Slowly recognition dawned in his eyes.

The Schofields’ house stood on a corner at the intersection of two main-travelled streets; the fence was low, and the publicity obtained by the washable portion of the family apparel, on Mondays, had often been painful to Penrod; for boys have a peculiar sensitiveness in these matters.  A plain, matter-of-fact washerwoman’ employed by Mrs. Schofield, never left anything to the imagination of the passer-by; and of all her calm display the scarlet flaunting of his father’s winter wear had most abashed Penrod.  One day Marjorie Jones, all gold and starch, had passed when the dreadful things were on the line:  Penrod had hidden himself, shuddering.  The whole town, he was convinced, knew these garments intimately and derisively.

And now, as he sat in the janitor’s chair, the horrible and paralyzing recognition came.  He had not an instant’s doubt that every fellow actor, as well as every soul in the audience, would recognize what his mother and sister had put upon him.  For as the awful truth became plain to himself it seemed blazoned to the world; and far, far louder than the stockings, the trunks did fairly bellow the grisly secret:  Whose they were and what they were!

Most people have suffered in a dream the experience of finding themselves very inadequately clad in the midst of a crowd of well-dressed people, and such dreamers’ sensations are comparable to Penrod’s, though faintly, because Penrod was awake and in much too full possession of the most active capacities for anguish.

A human male whose dress has been damaged, or reveals some vital lack, suffers from a hideous and shameful loneliness which makes every second absolutely unbearable until he is again as others of his sex and species; and there is no act or sin whatever too desperate for him in his struggle to attain that condition.  Also, there is absolutely no embarrassment possible to a woman which is comparable to that of a man under corresponding circumstances and in this a boy is a man.  Gazing upon the ghastly trunks, the stricken Penrod felt that he was a degree worse then nude; and a great horror of himself filled his soul.

“Penrod Schofield!”

The door into the hallway opened, and a voice demanded him.  He could not be seen from the hallway, but the hue and the cry was up; and he knew he must be taken.  It was only a question of seconds.  He huddled in his chair.

“Penrod Schofield!” cried Mrs. Lora Rewbush angrily.

The distracted boy rose and, as he did so, a long pin sank deep into his back.  He extracted it frenziedly, which brought to his ears a protracted and sonorous ripping, too easily located by a final gesture of horror.

“Penrod Schofield!” Mrs. Lora Rewbush had come out into the hallway.

And now, in this extremity, when all seemed lost indeed, particularly including honour, the dilating eye of the outlaw fell upon the blue overalls which the janitor had left hanging upon a peg.