Penrod and Sam | Page 6

him get out the first--"
"No, she won't. She and Margaret have gone to my aunt's in the country,
and aren't goin' to be back till dark. And even if he made a lot o' noise,
it's kind of hard to hear anything from in there, anyway, when the
door's shut. Besides, he's got to keep quiet--that's the rule, Verman.
You're a pris'ner, and it's the rule you can't holler or nothin'. You
unnerstand that, Verman?"
"Aw wi," said Verman.
"Then go on in there. Hurry!"
The obedient Verman marched into the closet and sat down among the
shoes and slippers, where he presented an interesting effect of contrast.
He was still subject to hilarity--though endeavouring to suppress it by
means of a patent-leather slipper--when Penrod closed the door.
"There!" said Penrod, leading the way from the room. "I guess NOW
you see!"
Sam said nothing, and they came out to the open air and reached their
retreat in the Williams' yard again, without his having acknowledged
Penrod's service to their mutual cause.
"I thought of that just as easy!" Penrod remarked, probably prompted to

this odious bit of complacency by Sam's withholding the praise that
might naturally have been expected. And he was moved to add, "I
guess it'd of been a pretty long while if we'd had to wait for you to
think of something as good as that, Sam."
"Why would it?" Sam asked. "Why would it of been such a long
while?"
"Oh," Penrod responded airily, "just for the main and simple reason!"
Sam could bear it no longer. "Oh, hush up!" he shouted.
Penrod was stung. "Do you mean ME?" he demanded.
"Yes, I do!" the goaded Sam replied.
"Did you tell ME to hush up?"
"Yes, I did!"
"I guess you don't know who you're talkin' to," Penrod said ominously.
"I guess I just better show you who you're talkin' to like that. I guess
you need a little sumpthing, for the main and simple--"
Sam uttered an uncontrollable howl and sprang upon Penrod, catching
him round the waist. Simultaneously with this impact, the wooden
swords spun through the air and were presently trodden underfoot as
the two boys wrestled to and fro.
Penrod was not altogether surprised by the onset of his friend. He had
been aware of Sam's increasing irritation (though neither boy could
have clearly stated its cause) and that very irritation produced a
corresponding emotion in the bosom of the irritator. Mentally, Penrod
was quite ready for the conflict--nay, he welcomed it--though, for the
first few moments, Sam had the physical advantage.
However, it is proper that a neat distinction be drawn here. This was a
conflict; but neither technically nor in the intention of the contestants
was it a fight. Penrod and Sam were both in a state of high exasperation,
and there was great bitterness; but no blows fell and no tears. They
strained, they wrenched, they twisted, and they panted and muttered:
"Oh, no, you don't!" "Oh, I guess I do!" "Oh, you will, will you?"
"You'll see what you get in about a minute!" "I guess you'll learn some
sense this time!"
Streaks and blotches began to appear upon the two faces, where colour
had been heightened by the ardent application of a cloth sleeve or
shoulder, while ankles and insteps were scraped and toes were trampled.
Turf and shrubberies suffered, also, as the struggle went on, until

finally the wrestlers pitched headlong into a young lilac bush, and came
to earth together, among its crushed and sprawling branches.
"OOCH!" and "WUF!" were the two exclamations which marked this
episode, and then, with no further comment, the struggle was
energetically continued upon a horizontal plane. Now Penrod was on
top, now Sam; they rolled, they squirmed, they suffered. And this
contest endured. It went on and on, and it was impossible to imagine its
coming to a definite termination. It went on so long that to both the
participants it seemed to be a permanent thing, a condition that had
always existed and that must always exist perpetually.
And thus they were discovered by a foray of the hostile party, headed
by Roddy Bitts and Herman (older brother to Verman) and followed by
the bonded prisoners, Maurice Levy and Georgie Bassett. These and
others caught sight of the writhing figures, and charged down upon
them with loud cries of triumph.
"Pris'ner! Pris'ner! Bonded pris'ner!" shrieked Roddy Bitts, and touched
Penrod and Sam, each in turn, with his sabre. Then, seeing that they
paid no attention and that they were at his mercy, he recalled the fact
that several times, during earlier stages of the game, both of them had
been unnecessarily vigorous in "touching" his own rather plump person.
Therefore, the opportunity being excellent, he raised his weapon