing maniac. He made a convulsive frontal attack upon the hobgoblin and the massacre began, never releasing the fishbone for an instant. Gypsy laid back his ears in a chilling way, beginning to shrink into himself like a concertina, but rising a midship so high that he appeared to be giving an imitation of that peaceful beast, the dromedary. Such was not his purpose, however, for having attained his greatest possible altitude, he partially sat down and elevated his right arm after the manner of a semaphore. This semaphore arm remained rigid for a second, threatening, then it vibrated with inconceivable rapidity fainting. But it was the treacherous left that did the work. Seemingly, this left gave Duke three lightning little pats upon the right ear. But the change in his voice indicated that these were no love taps. He yelled, Help and Bloody Murder! Never had such a shattering uproar, all vocal, broken out upon a peaceful afternoon. Gypsy possessed a vocabulary for cat swearing, certainly second to none out of Italy, and probably equal to the best there, while Duke remembered in other things he had not thought of for years. The hum of the carpenter's shop ceased, and Sam Williams appeared in the stable doorway. He stared insanely.  Come on! His feet were already in motion toward the battlefield, with Penrod and Herman hurrying in his wake. Onward they sped, and Duke was encouraged by the sight and sound of these reinforcements to increase his own outrageous clamors and to press home his attack. But he was ill-advised. This time it was the right arm of the semaphore that dipped, and Duke's honest nose was but too conscious of what happened in consequence. A lump of dirt struck the refuse can with violence, and Gypsy beheld lowly advance of overwhelming forces. They rushed upon him from two directions, cutting off the steps of the porch. Undaunted, the formidable cat raked Duke's nose again, somewhat more lingeringly, and prepared to depart with his fishbone. He had little fear for himself, because he was inclined to think that, unhampered, he could whip anything on earth. Still, things seemed to be growing rather warm, and he saw nothing to prevent his leaving. And though he could laugh in the face of so unequal an antagonist as Duke, Gypsy felt that he was never at his best or able to do himself full justice unless he could perform that feline operation inaccurately known as spitting. To his notion, this was an absolute essential to combat, but as all cats of the slightest pretensions to technique perfectly understand, it can neither be well done nor produce the best effects unless the mouth be open to its utmost capacity so as to expose the beginnings of the elementary canal. Down which, at least that is the intention of the threat, the opposing party will soon be passing. And Gypsy could not open his mouth without relinquishing his fishbone. Therefore, on small accounts, he decided to leave the field to his enemies and to carry the fishbone elsewhere. He took two giant leaps. The first landed him upon the edge of the porch. There, without an instant's pause, he gathered his first sheathed muscles, concentrated himself into one big steel spring, and launched himself superbly into space. He made a stirring picture, however brief, as he left the solid porch behind him and sailed upward on an ascending curve into the sunlit air.  He was the incarnation of menacing power and of self-confidence. It is possible that the whitefish's spinal column and flopping tail had interfered with his vision, and in launching himself, he may have mistaken the dark round opening of the cistern for its dark round cover.  There was a grand splash. April 2009 Penrod and Sam, by Booth Tarkington, Chapter 13, Concerning Trousers Duke, hastening to place himself upon the stone slab, raged at his enemy in safety, and presently the indomitable Gypsy could be heard from the darkness below, turning on the base of his siren, threatening the water that enveloped him, returning Duke's profanity with interest and cursing the general universe. You hush, Penrod stormed, rushing at Duke. You go away from here, you Duke! And Duke, after prostrating himself, decided that it would be a relief to obey and to consider his responsibility in this matter at an end. He withdrew beyond a corner of the house, thinking deeply. Once you let him bark at the old cat, Sam Williams inquired, sympathizing with the oppressed, I guess you'd want to bark if a cat had been treating you the way this one did Duke. Well, we've got to get this cat out of here, haven't we, Penrod demanded crossly. What fur, Herman asked, mighty mean cat! If it was me, I'd let that old cat drown. My goodness, Penrod cried, what do you want to let it drown for? Anyways, we've got to use this water in our house, haven't we? You don't suppose people like to use water that's got a cat drowned in it, do you? It gets pumped up into the tank in the attic and goes all over the house. And I bet you wouldn't want to see your father and mother using water a cat was drowned in. I guess I don't want my father and mother. Well, how can we get it out? Sam asked, cutting short this virtuous oration. It's swimming around down there, he continued, peering into the cistern and kind of roaring. And it must have dropped its fishbone because it's spitting just awful. I guess maybe it's mad because it fell in there. I don't know how it's going to be got out, said Penrod, but I know it's got to be got out and that's all there is to it. I'm not going to have my father and mother. Well, once said Sam, once when a kitten fell down our cistern, Papa took a pair of his trousers and he held him by the end of one leg and let him hang down through the hole till the end of the other leg was in the water. And the kitten went and clawed hold of it and he pulled it right up easy as anything. Well, that's the way to do now because if a kitten could keep hold of a pair of trousers, I guess this old cat could. It's the biggest cat I ever saw.  