In the street an enormous crowd had gathered, headed by Miss Spence and a brass band; and a cheer from a hundred thousand throats shook the very ground as Penrod swam overhead.  Marjorie knelt upon the steps and watched adoringly while Penrod took the drum-major’s baton and, performing sinuous evolutions above the crowd, led the band.  Then he threw the baton so high that it disappeared from sight; but he went swiftly after it, a double delight, for he had not only the delicious sensation of rocketing safely up and up into the blue sky, but also that of standing in the crowd below, watching and admiring himself as he dwindled to a speck, disappeared and then, emerging from a cloud, came speeding down, with the baton in his hand, to the level of the treetops, where he beat time for the band and the vast throng and Marjorie Jones, who all united in the “Star-spangled Banner” in honour of his aerial achievements.  It was a great moment.

It was a great moment, but something seemed to threaten it.  The face of Miss Spence looking up from the crowd grew too vivid—­unpleasantly vivid.  She was beckoning him and shouting, “Come down, Penrod Schofield!  Penrod Schofield, come down here!”

He could hear her above the band and the singing of the multitude; she seemed intent on spoiling everything.  Marjorie Jones was weeping to show how sorry she was that she had formerly slighted him, and throwing kisses to prove that she loved him; but Miss Spence kept jumping between him and Marjorie, incessantly calling his name.

He grew more and more irritated with her; he was the most important person in the world and was engaged in proving it to Marjorie Jones and the whole city, and yet Miss Spence seemed to feel she still had the right to order him about as she did in the old days when he was an ordinary schoolboy.  He was furious; he was sure she wanted him to do something disagreeable.  It seemed to him that she had screamed “Penrod Schofield!” thousands of times.

From the beginning of his aerial experiments in his own schoolroom, he had not opened his lips, knowing somehow that one of the requirements for air floating is perfect silence on the part of the floater; but, finally, irritated beyond measure by Miss Spence’s clamorous insistence, he was unable to restrain an indignant rebuke and immediately came to earth with a frightful bump.

Miss Spence—­in the flesh—­had directed toward the physical body of the absent Penrod an inquiry as to the fractional consequences of dividing seventeen apples, fairly, among three boys, and she was surprised and displeased to receive no answer although to the best of her knowledge and belief, he was looking fixedly at her.  She repeated her question crisply, without visible effect; then summoned him by name with increasing asperity.  Twice she called him, while all his fellow pupils turned to stare at the gazing boy.  She advanced a step from the platform.

“Penrod Schofield!”