"I fear I may have taken a trifling--ah--cold.
I should--ah--perhaps be--ah--better at home.

I will--ah--say good-night." At the steps, he instinctively lifted his hand to remove his hat, but did not do so, and, saying "Goodnight," again in a frigid voice, departed with visible stiffness from that house, to return no more.
"Well, of all----!" cried Mrs.Schofield, astounded.

"What was the matter?
He just went--like that!" She made a flurried gesture.

"In heaven's name, Margaret, what DID you say to him ?" "_I_!" exclaimed Margaret indignantly.

"Nothing! He just WENT!" "Why, he didn't even take off his hat when he said good-night!" said Mrs.Schofield.
Margaret, who had crossed to the doorway, caught the ghost of a whisper behind her, where stood Penrod.
"YOU BET HE DIDN'T!" He knew not that he was overheard.
A frightful suspicion flashed through Margaret's mind--a suspicion that Mr.Kinosling's hat would have to be either boiled off or shaved off.
With growing horror she recalled Penrod's long absence when he went to bring the hat.
"Penrod," she cried, "let me see your hands!" She had toiled at those hands herself late that afternoon, nearly scalding her own, but at last achieving a lily purity.
"Let me see your hands!" She seized them.
Again they were tarred!.