Moreover, he
always managed to do it privately so that later there was no
bothersome supervision. Last time he had given Penrod a silver
dollar.
At thirty-five minutes after two, Wednesday afternoon, Uncle
Joe's train came into the station, and Uncle Joe got out and
shouted among his relatives. At eighteen minutes before three he
was waving to them from the platform of the last car, having just
slipped a two-dollar bill into Penrod's breast-pocket. And, at
seven minutes after three, Penrod opened the door of the largest
"music store" in town.
A tall, exquisite, fair man, evidently a musical earl, stood
before him, leaning whimsically upon a piano of the highest
polish. The sight abashed Penrod not a bit--his remarkable
financial condition even made him rather peremptory.
"See here," he said brusquely: "I want to look at that big horn
in the window."
"Very well," said the earl; "look at it." And leaned more
luxuriously upon the polished piano.
"I meant--" Penrod began, but paused, something daunted, while an
unnamed fear brought greater mildness into his voice, as he
continued, "I meant--I--How much IS that big horn?"
"How much?" the earl repeated.
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