act that every autumn his father received a barrel of
"cooking-apples" from a cousin who owned a farm. That barrel was in the
Williams' cellar now, and the cellar was providentially supplied with
"outside doors," so that it could be visited without going through the
house. Sam and Penrod set forth for the cellar.

They returned to the stable bulging, and, after a discussion of Whitey's
digestion (Sam claiming that eating the core and seeds, as Whitey
did, would grow trees in his inside) they went back to the cellar for
supplies again--and again. They made six trips, carrying each time a
capacity cargo of apples, and still Whitey ate in a famished manner.
They were afraid to take more apples from the barrel, which began to
show conspicuously the result of their raids, wherefore Penrod made an
unostentatious visit to the cellar of his own house. From the inside he
opened a window and passed vegetables out to Sam, who placed them in a
bucket and carried them hurriedly to the stable, while Penrod returned
in a casual manner through the house. Of his sang-froid under a great
strain it is sufficient to relate that, in the kitchen, he said suddenly
to Della, the cook, "Oh, look behind you!" and by the time Della
discovered that there was nothing unusual behind her, Penrod was gone,
and a loaf of bread from the kitchen table was gone with him.

Whitey now ate nine turnips, two heads of lettuce, one cabbage, eleven
raw potatoes and the loaf of bread. He ate the loaf of bread last and
he was a long time about it; so the boys came to a not unreasonable
conclusion.

"Well, sir, I guess we got him filled up at last!" said Penrod. "I bet
he wouldn't eat a saucer of ice-cream now, if we'd give it to him!"

"He looks better to me," said Sam, staring critically at Whitey. "I
think he's kind of begun to fill out some. I expect he must like us,
Penrod; we been doin' a good deal for this horse."

"Well, we got to keep it up," Penrod insisted rather pompously. "Long as
_I_ got charge o' this horse, he's goin' to get good treatment."

"What we better do now, Penrod?"

Penrod took on the outward signs of deep thought.

"Well, there's plenty to DO, all right. I got to think."

Sam made several suggestions, which Penrod--maintaining his air of
preoccupation--dismissed with mere gestures.

"Oh, _I_ know!" Sam cried finally. "We ought to wash him so's he'll
look whiter'n what he does now. We can turn the hose on him across the
manger."