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.
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