Penrod

by Booth Tarkington

  CHAPTER XIX THE INNER BOY

  Penrod went home in splendour, pretending that he and Duke were a longprocession; and he made enough noise to render the auricular part of theillusion perfect. His own family were already at the lunch-table when hearrived, and the parade halted only at the door of the dining-room.

  "Oh SOMETHING!" shouted Mr. Schofield, clasping his bilious brow withboth hands. "Stop that noise! Isn't it awful enough for you to SING? SitDOWN! Not with that thing on! Take that green rope off your shoulder!Now take that thing out of the dining-room and throw it in the ash-can!Where did you get it?"

  "Where did I get what, papa?" asked Penrod meekly, depositing theaccordion in the hall just outside the dining-room door.

  "That da--that third-hand concertina."

  "It's a 'cordian," said Penrod, taking his place at the table, andnoticing that both Margaret and Mr. Robert Williams (who happened to bea guest) were growing red.

  "I don't care what you call it," said Mr. Schofield irritably. "I wantto know where you got it."

  Penrod's eyes met Margaret's: hers had a strained expression.

  She very slightly shook her head. Penrod sent Mr. Williams a gratefullook, and might have been startled if he could have seen himself in amirror at that moment; for he regarded Mitchy-Mitch with concealed butvigorous aversion and the resemblance would have horrified him.

  "A man gave it to me," he answered gently, and was rewarded by thevisibly regained ease of his patron's manner, while Margaret leaned backin her chair and looked at her brother with real devotion.

  "I should think he'd have been glad to," said Mr. Schofield. "Who washe?"

  "Sir?" In spite of the candy which he had consumed in company withMarjorie and Mitchy-Mitch, Penrod had begun to eat lobster croquettesearnestly.

  "Who WAS he?"

  "Who do you mean, papa?"

  "The man that gave you that ghastly Thing!"

  "Yessir. A man gave it to me."

  "I say, Who WAS he?" shouted Mr. Schofield.

  "Well, I was just walking along, and the man came up to me--it was rightdown in front of Colgate's, where most of the paint's rubbed off thefence----"

  "Penrod!" The father used his most dangerous tone.

  "Sir?"

  "Who was the man that gave you the concertina?"

  "I don't know. I was walking along----"

  "You never saw him before?"

  "No, sir. I was just walk----"

  "That will do," said Mr. Schofield, rising. "I suppose every family hasits secret enemies and this was one of ours. I must ask to be excused!"

  With that, he went out crossly, stopping in the hall a moment beforepassing beyond hearing. And, after lunch, Penrod sought in vain for hisaccordion; he even searched the library where his father sat reading,though, upon inquiry, Penrod explained that he was looking for amisplaced schoolbook. He thought he ought to study a little every day,he said, even during vacation-time. Much pleased, Mr. Schofield rose andjoined the search, finding the missing work on mathematics with singularease--which cost him precisely the price of the book the followingSeptember.

  Penrod departed to study in the backyard. There, after a cautious surveyof the neighbourhood, he managed to dislodge the iron cover of thecistern, and dropped the arithmetic within. A fine splash rewarded hislistening ear. Thus assured that when he looked for that book again noone would find it for him, he replaced the cover, and betook himselfpensively to the highway, discouraging Duke from following by repeatedvolleys of stones, some imaginary and others all too real.

  Distant strains of brazen horns and the throbbing of drums were borne tohim upon the kind breeze, reminding him that the world was made for joy,and that the Barzee and Potter Dog and Pony Show was exhibiting in abanlieue not far away. So, thither he bent his steps--the plentifulfunds in his pocket burning hot holes all the way. He had paidtwenty-two cents for the accordion, and fifteen for candy; he had boughtthe mercenary heart of Mitchy-Mitch for two: it certainly follows thatthere remained to him of his dollar, sixty-one cents--a fair fortune,and most unusual.

  Arrived upon the populous and festive scene of the Dog and Pony Show,he first turned his attention to the brightly decorated booths whichsurrounded the tent. The cries of the peanut vendors, of the popcornmen, of the toy-balloon sellers, the stirring music of the band, playingbefore the performance to attract a crowd, the shouting of excitedchildren and the barking of the dogs within the tent, all soundedexhilaratingly in Penrod's ears and set his blood a-tingle.Nevertheless, he did not squander his money or fling it to the winds inone grand splurge. Instead, he began cautiously with the purchase of anextraordinarily large pickle, which he obtained from an aged negress forhis odd cent, too obvious a bargain to be missed. At an adjacent standhe bought a glass of raspberry lemonade (so alleged) and sipped it as heate the pickle. He left nothing of either.

