Verman immediately fell upon Sam, horse and foot, and Sam would have fled but dared not, for fear he might be touched from the rear. Therefore, he defended himself as best he could, and there followed a lusty whacking, in the course of which Verman’s hat, a relic and too large, fell from his head, touching Sam’s weapon in falling.
“There!” panted Sam, desisting immediately. “That counts! You’re bonded, Verman.”
“Aim meewer!” Verman protested.
Interpreting this as “Ain’t neither”, Sam invented a law to suit the occasion. “Yes, you are; that’s the rule, Verman. I touched your hat with my sword, and your hat’s just the same as you.”
“Imm mop!” Verman insisted.
“Yes, it is,” said Sam, already warmly convinced (by his own statement) that he was in the right. “Listen here! If I hit you on the shoe, it would be the same as hitting YOU, wouldn’t it? I guess it’d count if I hit you on the shoe, wouldn’t it? Well, a hat’s just the same as shoes. Honest, that’s the rule, Verman, and you’re a pris’ner.”
Now, in the arguing part of the game, Verman’s impediment cooperated with a native amiability to render him far less effective than in the actual combat. He chuckled, and ceded the point.
“Aw wi,” he said, and cheerfully followed his captor to a hidden place among some bushes in the front yard, where Penrod lurked.
“Looky what I got!” Sam said importantly, pushing his captive into this retreat. “NOW, I guess you won’t say I’m not so much use any more! Squat down, Verman, so’s they can’t see you if they’re huntin’ for us. That’s one o’ the rules — honest. You got to squat when we tell you to.”
Verman was agreeable. He squatted, and then began to laugh uproariously.
“Stop that noise!” Penrod commanded. “You want to betray us? What you laughin’ at?”
“Ep mack im mimmup,” Verman giggled.
“What’s he mean?” Sam asked.
Penrod was more familiar with Verman’s utterance, and he interpreted.
“He says they’ll get him back in a minute.”
“No, they won’t. I’d just like to see—”
“Yes, they will, too,” Penrod said. “They’ll get him back for the main and simple reason we can’t stay here all day, can we? And they’d find us anyhow, if we tried to. There’s so many of ’em against just us two, they can run in and touch him soon as they get up to us — and then HE’LL be after us again and—”
“Listen here!” Sam interrupted. “Why can’t we put some REAL bonds on him? We could put bonds on his wrists and around his legs — we could put ’em all over him, easy as nothin’. Then we could gag him—”
“No, we can’t,” said Penrod. “We can’t, for the main and simple reason we haven’t got any rope or anything to make the bonds with, have we? I wish we had some o’ that stuff they give sick people. THEN, I bet they wouldn’t get him back so soon!”
“Sick people?” Sam repeated, not comprehending.
“It makes ’em go to sleep, no matter what you do to ’em,” Penrod explained. “That’s the main and simple reason they can’t wake up, and you can cut off their ole legs — or their arms, or anything you want to.”
“Hoy!” exclaimed Verman, in a serious tone. His laughter ceased instantly, and he began to utter a protest sufficiently intelligible.
“You needn’t worry,” Penrod said gloomily. “We haven’t got any o’ that stuff; so we can’t do it.”
“Well, we got to do sumpthing,” Sam said.
His comrade agreed, and there was a thoughtful silence; but presently Penrod’s countenance brightened.
“I know!” he exclaimed. “I know what we’ll do with him. Why, I thought of it just as EASY! I can most always think of things like that, for the main and simple reason — well, I thought of it just as soon—”
“Well, what is it?” Sam demanded crossly. Penrod’s reiteration of his new-found phrase, “for the main and simple reason”, had been growing more and more irksome to his friend all day, though Sam was not definitely aware that the phrase was the cause of his annoyance. “WHAT are we goin’ to do with him, you know so much?”
Penrod rose and peered over the tops of the bushes, shading his eyes with his hand, a gesture that was unnecessary but had a good appearance. He looked all round about him in this manner, finally vouchsafing a report to the impatient Sam.
“No enemies in sight — just for the main and simple reason I expect they’re all in the alley and in Georgie Bassett’s backyard.”
“I bet they’re not!” Sam said scornfully, his irritation much increased. “How do YOU know so much about it?”
