Penrod laid hands upon Gipsy, and, after a struggle suggestive of sailors landing a man-eating shark, succeeded in getting him into the box, and sat upon the lid thereof.
Sam had leaped to his feet, empty handed and vociferous.
"Ow ow, OUCH!" he shouted, as he rubbed his suffering arm and shoulder.
Then, exasperated by Herman's lamentations, he called angrily: "Oh, what _I_ care for your ole britches?
I guess if you'd 'a' had a cat climb up YOU, you'd 'a' dropped 'em a hunderd times over!" However, upon excruciating entreaty, he consented to explore the surface of the water with a clothes-prop, but reported that the luckless trousers had disappeared in the depths, Herman having forgotten to remove some "fishin' sinkers" from his pockets before making the fated loan.
Penrod was soothing a lacerated wrist in his mouth.
"That's a mighty fine-blooded cat," he remarked.

"I expect it'd got away from pretty near anybody, 'specially if they didn't know much about cats.

Listen at him, in the box, Sam.

I bet you never heard a cat growl as loud as that in your life.

I shouldn't wonder it was part panther or sumpthing." Sam began to feel more interest and less resentment.
"I tell you what we can do, Penrod," he said: "Let's take it in the stable and make the box into a cage.