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, beckoning. 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
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