Penrod glanced towards the house perplexedly. She ain't home and I'd be afraid to, well take your own then, Sam suggested briskly. You take him off in the stable and wait in there and I and Herman will get the cat out. Penrod had no enthusiasm for this plan. He affected to consider it. Well, I don't know about that, he said. And then after gazing attentively into the cistern and making some eye measurements of his knickerbuckers, he shook his head. They'd be too short. They wouldn't be near long enough. Then neither would be mine, said Sam promptly. Herman's would, said Penrod. No sir! Herman had recently been prompted to long trousers and he expressed a strong disinclination to fall in with Penrod's idea. My mommy sat up late night sewing on these britches for me, making them out in a pair of old pappies, and they mighty good britches. Ain't going to have no wet cat climbing up them. No sir! Both boys began to walk toward him argumentatively while he moved slowly backward, shaking his head and denying them. I don't care how much you talk, he said. Mommy gave my old britches to Herman and he's here's one's only britches I got now and I'm going to keep him on me, not take him off and let old wet cat splash all over him. My mommy, she sewed him for me. I reckon didn't sew him for no cat.  Penrod begged pathetically. You don't want to see the poor cat drown, do you? Mighty mean cat, Herman said, but let that old pussy cat alone where it is. Why it'll only take a minute, Sam urged. You just wait inside the stable and you'll have him back on again before you can say Jack Robinson.  Listen here, Herman. Penrod began pleadingly. You can watch us every minute through the crack in the stable door, can't you? We ain't going to hurt him any, are we? You can see everything we do, can't you? Look at here, Herman. You know that little saw you said you wished it was yours in the carpenter shop? Well honest, if you'll just let us take your trousers till we get this poor old cat out of the cistern, I'll give you that little saw. Herman was shaken. He yearned for the little saw. You give me her to keep, he asked cautiously. You give me her before I hand over my britches? You'll see Penrod ran into the stable, came back with the little saw, and placed it in Herman's hand. Herman could resist no longer, and two minutes later he stood in the necessary negligee within the shelter of the stable door and watched through the crack the lowering of the surrendered garment into the cistern. His gaze was anxious and surely nothing could have been more natural since the removal had exposed Herman's brown legs and all the weather was far from inclement. November is never quite the month for people to be out of doors entirely without leg covering. Therefore, he marked with impatience that Sam and Penrod, after lowering the trousers partway to the water, had withdrawn them and fallen into an argument. Name a goodness, Herman shouted. I ain't got no time for you all to do so much talking. If you go get that cat out, why don't you get him? Wait just a minute, Penrod called, and he came running to the stable, seized upon a large wooden box which the carpenters had fitted with the lid and leather hinges and returned with it cumbersomely to the cistern. There, he said, that'll do to put it in.  Well, I'd like to know what you want to keep it for, Sam said, peevishly. And with the suggestion of a sneer, he added, I suppose you think somebody will pay about $100 reward or something on account of a cat. I don't either, Penrod protested hotly. I know what I'm doing, I tell you. Well, what on earth? I'll tell you someday, won't I? Penrod cried. I got my reasons for wanting to keep this cat and I'm going to keep it. You don't have to keep- Well, all right, Sam said shortly. Anyways, it'll be dead if you don't hurry. It won't either, Penrod returned kneeling and peering down upon the dark water. Listen to him. He's growling and spitting away like anything. It takes a mighty fine-blooded cat to be as fierce as that. I bet you most cats would have given up and drowned long ago. The water's awful cold, and I expect he was pretty surprised when he lit in it. Herman's making a fuss again, Sam said. We better get the old cat out of there if we're going to. Well, this is the way we'll do, Penrod said authoritatively. I'll let you hold the trousers, Sam. You lay down and keep hold of one leg and let the other one hang down until its end is in the water. Then you kind of swish it around until it's somewhere where the cat can get hold of it, and soon as he does, you pull it up and be mighty careful so as it don't fall off. Then I'll grab it and stick it in the box and slam the lid down. 