Penrod had decided to absent himself from home for the time being.
The sky was gray, and there were hints of coming dusk in the air; it was an hour suited to his turbulent soul, and he walked with a sombre swagger.

"Ran like a c'ardy-calf!" he sniffed, half aloud, alluding to the haste of Sam Williams in departure.

"All he is, ole c'ardy-calf!" Then, as he proceeded up the alley, a hated cry smote his ears: "Hi, Penrod! How's your tree-mores ?" And two jovial schoolboy faces appeared above a high board fence.

"How's your beautiful hair, Penrod ?" they vociferated.

"When you goin' to git your parents' consent?
What makes you think you're only pretty, ole blue stars ?" Penrod looked about feverishly for a missile, and could find none to his hand, but the surface of the alley sufficed; he made mud balls and fiercely bombarded the vociferous fence.