“Eleva-ter!” shouted Penrod.  “Ting-ting!”

Duke, old and intelligently apprehensive, approached slowly, in a semicircular manner, deprecatingly, but with courtesy.  He pawed the basket delicately; then, as if that were all his master had expected of him, uttered one bright bark, sat down, and looked up triumphantly.  His hypocrisy was shallow:  many a horrible quarter of an hour had taught him his duty in this matter.

“El-e-Vay-ter!” shouted Penrod sternly.  “You want me to come down there to you?”

Duke looked suddenly haggard.  He pawed the basket feebly again and, upon another outburst from on high, prostrated himself flat.  Again threatened, he gave a superb impersonation of a worm.

“You get in that el-e-Vay-ter!”

Reckless with despair, Duke jumped into the basket, landing in a dishevelled posture, which he did not alter until he had been drawn up and poured out upon the floor of sawdust with the box.  There, shuddering, he lay in doughnut shape and presently slumbered.

It was dark in the box, a condition that might have been remedied by sliding back a small wooden panel on runners, which would have let in ample light from the alley; but Penrod Schofield had more interesting means of illumination.  He knelt, and from a former soap-box, in a corner, took a lantern, without a chimney, and a large oil-can, the leak in the latter being so nearly imperceptible that its banishment from household use had seemed to Penrod as inexplicable as it was providential.

He shook the lantern near his ear:  nothing splashed; there was no sound but a dry clinking.  But there was plenty of kerosene in the can; and he filled the lantern, striking a match to illumine the operation.  Then he lit the lantern and hung it upon a nail against the wall.  The sawdust floor was slightly impregnated with oil, and the open flame quivered in suggestive proximity to the side of the box; however, some rather deep charrings of the plank against which the lantern hung offered evidence that the arrangement was by no means a new one, and indicated at least a possibility of no fatality occurring this time.

Next, Penrod turned up the surface of the sawdust in another corner of the floor, and drew forth a cigar-box in which were half a dozen cigarettes, made of hayseed and thick brown wrapping paper, a lead-pencil, an eraser, and a small note-book, the cover of which was labelled in his own handwriting: 

“English Grammar.  Penrod Schofield.  Room 6, Ward School Nomber Seventh.”

The first page of this book was purely academic; but the study of English undefiled terminated with a slight jar at the top of the second:  “Nor must an adverb be used to modif——­”

Immediately followed: 

     “HARoLD RAMoREZ the RoADAGENT
     or WiLD LiFE AMoNG the
     Rocky Mts.”

And the subsequent entries in the book appeared to have little concern with Room 6, Ward School Nomber Seventh.