Thus he muttered:
"Well, they better NOT!" "Well, what can I DO about it?" "Well,
I'D show 'em!" "Well, I WILL show 'em!" "Well, you OUGHT to show
'em; that's the way _I_ do! I just shake 'em around, and say,
'Here! I guess you don't know who you're talkin' to like that!
You better look out!'" "Well, that's the way _I_'m goin' to do!"
"Well, go on and DO it, then!" "Well, I AM goin'--"
The door of the next room was slightly ajar; now it swung wide,
and Margaret appeared.
"Penrod, what on earth are you talking about?"
"Nothin'. None o' your--"
"Well, hurry to breakfast, then; it's getting late."
Lightly she went, humming a tune, leaving the door of her room
open, and the eyes of Penrod, as he donned his jacket, chanced to
fall upon her desk, where she had thoughtlessly left a letter--a
private missive just begun, and intended solely for the eyes of
Mr. Robert Williams, a senior at a far university.
In such a fashion is coincidence the architect of misfortune.
Penrod's class in English composition had been instructed, the
previous day, to concoct at home and bring to class on Wednesday
morning, "a model letter to a friend on some subject of general
interest.
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