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.
From the cross-street which formed the side boundary of the Schofields'
ample yard came a jingle of harness and the cadenced clatter of a pair
of trotting horses, and Penrod, looking up, beheld the passing of a
fat acquaintance, torpid amid the conservative splendours of a rather
old-fashioned victoria. This was Roderick Magsworth Bitts, Junior, a
fellow sufferer at the Friday Afternoon Dancing Class, but otherwise not
often a companion: a home-sheltered lad, tutored privately and preserved
against the coarsening influences of rude comradeship and miscellaneous
information. Heavily overgrown in all physical dimensions, virtuous,
and placid, this cloistered mutton was wholly uninteresting to Penrod
Schofield. Nevertheless, Roderick Magsworth Bitts, Junior, was a
personage on account of the importance of the Magsworth Bitts family;
and it was Penrod's destiny to increase Roderick's celebrity far, far
beyond its present aristocratic limitations.
The Magsworth Bittses were important because they were impressive; there
was no other reason. And they were impressive because they believed
themselves important. The adults of the family were impregnably formal;
they dressed with reticent elegance, and wore the same nose and the
same expression--an expression which indicated that they knew something
exquisite and sacred which other people could never know. Other people,
in their presence, were apt to feel mysteriously ignoble and to
become secretly uneasy about ancestors, gloves, and pronunciation. The
Magsworth Bitts manner was withholding and reserved, though sometimes
gracious, granting small smiles as great favours and giving off a
chilling kind of preciousness. Naturally, when any citizen of the
community did anything unconventional or improper, or made a mistake, or
had a relative who went wrong, that citizen's first and worst fear
was that the Magsworth Bittses would hear of it. In fact, this painful
family had for years terrorized the community, though the community
had never realized that it was terrorized, and invariably spoke of the
family as the “most charming circle in town.” By common consent, Mrs.
Roderick Magsworth Bitts officiated as the supreme model as well as
critic-in-chief of morals and deportment for all the unlucky people
prosperous enough to be elevated to her acquaintance.
Magsworth was the important part of the name. Mrs. Roderick Magsworth
Bitts was a Magsworth born, herself, and the Magsworth crest decorated
not only Mrs. Magsworth Bitts' note-paper but was on the china, on the
table linen, on the chimney-pieces, on the opaque glass of the front
door, on the victoria, and on the harness, though omitted from the
garden-hose and the lawn-mower.
Naturally, no sensible person dreamed of connecting that illustrious
crest with the unfortunate and notorious Rena Magsworth whose name had
grown week by week into larger and larger type upon the front pages of
newspapers, owing to the gradually increasing public and official belief
that she had poisoned a family of eight. However, the statement that no
sensible person could have connected the Magsworth Bitts family with the
arsenical Rena takes no account of Penrod Schofield.
Penrod never missed a murder, a hanging or an electrocution in the
newspapers; he knew almost as much about Rena Magsworth as her jurymen
did, though they sat in a court-room two hundred miles away, and he had
it in mind--so frank he was--to ask Roderick Magsworth Bitts, Junior, if
the murderess happened to be a relative.
The present encounter, being merely one of apathetic greeting, did not
afford the opportunity. Penrod took off his cap, and Roderick, seated
between his mother and one of his grown-up sisters, nodded sluggishly,
but neither Mrs. Magsworth Bitts nor her daughter acknowledged the
salutation of the boy in the yard. They disapproved of him as a
person of little consequence, and that little, bad. Snubbed, Penrod
thoughtfully restored his cap to his head. A boy can be cut as
effectually as a man, and this one was chilled to a low temperature. He
wondered if they despised him because they had seen a last fragment of
doughnut in his hand; then he thought that perhaps it was Duke who had
disgraced him. Duke was certainly no fashionable looking dog.
The resilient spirits of youth, however, presently revived, and
discovering a spider upon one knee and a beetle simultaneously upon the
other, Penrod forgot Mrs. Roderick Magsworth Bitts in the course of
some experiments infringing upon the domain of Doctor Carrel. Penrod's
efforts--with the aid of a pin--to effect a transference of living
organism were unsuccessful; but he convinced himself forever that a
spider cannot walk with a beetle's legs. Della then enhanced zoological
interest by depositing upon the back porch a large rat-trap from the
cellar, the prison of four live rats awaiting execution.
Penrod at once took possession, retiring to the empty stable, where
he installed the rats in a small wooden box with a sheet of broken
window-glass--held down by a brickbat--over the top. Thus the symptoms
of their agitation, when the box was shaken or hammered upon, could be
studied at leisure. Altogether this Saturday was starting splendidly.
After a time, the student's attention was withdrawn from his specimens
by a peculiar smell, which, being followed up by a system of selective
sniffing, proved to be an emanation leaking into the stable from the
alley. He opened the back door.
