It were more accurate, indeed, to
liken him to the anarchist's characteristic weapon; for as Penrod
came out to the street he was, in all inward respects, a bomb,
loaded and ticking.
He walked moodily, with a visible aspect of soreness. A murmurous
sound was thick about his head, wherefore it is to be surmised
that he communed with his familiar, and one vehement,
oft-repeated phrase beat like a tocsin of revolt upon the air:
"Daw-gone 'em!"
He meant everybody--the universe.
Particularly included, evidently, was a sparrow, offensively
cheerful upon a lamp-post. This self-centred little bird allowed
a pebble to pass overhead and remained unconcerned, but, a moment
later, feeling a jar beneath his feet, and hearing the tinkle of
falling glass, he decided to leave. Similarly, and at the same
instant, Penrod made the same decision, and the sparrow in flight
took note of a boy likewise in flight.
The boy disappeared into the nearest alley and emerged therefrom,
breathless, in the peaceful vicinity of his own home. He entered
the house, clumped upstairs and down, discovered Margaret reading
a book in the library, and flung the accursed letter toward her
with loathing.
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