All things come from Mother Earth and must return — Duke restored much at this time. Afterward, he ate heartily of grass; and then, over his shoulder, he bent upon his master one inscrutable look and departed feebly to the front yard.
The two boys had watched the process with warm interest. “I told you she was strong!” said Mr. Williams proudly.
“Yes, sir — she is!” Penrod was generous enough to admit. “I expect she’s strong enough — —” He paused in thought, and added:
“We haven’t got a horse any more.”
“I bet you she’d fix him if you had!” said Sam. And it may be that this was no idle boast.
The pharmaceutical game was not resumed; the experiment upon Duke had made the drug store commonplace and stimulated the appetite for stronger meat. Lounging in the doorway, the near-vivisectionists sipped licorice water alternately and conversed.
“I bet some of our smallpox medicine would fix ole P’fessor Bartet all right!” quoth Penrod. “I wish he’d come along and ask us for some.”
“We could tell him it was lickrish water,” added Sam, liking the idea. “The two bottles look almost the same.”
“Then we wouldn’t have to go to his ole cotillon this afternoon,” Penrod sighed. “There wouldn’t be any!”
“Who’s your partner, Pen?”
“Who’s yours?”
“Who’s yours? I just ast you.”
“Oh, she’s all right!” And Penrod smiled boastfully.
“I bet you wanted to dance with Marjorie!” said his friend.
“Me? I wouldn’t dance with that girl if she begged me to! I wouldn’t dance with her to save her from drowning! I wouldn’t da — —”
“Oh, no — you wouldn’t!” interrupted Mr. Williams skeptically.
Penrod changed his tone and became persuasive.
“Looky here, Sam,” he said confidentially. “I’ve got ‘a mighty nice partner, but my mother don’t like her mother; and so I’ve been thinking I better not dance with her. I’ll tell you what I’ll do; I’ve got a mighty good sling in the house, and I’ll give it to you if you’ll change partners.”
“You want to change and you don’t even know who mine is!” said Sam, and he made the simple though precocious deduction: “Yours must be a lala! Well, I invited Mabel Rorebeck, and she wouldn’t let me change if I wanted to. Mabel Rorebeck’d rather dance with me,” he continued serenely, “than anybody; and she said she was awful afraid you’d ast her. But I ain’t goin’ to dance with Mabel after all, because this morning she sent me a note about her uncle died last night — and P’fessor Bartet’ll have to find me a partner after I get there. Anyway I bet you haven’t got any sling — and I bet your partner’s Baby Rennsdale!”
“What if she is?” said Penrod. “She’s good enough for ME!” This speech held not so much modesty in solution as intended praise of the lady. Taken literally, however, it was an understatement of the facts and wholly insincere.
“Yay!” jeered Mr. Williams, upon whom his friend’s hypocrisy was quite wasted. “How can your mother not like her mother? Baby Rennsdale hasn’t got any mother! You and her’ll be a sight!”
That was Penrod’s own conviction; and with this corroboration of it he grew so spiritless that he could offer no retort. He slid to a despondent sitting posture upon the door sill and gazed wretchedly upon the ground, while his companion went to replenish the licorice water at the hydrant — enfeebling the potency of the liquor no doubt, but making up for that in quantity.
“Your mother goin’ with you to the cotillon?” asked Sam when he returned.
“No. She’s goin’ to meet me there. She’s goin’ somewhere first.”
“So’s mine,” said Sam. “I’ll come by for you.”
“All right.”
“I better go before long. Noon whistles been blowin’.”
“All right,” Penrod repeated dully.
Sam turned to go, but paused. A new straw hat was peregrinating along the fence near the two boys. This hat belonged to someone passing upon the sidewalk of the cross-street; and the someone was Maurice Levy. Even as they stared, he halted and regarded them over the fence with two small, dark eyes.
Fate had brought about this moment and this confrontation.
CHAPTER XIV MAURICE LEVY’S CONSTITUTION
“Lo, Sam!” said Maurice cautiously. “What you doin’?”