Across the alley was a cottage which a thrifty neighbour had built on
the rear line of his lot and rented to negroes; and the fact that a
negro family was now in process of “moving in” was manifested by the
presence of a thin mule and a ramshackle wagon, the latter laden
with the semblance of a stove and a few other unpretentious household
articles.
A very small darky boy stood near the mule. In his hand was a rusty
chain, and at the end of the chain the delighted Penrod perceived the
source of the special smell he was tracing--a large raccoon. Duke,
who had shown not the slightest interest in the rats, set up a frantic
barking and simulated a ravening assault upon the strange animal. It
was only a bit of acting, however, for Duke was an old dog, had suffered
much, and desired no unnecessary sorrow, wherefore he confined his
demonstrations to alarums and excursions, and presently sat down at
a distance and expressed himself by intermittent threatenings in a
quavering falsetto.
“What's that 'coon's name?” asked Penrod, intending no discourtesy.
“Aim gommo mame,” said the small darky.
“What?”
“Aim gommo mame.”
“WHAT?”
The small darky looked annoyed.
“Aim GOMMO mame, I hell you,” he said impatiently.
Penrod conceived that insult was intended.
“What's the matter of you?” he demanded advancing. “You get fresh with
ME, and I'll----”
“Hyuh, white boy!” A coloured youth of Penrod's own age appeared in
the doorway of the cottage. “You let 'at brothuh mine alone. He ain' do
nothin' to you.”
“Well, why can't he answer?”
“He can't. He can't talk no better'n what he WAS talkin'. He
tongue-tie'.”
“Oh,” said Penrod, mollified. Then, obeying an impulse so universally
aroused in the human breast under like circumstances that it has become
a quip, he turned to the afflicted one.
“Talk some more,” he begged eagerly.
“I hoe you ackoom aim gommo mame,” was the prompt response, in which
a slight ostentation was manifest. Unmistakable tokens of vanity had
appeared upon the small, swart countenance.
“What's he mean?” asked Penrod, enchanted.
“He say he tole you 'at 'coon ain' got no name.”
“What's YOUR name?”
“I'm name Herman.”
“What's his name?” Penrod pointed to the tongue-tied boy.
“Verman.”
“What!”
“Verman. Was three us boys in ow fam'ly. Ol'est one name Sherman. 'N'en
come me; I'm Herman. 'N'en come him; he Verman. Sherman dead. Verman, he
de littles' one.”
“You goin' to live here?”
“Umhuh. Done move in f'm way outen on a fahm.”
He pointed to the north with his right hand, and Penrod's eyes opened
wide as they followed the gesture. Herman had no forefinger on that
hand.
“Look there!” exclaimed Penrod. “You haven't got any finger!”
“_I_ mum map,” said Verman, with egregious pride.
“HE done 'at,” interpreted Herman, chuckling. “Yessuh; done chop 'er
spang off, long 'go. He's a playin' wif a ax an' I lay my finguh on de
do'-sill an' I say, 'Verman, chop 'er off!' So Verman he chop 'er right
spang off up to de roots! Yessuh.”
“What FOR?”
“Jes' fo' nothin'.”
“He hoe me hoo,” remarked Verman.
“Yessuh, I tole him to,” said Herman, “an' he chop 'er off, an' ey ain't
airy oth' one evuh grown on wheres de ole one use to grow. Nosuh!”
“But what'd you tell him to do it for?”
“Nothin'. I 'es' said it 'at way--an' he jes' chop er off!”
Both brothers looked pleased and proud. Penrod's profound interest was
flatteringly visible, a tribute to their unusualness.
“Hem bow goy,” suggested Verman eagerly.
“Aw ri',” said Herman. “Ow sistuh Queenie, she a growed-up woman; she
got a goituh.”
“Got a what?”
“Goituh. Swellin' on her neck--grea' big swellin'. She heppin' mammy
move in now. You look in de front-room winduh wheres she sweepin'; you
kin see it on her.”
Penrod looked in the window and was rewarded by a fine view of Queenie's
goitre. He had never before seen one, and only the lure of further
conversation on the part of Verman brought him from the window.
“Verman say tell you 'bout pappy,” explained Herman. “Mammy an' Queenie
move in town an' go git de house all fix up befo' pappy git out.”
“Out of where?”
“Jail. Pappy cut a man, an' de police done kep' him in jail evuh sense
Chris'mus-time; but dey goin' tuhn him loose ag'in nex' week.”
“What'd he cut the other man with?”
“Wif a pitchfawk.”
Penrod began to feel that a lifetime spent with this fascinating family
were all too short. The brothers, glowing with amiability, were as
enraptured as he. For the first time in their lives they moved in the
rich glamour of sensationalism. Herman was prodigal of gesture with his
right hand; and Verman, chuckling with delight, talked fluently,
though somewhat consciously. They cheerfully agreed to keep the
raccoon--already beginning to be mentioned as “our 'coon” by Penrod--in
Mr. Schofield's empty stable, and, when the animal had been chained to
the wall near the box of rats and supplied with a pan of fair water,
they assented to their new friend's suggestion (inspired by a fine
sense of the artistic harmonies) that the heretofore nameless pet be
christened Sherman, in honour of their deceased relative.
