Penrod and Sam | Page 7

again,
and, repeating the words "bonded pris'ner" as ample explanation of his
deed, brought into play the full strength of his good right arm. He used
the flat of the sabre.
WHACK! WHACK! Roddy was perfectly impartial. It was a
cold-blooded performance and even more effective than he anticipated.
For one thing, it ended the civil war instantly. Sam and Penrod leaped
to their feet, shrieking and bloodthirsty, while Maurice Levy capered
with joy, Herman was so overcome that he rolled upon the ground, and
Georgie Bassett remarked virtuously:
"It serves them right for fighting."
But Roddy Bitts foresaw that something not within the rules of the
game was about to happen.
"Here! You keep away from me!" he quavered, retreating. "I was just
takin' you pris'ners. I guess I had a right to TOUCH you, didn't I?"
Alas! Neither Sam nor Penrod was able to see the matter in that light.
They had retrieved their own weapons, and they advanced upon Roddy

with a purposefulness that seemed horrible to him.
"Here! You keep away from me!" he said, in great alarm. "I'm goin'
home."
He did go home--but only subsequently. What took place before his
departure had the singular solidity and completeness of systematic
violence; also, it bore the moral beauty of all actions that lead to peace
and friendship, for, when it was over, and the final vocalizations of
Roderick Magsworth Bitts, Junior, were growing faint with increasing
distance, Sam and Penrod had forgotten their differences and felt well
disposed toward each other once more. All their animosity was
exhausted, and they were in a glow of good feeling, though probably
they were not conscious of any direct gratitude to Roddy, whose
thoughtful opportunism was really the cause of this happy result.

CHAPTER II
. THE BONDED PRISONER
After such rigorous events, every one comprehended that the game of
bonded prisoner was over, and there was no suggestion that it should or
might be resumed. The fashion of its conclusion had been so
consummately enjoyed by all parties (with the natural exception of
Roddy Bitts) that a renewal would have been tame; hence, the various
minds of the company turned to other matters and became restless.
Georgie Bassett withdrew first, remembering that if he expected to be
as wonderful as usual, to-morrow, in Sunday-school, it was time to
prepare himself, though this was not included in the statement he made
alleging the cause of his departure. Being detained bodily and pressed
for explanation, he desperately said that he had to go home to tease the
cook--which had the rakehelly air he thought would insure his release,
but was not considered plausible. However, he was finally allowed to
go, and, as first hints of evening were already cooling and darkening
the air, the party broke up, its members setting forth, whistling, toward
their several homes, though Penrod lingered with Sam. Herman was the
last to go from them.
"Well, I got git 'at stove-wood f' suppuh," he said, rising and stretching
himself. "I got git 'at lil' soap-box wagon, an' go on ovuh wheres 'at
new house buil'in' on Secon' Street; pick up few shingles an' blocks

layin' roun'."
He went through the yard toward the alley, and, at the alley gate,
remembering something, he paused and called to them. The lot was a
deep one, and they were too far away to catch his meaning. Sam
shouted, "Can't HEAR you!" and Herman replied, but still
unintelligibly; then, upon Sam's repetition of "Can't HEAR you!"
Herman waved his arm in farewell, implying that the matter was of
little significance, and vanished. But if they had understood him,
Penrod and Sam might have considered his inquiry of instant
importance, for Herman's last shout was to ask if either of them had
noticed "where Verman went."
Verman and Verman's whereabouts were, at this hour, of no more
concern to Sam and Penrod than was the other side of the moon. That
unfortunate bonded prisoner had been long since utterly effaced from
their fields of consciousness, and the dark secret of their Bastille
troubled them not--for the main and simple reason that they had
forgotten it.
They drifted indoors, and found Sam's mother's white cat drowsing on
a desk in the library, the which coincidence obviously inspired the
experiment of ascertaining how successfully ink could be used in
making a clean white cat look like a coach-dog. There was neither
malice nor mischief in their idea; simply, a problem presented itself to
the biological and artistic questionings beginning to stir within them.
They did not mean to do the cat the slightest injury or to cause her any
pain. They were above teasing cats, and they merely detained this one
and made her feel a little wet--at considerable cost to themselves from
both