PENROD AT THAT instant had a singular experience — an intellectual shock like a flash of fire in the brain. Sitting in darkness, a great light flooded him with wild brilliance. He gasped!
“What you doin’?” repeated Mr. Levy.
Penrod sprang to his feet, seized the licorice bottle, shook it with stoppering thumb, and took a long drink with histrionic unction.
“What you doin’?” asked Maurice for the third time, Sam Williams not having decided upon a reply.
It was Penrod who answered.
“Drinkin’ lickrish water,” he said simply, and wiped his mouth with such delicious enjoyment that Sam’s jaded thirst was instantly stimulated. He took the bottle eagerly from Penrod.
“A-a-h!” exclaimed Penrod, smacking his lips. “That was a good un!”
The eyes above the fence glistened.
“Ask him if he don’t want some,” Penrod whispered urgently. “Quit drinkin’ it! It’s no good any more. Ask him!”
“What for?” demanded the practical Sam.
“Go on and ask him!” whispered Penrod fiercely.
“Say, M’rice!” Sam called, waving the bottle. “Want some?”
“Bring it here!” Mr. Levy requested.
“Come on over and get some,” returned Sam, being prompted.
“I can’t. Penrod Schofield’s after me.”
“No, I’m not,” said Penrod reassuringly. “I won’t touch you, M’rice. I made up with you yesterday afternoon — don’t you remember? You’re all right with me, M’rice.”
Maurice looked undecided. But Penrod had the delectable bottle again, and tilting it above his lips, affected to let the cool liquid purl enrichingly into him, while with his right hand he stroked his middle facade ineffably. Maurice’s mouth watered.
“Here!” cried Sam, stirred again by the superb manifestations of his friend. “Gimme that!”
Penrod brought the bottle down, surprisingly full after so much gusto, but withheld it from Sam; and the two scuffled for its possession. Nothing in the world could have so worked upon the desire of the yearning observer beyond the fence.
“Honest, Penrod — you ain’t goin’ to touch me if I come in your yard?” he called. “Honest?”
“Cross my heart!” answered Penrod, holding the bottle away from Sam. “And we’ll let you drink all you want.”
Maurice hastily climbed the fence, and while he was thus occupied Mr. Samuel Williams received a great enlightenment. With startling rapidity Penrod, standing just outside the storeroom door, extended his arm within the room, deposited the licorice water upon the counter of the drug store, seized in its stead the bottle of smallpox medicine, and extended it cordially toward the advancing Maurice.
Genius is like that — great, simple, broad strokes!
Dazzled, Mr. Samuel Williams leaned against the wall. He had the sensations of one who comes suddenly into the presence of a chef-d’oeuvre. Perhaps his first coherent thought was that almost universal one on such huge occasions: “Why couldn’t I have done that!”
Sam might have been even more dazzled had he guessed that he figured not altogether as a spectator in the sweeping and magnificent conception of the new Talleyrand. Sam had no partner for the cotillon. If Maurice was to be absent from that festivity — as it began to seem he might be — Penrod needed a male friend to take care of Miss Rennsdale and he believed he saw his way to compel Mr. Williams to be that male friend. For this he relied largely upon the prospective conduct of Miss Rennsdale when he should get the matter before her — he was inclined to believe she would favour the exchange. As
for Talleyrand Penrod himself, he was going to dance that cotillon with Marjorie Jones!
“You can have all you can drink at one pull, M’rice,” said Penrod kindly.
“You said I could have all I want!” protested Maurice, reaching for the bottle.
“No, I didn’t,” returned Penrod quickly, holding it away from the eager hand.
“He did, too! Didn’t he, Sam?”
Sam could not reply; his eyes, fixed upon the bottle, protruded strangely.
“You heard him — didn’t you, Sam?”
“Well, if I did say it I didn’t mean it!” said Penrod hastily, quoting from one of the authorities. “Looky here, M’rice,” he continued, assuming a more placative and reasoning tone, “that wouldn’t be fair to us. I guess we want some of our own lickrish water, don’t we? The bottle ain’t much over two-thirds full anyway. What I meant was, you can have all you can drink at one pull.”