At this juncture was heard from the front yard the sound of that
yodelling which is the peculiar accomplishment of those whose voices
have not “changed.” Penrod yodelled a response; and Mr. Samuel Williams
appeared, a large bundle under his arm.
“Yay, Penrod!” was his greeting, casual enough from without; but, having
entered, he stopped short and emitted a prodigious whistle. “YA-A-AY!”
he then shouted. “Look at the 'coon!”
“I guess you better say, 'Look at the 'coon!'” Penrod returned proudly.
“They's a good deal more'n him to look at, too. Talk some, Verman.”
Verman complied.
Sam was warmly interested. “What'd you say his name was?” he asked.
“Verman.”
“How d'you spell it?”
“V-e-r-m-a-n,” replied Penrod, having previously received this
information from Herman.
“Oh!” said Sam.
“Point to sumpthing, Herman,” Penrod commanded, and Sam's excitement,
when Herman pointed was sufficient to the occasion.
Penrod, the discoverer, continued his exploitation of the manifold
wonders of the Sherman, Herman, and Verman collection. With the air of
a proprietor he escorted Sam into the alley for a good look at Queenie
(who seemed not to care for her increasing celebrity) and proceeded to
a dramatic climax--the recital of the episode of the pitchfork and its
consequences.
The cumulative effect was enormous, and could have but one possible
result. The normal boy is always at least one half Barnum.
“Let's get up a SHOW!”
Penrod and Sam both claimed to have said it first, a question left
unsettled in the ecstasies of hurried preparation. The bundle under
Sam's arm, brought with no definite purpose, proved to have been
an inspiration. It consisted of broad sheets of light yellow
wrapping-paper, discarded by Sam's mother in her spring house-cleaning.
There were half-filled cans and buckets of paint in the storeroom
adjoining the carriage-house, and presently the side wall of the stable
flamed information upon the passer-by from a great and spreading poster.
“Publicity,” primal requisite of all theatrical and amphitheatrical
enterprise thus provided, subsequent arrangements proceeded with a fury
of energy which transformed the empty hayloft. True, it is impossible to
say just what the hay-loft was transformed into, but history warrantably
clings to the statement that it was transformed. Duke and Sherman were
secured to the rear wall at a considerable distance from each other,
after an exhibition of reluctance on the part of Duke, during which he
displayed a nervous energy and agility almost miraculous in so small and
middle-aged a dog. Benches were improvised for spectators; the rats
were brought up; finally the rafters, corn-crib, and hay-chute were
ornamented with flags and strips of bunting from Sam Williams'
attic, Sam returning from the excursion wearing an old silk hat, and
accompanied (on account of a rope) by a fine dachshund encountered on
the highway. In the matter of personal decoration paint was generously
used: an interpretation of the spiral, inclining to whites and greens,
becoming brilliantly effective upon the dark facial backgrounds of
Herman and Verman; while the countenances of Sam and Penrod were each
supplied with the black moustache and imperial, lacking which, no
professional showman can be esteemed conscientious.
It was regretfully decided, in council, that no attempt be made to add
Queenie to the list of exhibits, her brothers warmly declining to act as
ambassadors in that cause. They were certain Queenie would not like
the idea, they said, and Herman picturesquely described her activity
on occasions when she had been annoyed by too much attention to her
appearance. However, Penrod's disappointment was alleviated by an
inspiration which came to him in a moment of pondering upon the
dachshund, and the entire party went forth to add an enriching line to
the poster.
They found a group of seven, including two adults, already gathered in
the street to read and admire this work.
SCHoFiELD & WiLLiAMS
BiG SHOW
ADMiSSioN 1 CENT oR 20 PiNS
MUSUEM oF CURioSiTES
Now GoiNG oN
SHERMAN HERMAN & VERMAN
THiER FATHERS iN JAiL STABED A
MAN WiTH A
PiTCHFORK
SHERMAN THE WiLD ANIMAL
CAPTURED iN AFRiCA
HERMAN THE ONE FiNGERED TATOOD
WILD MAN VERMAN THE SAVAGE TATOOD
WILD BoY TALKS ONLY iN HiS NAiTiVE
LANGUAGS. Do NoT FAIL TO SEE DUKE
THE INDiAN DOG ALSO THE MiCHiGAN
TRAiNED RATS
A heated argument took place between Sam and Penrod, the point at issue
being settled, finally, by the drawing of straws; whereupon Penrod, with
pardonable self-importance--in the presence of an audience now increased
to nine--slowly painted the words inspired by the dachshund:
IMPoRTENT Do NoT MISS THE SoUTH
AMERiCAN DoG PART ALLIGATOR.