He came
into the bathroom and held his thumb under a faucet.
"That darn little Carlie Chitten!" he complained. "He ast me to
hold a little tin box he showed me. He told me to hold it
between my thumb and fingers and he'd show me sumpthing. Then he
pushed the lid, and a big needle came out of a hole and stuck me
half through my thumb. That's a NICE way to act, isn't it?"
Carlie Chitten's dark head showed itself cautiously beyond the
casing of the door.
"How's your thumb, Sam?" he asked.
"You wait!" Sam shouted, turning furiously; but the small
prestidigitator was gone. With a smothered laugh, Carlie dashed
through the groups of boys in the dressing-room and made his way
downstairs, his manner reverting to its usual polite gravity
before he entered the drawing-room, where his hostess waited.
Music sounding at about this time, he was followed by the other
boys, who came trooping down, leaving the dressing-room empty.
Penrod, among the tail-enders of the procession, made his
dancing-school bow to Miss Rennsdale and her grown-up
supporters (two maiden aunts and a governess) then he looked
about for Marjorie, discovering her but too easily.
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