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 you grab hold? What's it doing now, Sam? It's spitting at Herman's trousers, said Sam. My gracious, but it's a fierce cat. If it's mad all the time like this, you better not ever try to pet it much. Now it's kind of sniffing at the trousers. It acts to me as if it was going to catch hold. Yes, it stuck one claw in him. Ow! Sam uttered a blood-curdling shriek and jerked conulsively. The next instant, streaming and inconceivably gone, the ravening gypsy appeared with a final bound upon Sam's shoulder. It was not in Gypsy's character to be drawn up peaceably. He had ascended the trousers in Sam's arm without assistance and in his own way. Simultaneously, for this was a notable case of everything happening at once, there was a muffled soggy splash and the unfortunate Herman, smit with prophecy in his seclusion, uttered a dismal yell. Penrod laid hands upon Gypsy and after a struggle suggestive of sailors landing a man-eating shark, succeeded in getting him into the box and sat upon the lid thereof. Sam had leaped to his feet, empty-handed and vociferous. Ow! Ow! Ouch! He shouted as he rubbed his suffering arm and shoulder. Then, exasperated by Herman's lamentations, he called angrily. Oh, what I care for your old britches!  However, upon excruciating in treaty, 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 fishing sinkers from his pocket before making the faded loan. Penrod was soothing elacerated wrist in his mouth. That's a mighty fine-blooded cat, he remarked. I expected it got away from pretty near anybody, especially if they didn't know much about cats. Listen to him in the box, Sam. I bet you never heard a cat growl as loud as that in your life. I wouldn't wonder if it was part panther or something. Sam began to feel more interest and less resentment. I'll tell you what we can do, Penrod, he said. Let's take it in the stable and make the box into a cage. We can take off the hinges and slide back the lid a little at a time and nail some of those laths over the front for bars. That's exactly what I was going to say, Penrod exclaimed. I already thought of that, Sam. Yes, sir. We'll make it just like a regular circus cage and our good old cat can look out from between the bars and growl. It'll come in pretty handy if we ever decide to have another show. Anyways, we'll have her in there good and tight where we can keep watch she don't get away. I got a mighty good reason to keep this cat, Sam. You'll see. Well, why don't you? Sam was interrupted by a vehement appeal from the stable. Oh, we're coming, he shouted. We got to bring our cat in this cage, haven't we? Listen, Herman, Penrod called absentmindedly. Bring us some bricks or something awful heavy to put on the lid of our cage so we can carry it without our good old cat pushing the lid open. Herman explained with vehemence that it would not be right for him to leave the stable upon any errand until just restorations had been made. He spoke inimically of the cat that had been the occasion of his loss and he earnestly requested that operations with the closed prop be resumed in the cistern. Sam and Penrod declined on the ground that this was absolutely proven to be of no available and Sam went to look for bricks. These two boys were not unfeeling. They sympathized with Herman, but they regarded the trousers as a loss about which there was no use in making so much outcry. To them, it was part of an episode that ought to be closed. They had done their best and Sam had not intended to drop the trousers. That was something no one could have helped and therefore no one was to be blamed. What they were now interested in was the construction of a circus cage for their good old cat. It's going to be a cage just exactly like circus cages Herman, Penrod said as he and Sam set the box down on the stable floor. You can help us nail the bars and I ain't studying about no bars, Herman interrupted fiercely. What could you reckon? Nailin bars gon' do me if mommy holler for me.  I try to treat people nice and then they go throw my britches down cistern. I did not, Sam protested. That old cat just kicked him out of my hand with its hind feet. Well, its front ones were sticking in my arm. I bet you'd have, oh blame it on cat, Herman sneered. That's nice. Just looky here a minute. Who did I lend him britches to? Did I lend him britches to this here cat? No, sir. You know I didn't. You know well as any man I lend him britches to you and you took and throwed him down in cistern. Oh please hush up about your old britches, Penrod said plaintively. I got to think how we're going to fix our cage upright and you make so much noise I can't get my mind on it. Anyways, didn't I give you that little saw? Little saw! Herman cried unmolefied. Yes and this year little saw go do me a lot of good when I got to go home. Why it's only across the alley to your house Herman, said Sam. That ain't anything at all to step over there and you've got your little saw.  