"Besides, he's so little you
can't hardly see him." This was, of course, a violent
exaggeration, though Master Chitten, not yet eleven years old,
was an inch or two short for his age. "He's all dressed up," Sam
added. "I guess he must be invited."
"I bet he does sumpthing," said Penrod.
"I bet he does, too," Sam agreed.
This was the extent of their comment upon the small person across
the street; but, in spite of its non-committal character, the
manner of both commentators seemed to indicate that they had just
exchanged views upon an interesting and even curious subject.
They walked along in silence for several minutes, staring
speculatively at Master Chitten.
His appearance was pleasant and not remarkable. He was a
handsome, dark little boy, with quick eyes and a precociously
reserved expression; his air was "well-bred"; he was exquisitely
neat, and he had a look of manly competence that grown people
found attractive and reassuring. In short, he was a boy of whom a
timid adult stranger would have inquired the way with confidence.
And yet Sam and Penrod had mysterious thoughts about
him--obviously there was something subterranean here.
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