Mrs. Schofield went to the door of
her daughter's room.
"What are you doing, Penrod?"
"Nothin'."
"You're not disturbing any of Margaret's things, are you?"
"No, ma'am," said the meek lad.
"What did you jerk that drawer open for?"
"Ma'am?"
"You heard me, Penrod."
"Yes, ma'am. I was just lookin' for sumpthing."
"For what?" Mrs. Schofield asked. "You know that nothing of yours
would be in Margaret's room, Penrod, don't you?"
"Ma'am?"
"What was it you wanted?" she asked, rather impatiently.
"I was just lookin' for some pins."
"Very well," she said, and handed him two from the shoulder of
her blouse.
"I ought to have more," he said. "I want about forty."
"What for?"
"I just want to MAKE sumpthing, Mamma," he said plaintively. "My
goodness! Can't I even want to have a few pins without everybody
makin' such a fuss about it you'd think I was doin' a srime!"
"Doing a what, Penrod?"
"A SRIME!" he repeated, with emphasis; and a moment's reflection
enlightened his mother.
"Oh, a crime!" she exclaimed. "You MUST quit reading the murder
trials in the newspapers, Penrod.
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