Penrod's
followers were renewing the wild work, even in the absence of
their chief.
"Penrod Schofield, you bad boy," said Marjorie, "you started
every bit of that! You ought to be ashamed of yourself."
"_I_ didn't do anything," he said--and he believed it. "Pick on
me for everything!"
"Well, they wouldn't if you didn't do so much," said Marjorie.
"They would, too."
"They wouldn't, either. Who would?"
"That Miss Lowe," he specified bitterly. "Yes, and Baby
Rennsdale's aunts. If the house'd burn down, I bet they'd say
Penrod Schofield did it! Anybody does anything at ALL, they say,
'Penrod Schofield, shame on you!' When you and Carlie were dan--"
"Penrod, I just hate that little Carlie Chitten. P'fesser Bartet
made me learn that dance with him; but I just hate him."
Penrod was now almost completely mollified; nevertheless, he
continued to set forth his grievance. "Well, they all turned
around to me and they said, 'Why, Penrod Schofield, shame on
you!' And I hadn't done a single thing! I was just standin'
there. They got to blame ME, though!"
Marjorie laughed airily.
Pages:
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338