“How do you mean?”
“Why, this way: you can gulp all you want, so long as you keep swallering; but you can’t take the bottle out of your mouth and commence again. Soon’s you quit swallering it’s Sam’s turn.”
“No; you can have next, Penrod,” said Sam.
“Well, anyway, I mean M’rice has to give the bottle up the minute he stops swallering.”
Craft appeared upon the face of Maurice, like a poster pasted on a wall.
“I can drink so long I don’t stop swallering?”
“Yes; that’s it.”
“All right!” he cried. “Gimme the bottle!”
And Penrod placed it in his hand.
“You promise to let me drink until I quit swallering?” Maurice insisted.
“Yes!” said both boys together.
With that, Maurice placed the bottle to his lips and began to drink. Penrod and Sam leaned forward in breathless excitement. They had feared Maurice might smell the contents of the bottle; but that danger was past — this was the crucial moment. Their fondest hope was that he would make his first swallow a voracious one — it was impossible to imagine a second. They expected one big, gulping swallow and then an explosion, with fountain effects.
Little they knew the mettle of their man! Maurice swallowed once; he swallowed twice — and thrice — and he continued to swallow! No Adam’s apple was sculptured on that juvenile throat, but the internal progress of the liquid was not a whit the less visible. His eyes gleamed with cunning and malicious triumph, sidewise, at the stunned conspirators; he was fulfilling the conditions of the draught, not once breaking the thread of that marvelous swallering.
His audience stood petrified. Already Maurice had swallowed more than they had given Duke and still the liquor receded in the uplifted bottle! And now the clear glass gleamed above the dark contents full half the vessel’s length — and Maurice went on drinking! Slowly the clear glass increased in its dimensions — slowly the dark diminished.
Sam Williams made a horrified movement to check him — but Maurice protested passionately with his disengaged arm, and made vehement vocal noises remindful of the contract; whereupon Sam desisted and watched the continuing performance in a state of grisly fascination.
Maurice drank it all! He drained the last drop and threw the bottle in the air, uttering loud ejaculations of triumph and satisfaction.
“Hah!” he cried, blowing out his cheeks, inflating his chest, squaring his shoulders, patting his stomach, and wiping his mouth contentedly. “Hah! Aha! Waha! Wafwah! But that was good!”
The two boys stood looking at him in stupor.
“Well, I gotta say this,” said Maurice graciously: “You stuck to your bargain all right and treated me fair.”
Stricken with a sudden horrible suspicion, Penrod entered the storeroom in one stride and lifted the bottle of licorice water to his nose — then to his lips. It was weak, but good; he had made no mistake. And Maurice had really drained — to the dregs — the bottle of old hair tonics, dead catsups, syrups of undesirable preserves, condemned extracts of vanilla and lemon, decayed chocolate, ex-essence of beef, mixed dental preparations, aromatic spirits of ammonia, spirits of nitre, alcohol, arnica, quinine, ipecac, sal volatile, nux vomica and licorice water — with traces of arsenic, belladonna and strychnine.
Penrod put the licorice water out of sight and turned to face the others. Maurice was seating himself on a box just outside the door and had taken a package of cigarettes from his pocket.
“Nobody can see me from here, can they?” he said, striking a match. “You fellers smoke?”
“No,” said Sam, staring at him haggardly.
“No,” said Penrod in a whisper.
Maurice lit his cigarette and puffed showily.
“Well, sir,” he remarked, “you fellers are certainly square — I gotta say that much. Honest, Penrod, I thought you was after me! I did think so,” he added sunnily; “but now I guess you like me, or else you wouldn’t of stuck to it about lettin’ me drink it all if I kept on swallering.”
He chatted on with complete geniality, smoking his cigarette in content. And as he ran from one topic to another his hearers stared at him in a kind of torpor. Never once did they exchange a glance with each other; their eyes were frozen to Maurice. The cheerful conversationalist made it evident that he was not without gratitude.
