Penrod and Sam | Page 8

the ink and the cat. However, at the conclusion of their efforts, it
was thought safer to drop the cat out of the window before anybody
came, and, after some hasty work with blotters, the desk was moved to
cover certain sections of the rug, and the two boys repaired to the
bathroom for hot water and soap. They knew they had done nothing
wrong; but they felt easier when the only traces remaining upon them
were the less prominent ones upon their garments.
These precautions taken, it was time for them to make their appearance
at Penrod's house for dinner, for it had been arranged, upon petition
earlier in the day, that Sam should be his friend's guest for the evening
meal. Clean to the elbows and with light hearts, they set forth. They

marched, whistling--though not producing a distinctly musical effect,
since neither had any particular air in mind--and they found nothing
wrong with the world; they had not a care. Arrived at their adjacent
destination, they found Miss Margaret Schofield just entering the front
door.
"Hurry, boys!" she said. "Mamma came home long before I did, and
I'm sure dinner is waiting. Run on out to the dining-room and tell them
I'll be right down."
And, as they obeyed, she mounted the stairs, humming a little tune and
unfastening the clasp of the long, light-blue military cape she wore. She
went to her own quiet room, lit the gas, removed her hat and placed it
and the cape upon the bed; after which she gave her hair a push,
subsequent to her scrutiny of a mirror; then, turning out the light, she
went as far as the door. Being an orderly girl, she returned to the bed
and took the cape and the hat to her clothes-closet. She opened the door
of this sanctuary, and, in the dark, hung her cape upon a hook and
placed her hat upon the shelf. Then she closed the door again, having
noted nothing unusual, though she had an impression that the place
needed airing. She descended to the dinner table.
The other members of the family were already occupied with the meal,
and the visitor was replying politely, in his non-masticatory intervals,
to inquiries concerning the health of his relatives. So sweet and assured
was the condition of Sam and Penrod that Margaret's arrival from her
room meant nothing to them. Their memories were not stirred, and they
continued eating, their expressions brightly placid.
But from out of doors there came the sound of a calling and questing
voice, at first in the distance, then growing louder--coming nearer.
"Oh, Ver-er-man! O-o-o-oh, Ver-er-ma-a-an!"
It was the voice of Herman.
"OO-O-O-O-OH, VER-ER-ER-MA-A-A-AN!"
And then two boys sat stricken at that cheerful table and ceased to eat.
Recollection awoke with a bang!
"Oh, my!" Sam gasped.
"What's the matter?" Mr. Schofield said. "Swallow something the
wrong way, Sam?"
"Ye-es, sir."
"OO-O-O-O-OH, VER-ER-ER-MA-A-A-AN!"

And now the voice was near the windows of the dining-room.
Penrod, very pale, pushed back his chair and jumped up.
"What's the matter with YOU?" his father demanded. "Sit down!"
"It's Herman--that coloured boy lives in the alley," Penrod said hoarsely.
"I expect--I think--"
"Well, what's the matter?"
"I think his little brother's maybe got lost, and Sam and I better go help
look--"
"You'll do nothing of the kind," Mr. Schofield said sharply. "Sit down
and eat your dinner."
In a palsy, the miserable boy resumed his seat. He and Sam exchanged
a single dumb glance; then the eyes of both swung fearfully to
Margaret. Her appearance was one of sprightly content, and, from a
certain point of view, nothing could have been more alarming. If she
had opened her closet door without discovering Verman, that must
have been because Verman was dead and Margaret had failed to notice
the body. (Such were the thoughts of Penrod and Sam.) But she might
not have opened the closet door. And whether she had or not, Verman
must still be there, alive or dead, for if he had escaped he would have
gone home, and their ears would not be ringing with the sinister and
melancholy cry that now came from the distance, "Oo-o-oh,
Ver-er-ma-an!"
Verman, in his seclusion, did not hear that appeal from his brother;
there were too many walls between them. But he was becoming
impatient for release, though, all in all, he had not found the
confinement intolerable or even very irksome. His character was
philosophic, his imagination calm; no bugaboos came to trouble him.
When the boys closed the door upon him, he made himself comfortable
upon the floor and, for a time, thoughtfully chewed a patent-leather
slipper that had come under his hand. He found the patent leather not
unpleasant to his palate, though he swallowed only