fried egg in P'fesser Bartet's overcoat
pocket at dancin'-school, and ole p'fesser went and blamed it on me.
Then, Carlie, he cum up to me, th' other day, and he says, 'Smell my
buttonhole bokay.' He had some vi'lets stickin' in his buttonhole, and
I went to smell 'em and water squirted on me out of 'em. I guess I've
stood about enough, and if he does another thing I don't like, he better
look out!"

Penrod showed some interest, inquiring for details, whereupon Maurice
explained that if Master Chitten displeased him further, Master Chitten
would receive a blow upon one of his features. Maurice was simple and
homely about it, seeking rhetorical vigour rather than elegance; in
fact, what he definitely promised Master Chitten was "a bang on the
snoot."

"Well," said Penrod, "he never bothered ME any. I expect he knows too
much for that!"

A cry of pain was heard from the dressing-room at this juncture, and,
glancing through the doorway, Maurice and Penrod beheld Sam Williams in
the act of sucking his right thumb with vehemence, the while his brow
was contorted and his eyes watered. He came into the bathroom and held
his thumb under a faucet.

"That darn little Carlie Chitten!" he complained. "He ast me to hold a
little tin box he showed me. He told me to hold it between my thumb and
fingers and he'd show me sumpthing. Then he pushed the lid, and a big
needle came out of a hole and stuck me half through my thumb. That's a
NICE way to act, isn't it?"

Carlie Chitten's dark head showed itself cautiously beyond the casing of
the door.

"How's your thumb, Sam?" he asked.

"You wait!" Sam shouted, turning furiously; but the small
prestidigitator was gone. With a smothered laugh, Carlie dashed through
the groups of boys in the dressing-room and made his way downstairs,
his manner reverting to its usual polite gravity before he entered the
drawing-room, where his hostess waited. Music sounding at about this
time, he was followed by the other boys, who came trooping down, leaving
the dressing-room empty.

Penrod, among the tail-enders of the procession, made his dancing-school
bow to Miss Rennsdale and her grown-up supporters (two maiden aunts and
a governess) then he looked about for Marjorie, discovering her but too
easily. Her amber curls were swaying gently in time to the music; she
looked never more beautiful, and her partner was Master Chitten!

A pang of great penetrative power and equal unexpectedness found the