"What you goin'
to tell your--"
"Oh, nothin'."
"Your sister telephoned to our house to see if I knew where you
were," said Sam. "She told me if I saw you before you got home to
tell you sumpthing; but not to say anything about it. She said
Miss Spence had telephoned to her, but she said for me to tell
you it was all right about that letter, and she wasn't goin' to
tell your mother and father on you, so you needn't say anything
about it to 'em."
"All right," said Penrod indifferently.
"She says you're goin' to be in enough trouble without that," Sam
went on. "You're goin' to catch fits about your Uncle Slocum's
hat, Penrod."
"Well, I guess I know it."
"And about not comin' home to dinner, too. Your mother telephoned
twice to Mamma while we were eatin' to see if you'd come in our
house. And when they SEE you--MY, but you're goin' to get the
DICKENS, Penrod!"
Penrod seemed unimpressed, though he was well aware that Sam's
prophecy was no unreasonable one.
"Well, I guess I know it," he repeated casually. And he moved
slowly toward his own gate.
His friend looked after him curiously--then, as the limping
figure fumbled clumsily with bruised fingers at the latch of the
gate, there sounded a little solicitude in Sam's voice.
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