“Well, I was just walking along, and the man came up to me—­it was right down in front of Colgate’s, where most of the paint’s rubbed off the fence——­”

“Penrod!” The father used his most dangerous tone.

“Sir?”

“Who was the man that gave you the concertina?”

“I don’t know.  I was walking along——­”

“You never saw him before?”

“No, sir.  I was just walk——­”

“That will do,” said Mr. Schofield, rising.  “I suppose every family has its secret enemies and this was one of ours.  I must ask to be excused!”

With that, he went out crossly, stopping in the hall a moment before passing beyond hearing.  And, after lunch, Penrod sought in vain for his accordion; he even searched the library where his father sat reading, though, upon inquiry, Penrod explained that he was looking for a misplaced schoolbook.  He thought he ought to study a little every day, he said, even during vacation-time.  Much pleased, Mr. Schofield rose and joined the search, finding the missing work on mathematics with singular ease—­which cost him precisely the price of the book the following September.

Penrod departed to study in the backyard.  There, after a cautious survey of the neighbourhood, he managed to dislodge the iron cover of the cistern, and dropped the arithmetic within.  A fine splash rewarded his listening ear.  Thus assured that when he looked for that book again no one would find it for him, he replaced the cover, and betook himself pensively to the highway, discouraging Duke from following by repeated volleys of stones, some imaginary and others all too real.

Distant strains of brazen horns and the throbbing of drums were borne to him upon the kind breeze, reminding him that the world was made for joy, and that the Barzee and Potter Dog and Pony Show was exhibiting in a banlieue not far away.  So, thither he bent his steps—­the plentiful funds in his pocket burning hot holes all the way.  He had paid twenty-two cents for the accordion, and fifteen for candy; he had bought the mercenary heart of Mitchy-Mitch for two:  it certainly follows that there remained to him of his dollar, sixty-one cents—­a fair fortune, and most unusual.

Arrived upon the populous and festive scene of the Dog and Pony Show, he first turned his attention to the brightly decorated booths which surrounded the tent.  The cries of the peanut vendors, of the popcorn men, of the toy-balloon sellers, the stirring music of the band, playing before the performance to attract a crowd, the shouting of excited children and the barking of the dogs within the tent, all sounded exhilaratingly in Penrod’s ears and set his blood a-tingle.  Nevertheless, he did not squander his money or fling it to the winds in one grand splurge.  Instead, he began cautiously with the purchase of an extraordinarily large pickle, which he obtained from an aged negress for his odd cent, too obvious a bargain to be missed.  At an adjacent stand he bought a glass of raspberry lemonade (so alleged) and sipped it as he ate the pickle.  He left nothing of either.