Then, as the protracted silence which followed the
introduction began to be a severe strain upon all parties, Penrod
felt called upon to relieve it.
"I didn't have anything much to do this afternoon, anyway," he
said. And at that there leaped a spark in Margaret's eye; her
expression became severe.
"You should have gone to Sunday-school," she told him crisply.
"Well, I didn't!" said Penrod, with a bitterness so significant
of sufferings connected with religion, ammonia, and herself, that
Margaret, after giving him a thoughtful look, concluded not to
urge the point.
Mr. Blakely smiled pleasantly. "I was looking out of the window a
minute ago," he said, "and I saw a dog run across the street and
turn the corner."
"What kind of a lookin' dog was it?" Penrod inquired, with
languor.
"Well," said Mr. Blakely, "it was a--it was a nice-looking dog."
"What colour was he?"
"He was--ah--white. That is, I think--"
"It wasn't Duke," said Penrod. "Duke's kind of
brownish-gray-like."
Mr. Blakely brightened.
"Yes, that was it," he said. "This dog I saw first had another
dog with him--a brownish-gray dog.
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