He walked carelessly into
the library, inquiring in a loud, bluff voice:
"Has anybody seen my dog around here anywheres?"
Mr. Blakely had inclined himself so far toward Margaret, and he
was sitting so near the edge of the chair, that only a really
wonderful bit of instinctive gymnastics landed him upon his feet
instead of upon his back. As for Margaret, she said, "Good
gracious!" and regarded Penrod blankly.
"Well," said Penrod breezily, "I guess it's no use lookin' for
him--he isn't anywheres around. I guess I'll sit down." Herewith,
he sank into an easy chair, and remarked, as in comfortable
explanation, "I'm kind of tired standin' up, anyway."
Even in this crisis, Margaret was a credit to her mother's
training.
"Penrod, have you met Mr. Blakely?"
"What?"
Margaret primly performed the rite.
"Mr. Blakely, this is my little brother Penrod."
Mr. Blakely was understood to murmur, "How d'ye do?"
"I'm well," said Penrod.
Margaret bent a perplexed gaze upon him, and he saw that she had
not divined his intentions, though the expression of Mr. Blakely
was already beginning to be a little compensation for the ammonia
outrage.
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