“Just for the main and simple reason,” Penrod replied, with dignified finality.
And at that, Sam felt a powerful impulse to do violence upon the person of his comrade-in-arms. The emotion that prompted this impulse was so primitive and straightforward that it almost resulted in action; but Sam had a vague sense that he must control it as long as he could.
“Bugs!” he said.
Penrod was sensitive, and this cold word hurt him. However, he was under the domination of his strategic idea, and he subordinated private grievance to the common weal. “Get up!” he commanded. “You get up, too, Verman. You got to — it’s the rule. Now here I’ll SHOW you what we’re goin’ to do. Stoop over, and both o’ you do just exackly like I do. You watch ME, because this biz’nuss has got to be done RIGHT!”
Sam muttered something; he was becoming more insurgent every moment, but he obeyed. Likewise, Verman rose to his feet, ducked his head between his shoulders, and trotted out to the sidewalk at Sam’s heels, both following Penrod and assuming a stooping position in imitation of him. Verman was delighted with this phase of the game, and, also, he was profoundly amused by Penrod’s pomposity. Something dim and deep within him perceived it to be cause for such merriment that he had ado to master himself, and was forced to bottle and cork his laughter with both hands. They proved insufficient; sputterings burst forth between his fingers.
“You stop that!” Penrod said, looking back darkly upon the prisoner.
Verman endeavoured to oblige, though giggles continued to leak from him at intervals, and the three boys stole along the fence in single file, proceeding in this fashion until they reached Penrod’s own front gate. Here the leader ascertained, by a reconnaissance as far as the corner, that the hostile forces were still looking for them in another direction. He returned in a stealthy but important manner to his disgruntled follower and the hilarious captive.
“Well,” said Sam impatiently, “I guess I’m not goin’ to stand around here all day, I guess! You got anything you want to do, why’n’t you go on and DO it?”
Penrod’s brow was already contorted to present the appearance of detached and lofty concentration — a histrionic failure, since it did not deceive the audience. He raised a hushing hand.
“SH!” he murmured. “I got to think.”
“Bugs!” the impolite Mr. Williams said again.
Verman bent double, squealing and sputtering; indeed, he was ultimately forced to sit upon the ground, so exhausting was the mirth to which he now gave way. Penrod’s composure was somewhat affected and he showed annoyance.
“Oh, I guess you won’t laugh quite so much about minute from now, ole Mister Verman!” he said severely. “You get up from there and do like I tell you.”
“Well, why’n’t you TELL him why he won’t laugh so much, then?” Sam demanded, as Verman rose. “Why’n’t you do sumpthing and quit talkin’ so much about it?”
Penrod haughtily led the way into the yard.
“You follow me,” he said, “and I guess you’ll learn a little sense!”
Then, abandoning his hauteur for an air of mystery equally irritating to Sam, he stole up the steps of the porch, and, after a moment’s manipulation of the knob of the big front door, contrived to operate the fastenings, and pushed the door open.
“Come on,” he whispered, beckoni
ng. And the three boys mounted the stairs to the floor above in silence — save for a belated giggle on the part of Verman, which was restrained upon a terrible gesture from Penrod. Verman buried his mouth as deeply as possible in a ragged sleeve, and confined his demonstrations to a heaving of the stomach and diaphragm.
Penrod led the way into the dainty room of his nineteen-year-old sister, Margaret, and closed the door.
“There,” he said, in a low and husky voice, “I expect you’ll see what I’m goin’ to do now!”
“Well, what?” the skeptical Sam asked. “If we stay here very long your mother’ll come and send us downstairs. What’s the good of—”
“WAIT, can’t you?” Penrod wailed, in a whisper. “My goodness!” And going to an inner door, he threw it open, disclosing a clothes-closet hung with pretty garments of many kinds, while upon its floor were two rows of shoes and slippers of great variety and charm.
A significant thing is to be remarked concerning the door of this somewhat intimate treasury: there was no knob or latch upon the inner side, so that, when the door was closed, it could be opened only from the outside.
“There!” said Penrod. “You get in there, Verman, and I’ll bet they won’t get to touch you back out o’ bein’ our pris’ner very soon, NOW! Oh, I guess not!”
