Penrod and Sam | Page 3

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PENROD AND SAM

Contents I. Penrod and Sam II. The Bonded Prisoner III. The Militarist
IV. Bingism V. The In-Or-In VI. Georgie Becomes a Member VII.
Whitey VIII. Salvage IX. Reward of Merit X. Conscience XI. The
Tonic XII. Gipsy XIII. Concerning Trousers XIV. Camera Work in the
Jungle XV. A Model Letter to a Friend XVI. Wednesday Madness
XVII. Penrod's Busy Day XVIII. On Account of the Weather XIX.
Creative Art XX. The Departing Guest XXI. Yearnings XXII. The
Horn of Fame XXIII. The Party XXIV. The Heart of Marjorie Jones

CHAPTER I
. PENROD AND SAM

During the daylight hours of several autumn Saturdays there had been
severe outbreaks of cavalry in the Schofield neighbourhood. The sabres
were of wood; the steeds were imaginary, and both were employed in a
game called "bonded pris'ner" by its inventors, Masters Penrod
Schofield and Samuel Williams. The pastime was not intricate. When
two enemies met, they fenced spectacularly until the person of one or
the other was touched by the opposing weapon; then, when the ensuing
claims of foul play had been disallowed and the subsequent argument
settled, the combatant touched was considered to be a prisoner until
such time as he might be touched by the hilt of a sword belonging to
one of his own party, which effected his release and restored to him the
full enjoyment of hostile activity. Pending such rescue, however, he
was obliged to accompany the forces of his captor whithersoever their
strategical necessities led them, which included many strange places.
For the game was exciting, and, at its highest pitch, would sweep out of
an alley into a stable, out of that stable and into a yard, out of that yard
and into a house, and through that house with the sound (and effect
upon furniture) of trampling herds. In fact, this very similarity must
have been in the mind of the distressed coloured woman in Mrs.
Williams's kitchen, when she declared that she might "jes' as well try to
cook right spang in the middle o' the stock-yards."
All up and down the neighbourhood the campaigns were waged,
accompanied by the martial clashing of wood upon wood and by many
clamorous arguments.
"You're a pris'ner, Roddy Bitts!"
"I am not!"
"You are, too! I touched you."
"Where, I'd like to know!"
"On the sleeve."
"You did not! I never felt it. I guess I'd 'a' felt it, wouldn't I?"
"What if you didn't? I touched you, and you're bonded. I leave it to Sam
Williams."
"Yah! Course you would! He's on your side! I leave it to Herman."
"No, you won't! If you can't show any SENSE about it, we'll do it over,
and I guess you'll see whether you feel it or not! There! NOW, I guess
you--"
"Aw, squash!"

Strangely enough, the undoubted champion proved to be the youngest
and darkest of all the combatants, one Verman, coloured, brother to
Herman, and substantially under the size to which his nine years
entitled him. Verman was unfortunately tongue-tied, but he was valiant
beyond all others, and, in spite of every handicap, he became at once
the chief support of his own party and the despair of the opposition.
On the third Saturday this opposition had been worn down by the
successive captures of Maurice Levy and Georgie Bassett until it
consisted of only Sam Williams and Penrod. Hence, it behooved these
two to be wary, lest they be wiped out altogether; and Sam was
dismayed indeed, upon cautiously scouting round a corner of his own
stable, to find himself face to face with the valorous and skilful Verman,
who was acting as an outpost, or picket, of the enemy.
Verman immediately fell