“Well,” he said as he finished his cigarette and rose to go, “you fellers have treated me nice and some day you come over to my yard; I’d like to run with you fellers. You’re the kind of fellers I like.”
Penrod’s jaw fell; Sam’s mouth had been open all the time. Neither spoke.
“I gotta go,” observed Maurice, consulting a handsome watch. “Gotta get dressed for the cotillon right after lunch. Come on, Sam. Don’t you have to go, too?”
Sam nodded dazedly.
“Well, good-bye, Penrod,” said Maurice cordially. “I’m glad you like me all right. Come on, Sam.”
Penrod leaned against the doorpost and with fixed and glazing eyes watched the departure of his two visitors. Maurice was talking volubly, with much gesticulation, as they went; but Sam walked mechanically and in silence, staring at his brisk companion and keeping at a little distance from him.
They passed from sight, Maurice still conversing gayly — and Penrod slowly betook himself into the house, his head bowed upon his chest.
Some three hours later, Mr. Samuel Williams, waxen clean and in sweet raiment, made his reappearance in Penrod’s yard, yodelling a code-signal to summon forth his friend. He yodelled loud, long, and frequently, finally securing a faint response from the upper air.
“Where are you?” shouted Mr. Williams, his roving glance searching ambient heights. Another low-spirited yodel reaching his ear, he perceived the head and shoulders of his friend projecting above the roofridge of the stable. The rest of Penrod’s body was concealed from view, reposing upon the opposite slant of the gable and precariously secured by the crooking of his elbows over the ridge.
“Yay! What you doin’ up there?”
“Nothin’.”
“You better be careful!” Sam called. “You’ll slide off and fall down in the alley if you don’t look out. I come pert’ near it last time we was up there. Come on down! Ain’t you goin’ to the cotillon?”
Penrod made no reply. Sam came nearer.
“Say,” he called up in a guarded voice, “I went to our telephone a while ago and ast him how he was feelin’, and he said he felt fine!”
“So did I,” said Penrod. “He told me he felt bully!”
Sam thrust his hands in his pockets and brooded. The opening of the kitchen door caused a diversion. It was Della.
“Mister Penrod,” she bellowed forthwith, “come ahn down fr’m up there! Y’r mamma’s at the dancin’ class waitin’ fer ye, an’ she’s telephoned me they’re goin’ to begin — an’ what’s the matter with ye? Come ahn down fr’m up there!”
“Come on!” urged Sam. “We’ll be late. There go Maurice and Marjorie now.”
A glitteri
ng car spun by, disclosing briefly a genre picture of Marjorie Jones in pink, supporting a monstrous sheaf of American Beauty roses. Maurice, sitting shining and joyous beside her, saw both boys and waved them a hearty greeting as the car turned the corner.
Penrod uttered some muffled words and then waved both arms — either in response or as an expression of his condition of mind; it may have been a gesture of despair. How much intention there was in this act — obviously so rash, considering the position he occupied — it is impossible to say. Undeniably there must remain a suspicion of deliberate purpose.
Della screamed and Sam shouted. Penrod had disappeared from view.
The delayed dance was about to begin a most uneven cotillon when Samuel Williams arrived.
Mrs. Schofield hurriedly left the ballroom; while Miss Rennsdale, flushing with sudden happiness, curtsied profoundly to Professor Bartet and obtained his attention.
“I have telled you fifty times,” he informed her passionately ere she spoke, “I cannot make no such changes. If your partner comes you have to dance with him. You are going to drive me crazy, sure! What is it? What now? What you want?”
The damsel curtsied again and handed him the following communication, addressed to herself:
“Dear madam Please excuse me from dancing the cotilon with you this afternoon as I have fell off the barn
“Sincerly yours
“PENROD SCHOFIELD.”
CHAPTER XV THE TWO FAMILIES
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.
Collected Works of Booth Tarkington Page 146
