Therefore, not knowing what might be
encountered, Penrod continued to be reluctant.
"Penrod," his mother exclaimed, losing patience, "I'll call your
papa to make you take it, if you don't swallow it right down!
Open your mouth, Penrod! It isn't going to taste bad at all. Open
your mouth--THERE!"
The reluctant jaw relaxed at last, and Mrs. Schofield dexterously
elevated the handle of the spoon so that the brown liquor was
deposited within her son.
"There!" she repeated triumphantly. "It wasn't so bad after all,
was it?"
Penrod did not reply. His expression had become odd, and the
oddity of his manner was equal to that of his expression.
Uttering no sound, he seemed to distend, as if he had suddenly
become a pneumatic boy under dangerous pressure. Meanwhile, his
reddening eyes, fixed awfully upon his mother, grew unbearable.
"Now, it wasn't such a bad taste," Mrs. Schofield said rather
nervously. "Don't go acting THAT way, Penrod!"
But Penrod could not help himself. In truth, even a grown person
hardened to all manner of flavours, and able to eat caviar or
liquid Camembert, would have found the cloudy brown liquor
virulently repulsive.
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