“Pshaw!” said Sam. “Is that all you were goin’ to do? Why, your mother’ll come and make him get out the first—”
“No, she won’t. She and Margaret have gone to my aunt’s in the country, and aren’t goin’ to be back till dark. And even if he made a lot o’ noise, it’s kind of hard to hear anything from in there, anyway, when the door’s shut. Besides, he’s got to keep quiet — that’s the rule, Verman. You’re a pris’ner, and it’s the rule you can’t holler or nothin’. You unnerstand that, Verman?”
“Aw wi,” said Verman.
“Then go on in there. Hurry!”
The obedient Verman marched into the closet and sat down among the shoes and slippers, where he presented an interesting effect of contrast. He was still subject to hilarity — though endeavouring to suppress it by means of a patent-leather slipper — when Penrod closed the door.
“There!” said Penrod, leading the way from the room. “I guess NOW you see!”
Sam said nothing, and they came out to the open air and reached their retreat in the Williams’ yard again, without his having acknowledged Penrod’s service to their mutual cause.
“I thought of that just as easy!” Penrod remarked, probably prompted to this odious bit of complacency by Sam’s withholding the praise that might naturally have been expected. And he was moved to add, “I guess it’d of been a pretty long while if we’d had to wait for you to think of something as good as that, Sam.”
“Why would it?” Sam asked. “Why would it of been such a long while?”
“Oh,” Penrod responded airily, “just for the main and simple reason!”
Sam could bear it no longer. “Oh, hush up!” he shouted.
Penrod was stung. “Do you mean ME?” he demanded.
“Yes, I do!” the goaded Sam replied.
“Did you tell ME to hush up?”
“Yes, I did!”
“I guess you don’t know who you’re talkin’ to,” Penrod said ominously. “I guess I just better show you who you’re talkin’ to like that. I guess you need a little sumpthing, for the main and simple—”
Sam uttered an uncontrollable howl and sprang upon Penrod, catching him round the waist. Simultaneously with this impact, the wooden swords spun through the air and were presently trodden underfoot as the two boys wrestled to and fro.
Penrod was not altogether surprised by the onset of his friend. He had been aware of Sam’s increasing irritation (though neither boy could have clearly stated its cause) and that very irritation produced a corresponding emotion in the bosom of the irritator. Mentally, Penrod was quite ready for the conflict — nay, he welcomed it — though, for the first few moments, Sam had the physical advantage.
However, it is proper that a neat distinction be drawn here. This was a conflict; but neither technically nor in the intention of the contestants was it a fight. Penrod and Sam were both in a state of high exasperation, and there was great bitterness; but no blows fell and no tears. They strained, they wrenched, they twisted, and they panted and muttered: “Oh, no, you don’t!” “Oh, I guess I do!” “Oh, you will, will you?” “You’ll see what you get in about a minute!” “I guess you’ll learn some sense this time!”
Streaks and blotches began to appear upon the two faces, where colour had been heightened by the ardent application of a cloth sleeve or shoulder, while ankles and insteps were scraped and toes were trampled. Turf and shrubberies suffered, also, as the struggle went on, until finally the wrestlers pitched headlong into a young lilac bush, and came to earth together, among its crushed and sprawling branches.
“OOCH!” and “WUF!” were the two exclamations which marked this episode, and then, with no further comment, the struggle was energetically continued upon a horizontal plane. Now Penrod was on top, now Sam; they rolled, they squirmed, they suffered. And this contest endured. It went on and on, and it was impossible to imagine its coming to a definite termination. It went on so long that to both the participants it seemed to be a permanent thing, a condition that had always existed and that must always exist perpetually.
And thus they were discovered by a foray of the hostile party, headed by Roddy Bitts and Herman (older brother to Verman) and followed by the bonded prisoners, Maurice Levy and Georgie Bassett. These and others caught sight of the writhing figures, and charged down upon them with loud cries of triumph.
“Pris’ner! Pris’ner! Bonded pris’ner!” shrieked Roddy Bitts, and touched Penrod and Sam, each in turn, with his sabre. Then, seeing that they paid no attention and that they were at his mercy, he recalled the fact that several times, during earlier stages of the game, both of them had been unnecessarily vigorous in “touching” his own rather plump person. Therefore, the opportunity being excellent, he raised his weapon 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 conclu
sion 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.
Collected Works of Booth Tarkington Page 187