I'll give you little saw to carry. Penrod had begun to work upon the cage. Now listen here Herman, he said. If you'll quit talking so much and kind of get settled down or something and help us fix a good cage for our panther, well when mama comes home about five o'clock I'll go and tell her there's a poor boy got his britches burned up in a fire and how he's waiting out in the stable for some and I'll tell her I promised him. Well she'll give me a pair I wore for summer on as she will and you can put them on as quick as anything. There Herman said Sam, now you're all right again. Who all right? Herman complained. I like to feel something around my legs before no five o'clock. Well you're sure to get him by then Penrod promised. It ain't winter yet Herman, come on and help saw those lads for the bars Herman and Sam and I'll nail them on. It ain't long till five o'clock Herman, then you'll just feel fine. Herman was not convinced. But he found himself at his disadvantage in the argument. The question at issue seemed a vital one to him and yet his two opponents evidently considered it of minor importance. Obviously they felt that the promise for five o'clock had settled the whole matter conclusively but to Herman this did not appear to be the fact. However he helplessly suffered himself to be cajoled back into carpentry though he was extremely ill at ease and talked a great deal of his misfortune. He shivered and grumbled and by his passionate urgings compelled Penrod to go into the house so many times to see what time it was by the kitchen clock that both companions almost lost patience with him. There said Penrod returning from performing this errand for the fourth time. It's twenty minutes after three and I'm not going in to look at that old clock again if I have to die for it. I never heard anybody make such a fuss in my life and I'm getting tired of it. Must think we want to be all night fixing this cage for our panther. If you ask me to go and see what time it is again Herman I'm going to take back about asking mama at five o'clock and then where you'll be. Well it seemed like mighty long afternoon to me, Herman sighed. I just like to know what time it is getting to be now. Look out Penrod warned him. You heard what I was just telling you about how I'd take back. Never mind Herman said hurriedly. I wasn't asking you. I just saying something kind of to myself like. End of chapter 13. Chapter 14 of Penrod and Sam. This liberal rocks recording is in the public domain. Recording by Jonathan Burchard April 2009. Penrod and Sam by Booth Tarkington. Chapter 14. Camera work in the jungle. The completed cage with gypsy behind the bars framed a spectacle sufficiently thrilling and panther like. Gypsy raved spat struck virulently at the taunting fingers turned on his wailing siren for minutes at a time and he gave his imitation of a dromedary almost continuously. These phenomena could be intensified in picturesqueness the boys discovered by rocking the cage a little tapping it with a hammer or raking the bars with a stick. All together gypsy was having a lively afternoon. Then there came a vigorous rapping on the alley door of the stable and vermin was admitted. Yay vermin cried Sam Williams. Come and look at our good old panther. Another curiosity however claimed vermin's attention. His eyes opened wide and he pointed at herman's legs. Mama tell me get at stovewood. Herman interpreted resentfully. How am I going to get at stovewood when my bridge is down at bottom of cistern.  Since I told you one stay down the bottom at cistern. Herman shouted much exasperated. You want to know how come so you asked Sam Williams. He says this year cat tucking totem down there. Sam who was busy rocking the cage remained cheerfully absorbed in that occupation. Come look at our good old panther vermin. He called I'll get this circus cage rocking right good. And then wait a minute said Penrod. I got something to think about quit rocking it. I guess I got a right to think about something without having to go deaf. Haven't I having obtained the quiet so plantively requested. He knit his brow and gazed intently upon vermin. Then upon Herman then upon gypsy. Evidently his idea was fermenting. He broke the silence with a shout. I know Sam I know what we'll do now. I just thought of it. And it's going to be something I bet there aren't any other boys in this town could do. Because where would they get any good old panther like we got and Herman and vermin. And they'd have to have a dog too. And we got our good old dookie I guess. I bet we have the greatest old time this afternoon we ever had in our lives. His enthusiasm roused the warm interest of Sam and vermin. Though Herman remaining cold and suspicious asked for details. And I'd like to hear if it's something he concluded. Let's go get me my britches back out in that system. Well it ain't exactly that said Penrod. It's different from that. What I'm thinking about well for us to have it the way it ought to be. So as you and vermin would look like natives.  