"Sh, Penrod; your father's reading the paper."
Penrod glanced at Mr. Schofield, who sat near the window, reading
by the last light of the early sunset.
"Well, I know it," said Penrod, lowering his voice. "But I wish
you'd tell Della to let me have the silver polish. She says she
won't, and I want to--"
"Be quiet, Penrod, you can't have the silver polish."
"But, mamma--"
"Not another word. Can't you see you're interrupting your father.
Go on, papa."
Mr. Schofield read aloud several despatches from abroad, and
after each one of them Penrod began in a low but pleading tone:
"Mamma, I want--"
"SH, Penrod!"
Mr. Schofield continued to read, and Penrod remained in the room,
for he was determined to have the silver polish.
"Here's something curious," said Mr. Schofield, as his eye fell
upon a paragraph among the "locals."
"What?"
"Valuable relic missing," Mr. Schofield read. "It was reported at
police headquarters to-day that a 'valuable object had been
stolen from the collection of antique musical instruments owned
by E. Magsworth Bitts, 724 Central Avenue.
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