"Carrie Chitten's here," said Maurice, as they soaped their
hands.
"I guess I know it," Penrod returned. "I bet he does sumpthing,
too."
Maurice shook his head ominously. "Well, I'm gettin' tired of it.
I know he was the one stuck that cold fried egg in P'fesser
Bartet's overcoat pocket at dancin'-school, and ole p'fesser
went and blamed it on me. Then, Carlie, he cum up to me, th'
other day, and he says, 'Smell my buttonhole bokay.' He had some
vi'lets stickin' in his buttonhole, and I went to smell 'em and
water squirted on me out of 'em. I guess I've stood about enough,
and if he does another thing I don't like, he better look out!"
Penrod showed some interest, inquiring for details, whereupon
Maurice explained that if Master Chitten displeased him further,
Master Chitten would receive a blow upon one of his features.
Maurice was simple and homely about it, seeking rhetorical vigour
rather than elegance; in fact, what he definitely promised Master
Chitten was "a bang on the snoot."
"Well," said Penrod, "he never bothered ME any. I expect he knows
too much for that!"
A cry of pain was heard from the dressing-room at this juncture,
and, glancing through the doorway, Maurice and Penrod beheld Sam
Williams in the act of sucking his right thumb with vehemence,
the while his brow was contorted and his eyes watered.
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