ack gate. Penrod had decided to absent
himself from home for the time being.

The sky was gray, and there were hints of coming dusk in the air; it
was an hour suited to his turbulent soul, and he walked with a sombre
swagger. "Ran like a c'ardy-calf!" he sniffed, half aloud, alluding to
the haste of Sam Williams in departure. "All he is, ole c'ardy-calf!"

Then, as he proceeded up the alley, a hated cry smote his ears: "Hi,
Penrod! How's your tree-mores?" And two jovial schoolboy faces appeared
above a high board fence. "How's your beautiful hair, Penrod?" they
vociferated. "When you goin' to git your parents' consent? What makes
you think you're only pretty, ole blue stars?"

Penrod looked about feverishly for a missile, and could find none to
his hand, but the surface of the alley sufficed; he made mud balls and
fiercely bombarded the vociferous fence. Naturally, hostile mud balls
presently issued from behind this barricade; and thus a campaign
developed that offered a picture not unlike a cartoonist's sketch of
a political campaign, wherein this same material is used for the
decoration of opponents. But Penrod had been unwise; he was outnumbered,
and the hostile forces held the advantageous side of the fence.

Mud balls can be hard as well as soggy; some of those that reached
Penrod were of no inconsiderable weight and substance, and they made him
grunt despite himself. Finally, one, at close range, struck him in
the pit of the stomach, whereupon he clasped himself about the middle
silently, and executed some steps in seeming imitation of a quaint
Indian dance.

His plight being observed through a knothole, his enemies climbed upon
the fence and regarded him seriously.

"Aw, YOU'RE all right, ain't you, old tree-mores?" inquired one.

"I'll SHOW you!" bellowed Penrod, recovering his breath; and he hurled
a fat ball--thoughtfully retained in hand throughout his agony--to such
effect that his interrogator disappeared backward from the fence without
having taken any initiative of his own in the matter. His comrade
impulsively joined him upon the ground, and the battle continued.

Through the gathering dusk it went on. It waged but the hotter as
darkness made aim more difficult--and still Penrod would not be driven
from the field. Panting, grunting, hoarse from returning insults,
fighting on and on, an indistinguishable figure in the gloom, he held
the back alley against all comers.

For such a combat darkness