CHAPTER XI FIDELITY OF A LITTLE DOG
The returning students, that afternoon, observed that Penrod's desk wasvacant--and nothing could have been more impressive than that sinistermere emptiness. The accepted theory was that Penrod had been arrested.How breathtaking, then, the sensation when, at the beginning of thesecond hour, he strolled--in with inimitable carelessness and, rubbinghis eyes, somewhat noticeably in the manner of one who has snatched anhour of much needed sleep, took his place as if nothing in particularhad happened. This, at first supposed to be a superhuman exhibitionof sheer audacity, became but the more dumfounding when MissSpence--looking up from her desk--greeted him with a pleasant littlenod. Even after school, Penrod gave numerous maddened investigators norelief. All he would consent to say was:
"Oh, I just TALKED to her."
A mystification not entirely unconnected with the one thus produced wasmanifested at his own family dinner-table the following evening. AuntClara had been out rather late, and came to the table after the restwere seated. She wore a puzzled expression.
"Do you ever see Mary Spence nowadays?" she inquired, as she unfoldedher napkin, addressing Mrs. Schofield. Penrod abruptly set down hissoup-spoon and gazed at his aunt with flattering attention.
"Yes; sometimes," said Mrs. Schofield. "She's Penrod's teacher."
"Is she?" said Mrs. Farry. "Do you--" She paused. "Do people think her alittle--queer, these days?"
"Why, no," returned her sister. "What makes you say that?"
"She has acquired a very odd manner," said Mrs. Farry decidedly. "Atleast, she seemed odd to ME. I met her at the corner just before I gotto the house, a few minutes ago, and after we'd said howdy-do to eachother, she kept hold of my hand and looked as though she was going tocry. She seemed to be trying to say something, and choking----"
"But I don't think that's so very queer, Clara. She knew you in school,didn't she?"
"Yes, but----"
"And she hadn't seen you for so many years, I think it's perfectlynatural she----"
"Wait! She stood there squeezing my hand, and struggling to get hervoice--and I got really embarrassed--and then finally she said, in akind of tearful whisper, 'Be of good cheer--this trial will pass!'"
"How queer!" exclaimed Margaret.
Penrod sighed, and returned somewhat absently to his soup.
"Well, I don't know," said Mrs. Schofield thoughtfully. "Of course she'sheard about the outbreak of measles in Dayton, since they had to closethe schools, and she knows you live there----"
"But doesn't it seem a VERY exaggerated way," suggested Margaret, "totalk about measles?"
"Wait!" begged Aunt Clara. "After she said that, she said something evenqueerer, and then put her handkerchief to her eyes and hurried away."
Penrod laid down his spoon again and moved his chair slightly back fromthe table. A spirit of prophecy was upon him: he knew that someone wasgoing to ask a question which he felt might better remain unspoken.
"What WAS the other thing she said?" Mr. Schofield inquired, thusimmediately fulfilling his son's premonition.
"She said," returned Mrs. Farry slowly, looking about the table, "shesaid, 'I know that Penrod is a great, great comfort to you!'"
There was a general exclamation of surprise. It was a singular thing,and in no manner may it be considered complimentary to Penrod, that thisspeech of Miss Spence's should have immediately confirmed Mrs. Farry'sdoubts about her in the minds of all his family.
Mr. Schofield shook his head pityingly.
"I'm afraid she's a goner," he went so far as to say.
"Of all the weird ideas!" cried Margaret.
"I never heard anything like it in my life!" Mrs. Schofield exclaimed."Was that ALL she said?"
"Every word!"
Penrod again resumed attention to his soup. His mother looked at himcuriously, and then, struck by a sudden thought, gathered the glances ofthe adults of the table by a significant movement of the head, and, byanother, conveyed an admonition to drop the subject until later. MissSpence was Penrod's teacher: it was better, for many reasons, notto discuss the subject of her queerness before him. This was Mrs.Schofield's thought at the time. Later she had another, and it kept herawake.