Moe said vermin shaking his head violently. Moe. Well wait a minute can't you Sam Williams said. Give Penrod a chance to say what he wants to first can't you go on Penrod. Well you know Sam said Penrod turning to his sympathetic auditor. You remember that move in picture show we went to. Forty graphing wild animals in the jungle. Well Herman wouldn't have to do a thing more to look like those natives. We saw that the man called the beaters. They were dressed just about like the way he is now. And if vermin Moe said vermin. Oh wait a minute vermin Sam and treated. Go on Penrod. Well we can make a mighty good jungle up in the loft Penrod continued eerily. We can take that old dead tree that's out in the alley and some branches. And I bet we could have the best jungle you ever saw. And then we'd fix up a kind of place in there for our panther. Only of course we'd have to keep him in the cage so he wouldn't run away. But we'd pretend he was loose. And then you remember how they did with that calf.  So they could Forty grap him. Herman could be the chief beater. And we'll let vermin be the other beaters. And I'll yay shouted Sam Williams. I'll be the Forty Graf Man. No said Penrod. You be the one with the gun that guards the Forty Graf Man. Because I'm the Forty Graf Man already. You can fix up a mighty good gun with this carpenter shop Sam. We'll make spears for our good old beaters too.  That's going to be a mighty good old camera. We can do lots more things. Yay Sam cried. Let's get started. He paused. Wait a minute Penrod. Vermin says he won't. Well he's got to. Said Penrod. I mump. Vermin insisted. Almost distinctly. They began to argue with him. But for a time vermin remained firm. They upheld the value of dramatic consistency. Declaring that a beater dressed as completely as he was wouldn't look like anything at all. He would spoil the whole business they said. And they praised Herman for the faithful accuracy of his costume. They also insisted that the garment in question was much too large for vermin anyway. Having been so recently worn by Herman and turned over to vermin with insufficient alteration. And they expressed surprise that anybody with any sense should make such a point of clinging to a misfit. Herman sided against his brother in this controversy. Perhaps because a certain loneliness of which he was conscious might be assuaged by the company of another trouserless person. Or it may be that his motive was more somber. Possibly he remembered that vermin's trousers were his own former property and might fit him in case the promise for five o'clock turned out badly. At all events vermin finally yielded under great pressure and consented to appear in the proper costume of the multitude of beaters that now became his duty to personify. Shouting the boy is dispersed to begin the preparation of their jungle scene. Sam and Penrod went for branches in the dead tree while Herman and vermin carried the panther in his cage to the loft. Where the first thing that vermin did was to hang his trousers on a nail in a conspicuous and accessible spot near the doorway. And with the arrival of Penrod and Sam, panting and dragging no inconsiderable thicket after them, the colored brethren began to take a lively or interesting things. Indeed, when Penrod a little later placed in their hands two spears pointed with tin, their good spirits were entirely restored and they even began to take a pride in being properly uncostumed beaters. Sam's gun and Penrod's camera were entirely satisfactory, especially the latter. The camera was so attractive in fact that the hunter and the chief beater and all the other beaters immediately resigned and insisted upon being photographers. Each had to be given a turn before the jungle project could be resumed. Now, for goodness sakes, said Penrod, taking the camera from vermin, I hope you're done so as we can get started doing something like we ought to. We've got to have Duke for a tied up calf. We'll have to bring him and tie him out here in front of the jungle. And then the panther will come out and jump on him. Wait and I'll go bring him. Departing upon this errand, Penrod found Duke enjoying the declining rays of the sun and in the front yard. Hiya, Duke! called his master in an indulgent tone. Come on, good old Duke, come along. Duke rose conscientiously and followed him. I got him, men, Penrod called from the stairway. I got our good old calf all ready to be tied up. Here he is. And he appeared in the doorway with the unsuspecting little dog behind him. Gypsy, who had been silent for some moments, instantly raced his banshee battle cry and Duke yelped in horror. Penrod made a wild effort to hold him, but Duke was not to be detained. Unnatural strength and activity came to him in his delirium, and for the second or two that the struggle lasted, his movements were too rapid for the eyes of the spectators to follow. Merely a whirl and blur in the air could be seen. Then followed a sound of violent scrambling and Penrod sprawled alone at the top of the stairs. Well, why don't you come and help me? he demanded indignantly. I couldn't get him back now if I was to try a million years. What are we going to do about it? Sam asked. Penrod rose and dusted his knees. We got to get along without any tied up calf, that's certain. But I got to take these 40 grafts some way or other. Me and Berman are ready to begin at Beaton, Herman suggested. You told us we the beaters. Well, wait a minute, said Penrod, whose feeling for realism and drama was always alert. I