  Next, he entered a small restaurant-tent and for a modest nickel wassupplied with a fork and a box of sardines, previously opened, it istrue, but more than half full. He consumed the sardines utterly, butleft the tin box and the fork, after which he indulged in an inexpensivehalf-pint of lukewarm cider, at one of the open booths. Mug in hand,a gentle glow radiating toward his surface from various centres ofactivity deep inside him, he paused for breath--and the cool, sweetcadences of the watermelon man fell delectably upon his ear:

  "Ice-cole WATER-melon; ice-cole water-MELON; the biggest slice ofICE-cole, ripe, red, ICE-cole, rich an' rare; the biggest slice ofice-cole watermelon ever cut by the hand of man! BUY our ICE-colewater-melon?"

  Penrod, having drained the last drop of cider, complied with thewatermelon man's luscious entreaty, and received a round slice ofthe fruit, magnificent in circumference and something over an inch inthickness. Leaving only the really dangerous part of the rind behindhim, he wandered away from the vicinity of the watermelon man andsupplied himself with a bag of peanuts, which, with the expenditure of adime for admission, left a quarter still warm in his pocket. However, hemanaged to "break" the coin at a stand inside the tent, where a large,oblong paper box of popcorn was handed him, with twenty cents change.The box was too large to go into his pocket, but, having seated himselfamong some wistful Polack children, he placed it in his lap and devouredthe contents at leisure during the performance. The popcorn was heavilylarded with partially boiled molasses, and Penrod sandwiched mouthfulsof peanuts with gobs of this mass until the peanuts were all gone. Afterthat, he ate with less avidity; a sense almost of satiety beginningto manifest itself to him, and it was not until the close of theperformance that he disposed of the last morsel.

  He descended a little heavily to the outflowing crowd in the arena, andbought a caterwauling toy balloon, but showed no great enthusiasm inmanipulating it. Near the exit, as he came out, was a hot-waffle standwhich he had overlooked, and a sense of duty obliged him to consume thethree waffles, thickly powdered with sugar, which the waffle man cookedfor him upon command.

  They left a hottish taste in his mouth; they had not been quite up tohis anticipation, indeed, and it was with a sense of relief that heturned to the "hokey-pokey" cart which stood close at hand, laden withsquare slabs of "Neapolitan ice-cream" wrapped in paper. He thought theice-cream would be cooling, but somehow it fell short of the desiredeffect, and left a peculiar savour in his throat.

  He walked away, too languid to blow his balloon, and passed afresh-taffy booth with strange indifference. A bare-armed man wasmanipulating the taffy over a hook, pulling a great white mass to thedesired stage of "candying," but Penrod did not pause to watch theoperation; in fact, he averted his eyes (which were slightly glazed) inpassing. He did not analyze his motives: simply, he was conscious thathe preferred not to look at the mass of taffy.

  For some reason, he put a considerable distance between himself and thetaffy-stand, but before long halted in the presence of a red-faced manwho flourished a long fork over a small cooking apparatus and shoutedjovially: "Winnies! HERE'S your hot winnies! Hot winny-WURST! Food forthe
over-worked brain, nourishing for the weak stummick, entertainingfor the tired business man! HERE'S your hot winnies, three for a nickel,a half-a-dime, the twentieth-pot-of-a-dollah!"

  This, above all nectar and ambrosia, was the favourite dish of PenrodSchofield. Nothing inside him now craved it--on the contrary! Butmemory is the great hypnotist; his mind argued against his inwards thatopportunity knocked at his door: "winny-wurst" was rigidly forbidden bythe home authorities. Besides, there was a last nickel in his pocket;and nature protested against its survival. Also, the redfaced man hadhimself proclaimed his wares nourishing for the weak stummick.

  Penrod placed the nickel in the red hand of the red-faced man.

  He ate two of the three greasy, cigarlike shapes cordially pressed uponhim in return. The first bite convinced him that he had made a mistake;these winnies seemed of a very inferior flavour, almost unpleasant, infact. But he felt obliged to conceal his poor opinion of them, for fearof offending the red-faced man. He ate without haste or eagerness--soslowly, indeed, that he began to think the redfaced man might dislikehim, as a deterrent of trade. Perhaps Penrod's mind was not workingwell, for he failed to remember that no law compelled him to remainunder the eye of the red-faced man, but the virulent repulsion excitedby his attempt to take a bite of the third sausage inspired him with atleast an excuse for postponement.

  "Mighty good," he murmured feebly, placing the sausage in the pocketof his jacket with a shaking hand. "Guess I'll save this one to eat athome, after--after dinner."

  He moved sluggishly away, wishing he had not thought of dinner. Aside-show, undiscovered until now, failed to arouse his interest, noteven exciting a wish that he had known of its existence when he hadmoney. For a time he stared without attraction; the weather-worn coloursconveying no meaning to comprehension at a huge canvas poster depictingthe chief his torpid eye. Then, little by little, the poster became morevivid to his consciousness. There was a greenish-tinted person in thetent, it seemed, who thrived upon a reptilian diet.

  Suddenly, Penrod decided that it was time to go home.