with his marching
feet and, also, with a slight rise and fall of his fingers at about the
median line of his abdomen. And pedestrians who encountered him in this
preoccupation were not surprised to hear, as he passed, a few explosive
little vocalizations: "Taw, p'taw-p'taw! TAW! Taw-aw-HAW!"

These were the outward symptoms of no fleeting impulse, but of steadfast
desire; therefore they were persistent. The likeness of the great bass
horn remained upon the retina of his mind's eye, losing nothing of its
brazen enormity with the passing of hours, nor abating, in his mind's
ear, one whit of its fascinating blatancy. Penrod might have forgotten
almost anything else more readily; for such a horn has this double
compulsion: people cannot possibly keep themselves from looking at its
possessor--and they certainly have GOT to listen to him!

Penrod was preoccupied at dinner and during the evening, now and then
causing his father some irritation by croaking, "Taw, p'taw-p'taw!"
while the latter was talking. And when bedtime came for the son of the
house, he mounted the stairs in a rhythmic manner, and p'tawed himself
through the upper hall as far as his own chamber.

Even after he had gone to bed, there came a revival of these
manifestations. His mother had put out his light for him and had
returned to the library downstairs; three-quarters of an hour had
elapsed since then, and Margaret was in her room, next to his, when a
continuous low croaking (which she was just able to hear) suddenly broke
out into loud, triumphal blattings:

"TAW, p'taw-p'taw-aw-HAW! P'taw-WAW-aw! Aw-PAW!"

"Penrod," Margaret called, "stop that! I'm trying to write letters. If
you don't quit and go to sleep, I'll call papa up, and you'll SEE!"

The noise ceased, or, rather, it tapered down to a desultory faint
croaking which finally died out; but there can be little doubt that
Penrod's last waking thoughts were of instrumental music. And in
the morning, when he woke to face the gloomy day's scholastic tasks,
something unusual and eager fawned in his face with the return of
memory. "Taw-p'taw!" he began. "PAW!"

All day, in school and out, his mind was busy with computations--not
such as are prescribed by mathematical pedants, but estimates of how
much old rags and old iron would sell for enough money to buy a horn.
Happily, the next day, at lunch, he was able to dismiss this problem
from his mind: he learned that his Uncle Joe would be passing thro