want to get a mighty good picture of that old panther this time. As he spoke, he threw open the wide door intended for the delivery of hay into the loft from the alley below. Now bring the cage over here by this door so I can get it a better light. It's getting kind of dark over where the jungle is. We'll pretend there isn't any cage there, and soon as I get him 40 graft, I'll holler, Shoot, man! Then you must shoot, Sam. And Herman, you and Berman must hammer on the cage with your spears and holler. Hoo-hoo! And pretend you're sparing him. Well, we up. Well, we are ready, said Herman. Hoo-hoo! Wait a minute, Penrod interposed, frowningly surveying the cage. I got to squat too much to get my camera fixed right. He assumed various solemn poses to be interpreted as those of a photographer studying his subject. No, he said finally. It won't take good that way. My goodness, Herman exclaimed. When are we going to begin at Beaton? Here, apparently Penrod had solved a weighty problem. Bring that busted old kitchen chair and set the panther up on it. There, that's the ticket. This way it'll be a mighty good pitcher. He turned to Sam importantly. Well, Jim, is the chief and all his beaters here? Yes, Bill, all here. Sam responded with an air of loyalty. Well then, I guess we're ready, said Penrod in his deepest voice. Beat, man! Herman and Berman were anxious to beat. They set up the loudest uproar of which they were capable. Hoo-hoo-hoo! They bellowed, flailing the branches with their spears and stamping heavily upon the floor. Sam, carried away by the elan of the performance, was unable to resist joining them. Hoo-hoo-hoo! He shouted, Hoo-hoo-hoo! And as the hudust rose from the door to their stopping, the three of them produced such a din and hoo-hooing as could be made by nothing on earth except boys. Back, men! Penrod called, raising his voice to the utmost. Back for your lives, the panther! Now I'm taking his picture! Click, click, shoot, men, shoot! BING! BING! shouted Sam, leveling his gun at the cage, while Herman and Berman hammered upon it and gypsy cursed boys the world and the day he was born. BING! BING! BING! You missed him, screamed Penrod! Give me that gun! And snatching it from Sam's unwilling hand, he leveled it at the cage. BING! he roared. Simultaneously, there was the sound of another report, but this was an actual one and may best be symbolized by the statement that it was a whack. The recipient was Herman, and outrageously surprised and pained, he turned to find himself face-to-face with a heavily-built colored woman who had recently ascended the stairs and approached the preoccupied hunters from the rear. In her hand was a laugh, and even as Herman turned, it was again wielded, this time upon Berman. MAMMY! Yes, you better holler, MAMMY! She panted, MY GOODNESS!    YONNA VUMMINS! clabbered Herman.  CHOKING. Herman answered bravely. ATTLE CAT! TUCKING THOTEM DOWN, SISTERN! Exasperated, almost beyond endurance, she lifted the laugh again, but unfortunately, in order to obtain a better field of action, she moved backward a little coming in contact with the bars of the cage, a circumstance that she overlooked. More unfortunately still, the longing of the captive to express his feelings was such that he would have had welcome the opportunity to attack an elephant. He had been striking and scratching inanimate things and at boys out of reach for the past hour, but here at last was his opportunity. He made the most of it.  OOOOOOO! The colored woman leaped into the air like an athlete, and turning with a swiftness astounding in one of her weight, beheld the semaphoric arm of Gypsy again extended between the bars and hopefully reaching for her. Beside herself, she lifted her foot briskly from the ground, allowing the soul of her shoe to come in contact with Gypsy's cage. The cage moved from the tottering chair beneath it. It passed through the yawning hay door and fell resoundingly to the alley below, where, as Penrod and Sam with cries of dismay rushed to the door and looked down, it burst asunder and disgorged a large, bruised and chastened cat. Gypsy paused and bent one strange look upon the broken box. Then he shook his head and departed up the alley, the two boys watching him till he was out of sight. Before they turned, a harrowing procession issued from the carriage house doors beneath them. Herman came first, hurriedly completing a temporary security in Vermin's trousers. Vermin followed after a little reluctance that departed coincidentally with some inspirating words from the rear. He crossed the alley hastily and his mammy stocked behind, using constant eloquence and a frequent laugh. They went into the small house across the way and closed the door. Then Sam turned to Penrod. Penrod, he said thoughtfully, was it on account of 40 graphing in the jungle you wanted to keep that cat? No, that was a mighty fine-blooded cat. We'd have made some money. Sam jeered. You mean when we'd tell tickets to look at it in its cage? Penrod shook his head. And if Gypsy could have overheard and understood his reply, that atribilious spirit, almost broken by the events of the day, might have considered this last blow the most overwhelming of all. No, said Penrod, when she had kittens.