The next afternoon, Mr. Schofield, returning at five o'clock from thecares of the day, found the house deserted, and sat down to read hisevening paper in what appeared to be an uninhabited apartment known toits own world as the "drawing-room." A sneeze, unexpected both to himand the owner, informed him of the presence of another person.
"Where are you, Penrod?" the parent asked, looking about.
"Here," said Penrod meekly.
Stooping, Mr. Schofield discovered his son squatting under the piano,near an open window--his wistful Duke lying beside him.
"What are you doing there?"
"Me?"
"Why under the piano?"
"Well," the boy returned, with grave sweetness, "I was just kind ofsitting here--thinking."
"All right." Mr. Schofield, rather touched, returned to the digestion ofa murder, his back once more to the piano; and Penrod silently drewfrom beneath his jacket (where he had slipped it simultaneously withthe sneeze) a paper-backed volume entitled: "Slimsy, the Sioux CitySquealer, or, 'Not Guilty, Your Honor.'"
In this manner the reading-club continued in peace, absorbed, contented,the world well forgot--until a sudden, violently irritated slam-bang ofthe front door startled the members; and Mrs. Schofield burst into theroom and threw herself into a chair, moaning.
"What's the matter, mamma?" asked her husband laying aside his paper.
"Henry Passloe Schofield," returned the lady, "I don't know what IS tobe done with that boy; I do NOT!"
"You mean Penrod?"
"Who else could I mean?" She sat up, exasperated, to stare at him."Henry Passloe Schofield, you've got to take this matter in yourhands--it's beyond me!"
"Well, what has he----"
"Last night I got to thinking," she began rapidly, "about what Claratold us--thank Heaven she and Margaret and little Clara have gone to teaat Cousin Charlotte's!--but they'll be home soon--about what she saidabout Miss Spence----"
"You mean about Penrod's being a comfort?"
"Yes, and I kept thinking and thinking and thinking about it till Icouldn't stand it any----"
"By GEORGE!" shouted Mr. Schofield startlingly, stooping to lookunder the piano. A statement that he had suddenly remembered his son'spresence would be lacking in accuracy, for the highly sensitized Penrodwas, in fact, no longer present. No more was Duke, his faithful dog.
"What's the matter?"
"Nothing," he returned, striding to the open window and looking out. "Goon."
"Oh," she moaned, "it must be kept from Clara--and I'll never hold up myhead again if John Farry ever hears of it!"
"Hears of WHAT?"
"Well, I just couldn't stand it, I got so curious; and I thought ofcourse if Miss Spence HAD become a little unbalanced it was my duty toknow it, as Penrod's mother and she his teacher; so I thought I wouldjust call on her at her apartment after school and have a chat and seeand I did and--oh----"
"Well?"
"I've just come from there, and she told me--she told me! Oh, I've NEVERknown anything like this!"
"WHAT did she tell you?"
Mrs. Schofield, making a great effort, managed to assume a temporaryappearance of calm. "Henry," she said solemnly, "bear this in mind:whatever you do to Penrod, it must be done in some place when Clarawon't hear it. But the first thing to do is to find him."
Within view of the window from which Mr. Schofield was gazing was theclosed door of the storeroom in the stable, and just outside this doorDuke was performing a most engaging trick.
His young master had taught Duke to "sit up and beg" when he wantedanything, and if that didn't get it, to "speak." Duke was facing theclosed door and sitting up and begging, and now he also spoke--in aloud, clear bark.
There was an open transom over the door, and from this de
scended--hurledby an unseen agency--a can half filled with old paint.
It caught the small besieger of the door on his thoroughly surprisedright ear, encouraged him to some remarkable acrobatics, and turnedlarge portions of him a dull blue. Allowing only a moment to perplexity,and deciding, after a single and evidently unappetizing experiment,not to cleanse himself of paint, the loyal animal resumed his quaint,upright posture.
Mr. Schofield seated himself on the window-sill, whence he could keep inview that pathetic picture of unrequited love.
"Go on with your story, mamma," he said. "I think I can find Penrod whenwe want him."
And a few minutes later he added, "And I think I know the place to do itin."
Again the faithful voice of Duke was heard, pleading outside the bolteddoor.
Penrod Page 11