Della screamed and Sam shouted. Penrod had disappeared
from view.
The delayed dance was about to begin a most uneven
cotillon when Samuel Williams arrived.
Mrs. Schofield hurriedly left the ballroom; while
Miss Rennsdale, flushing with sudden happiness, curtsied
profoundly to Professor Bartet and obtained his attention.
“I have telled you fifty times,” he informed
her passionately ere she spoke, “I cannot make
no such changes. If your partner comes you have
to dance with him. You are going to drive me
crazy, sure! What is it? What now?
What you want?”
The damsel curtsied again and handed him the following
communication, addressed to herself:
“Sincerly yours
“Penrod Schofield.”
Penrod entered the schoolroom, Monday picturesquely
leaning upon a man’s cane shortened to support
a cripple approaching the age of twelve. He arrived
about twenty minutes late, limping deeply, his brave
young mouth drawn with pain, and the sensation he
created must have been a solace to him; the only possible
criticism of this entrance being that it was just
a shade too heroic. Perhaps for that reason it
failed to stagger Miss Spence, a woman so saturated
with suspicion that she penalized Penrod for tardiness
as promptly and as coldly as if he had been a mere,
ordinary, unmutilated boy. Nor would she entertain
any discussion of the justice of her ruling.
It seemed, almost, that she feared to argue with him.
However, the distinction of cane and limp remained
to him, consolations which he protracted far into
the week—until Thursday evening, in fact,
when Mr. Schofield, observing from a window his son’s
pursuit of Duke round and round the backyard, confiscated
the cane, with the promise that it should not remain
idle if he saw Penrod limping again. Thus, succeeding
a depressing Friday, another Saturday brought the necessity
for new inventions.
It was a scented morning in apple-blossom time.
At about ten of the clock Penrod emerged hastily from
the kitchen door. His pockets bulged abnormally;
so did his checks, and he swallowed with difficulty.
A threatening mop, wielded by a cooklike arm in a
checkered sleeve, followed him through the doorway,
and he was preceded by a small, hurried, wistful dog
with a warm doughnut in his mouth. The kitchen
door slammed petulantly, enclosing the sore voice
of Della, whereupon Penrod and Duke seated themselves
upon the pleasant sward and immediately consumed the
spoils of their raid.
