ed. "Rupe
Collins is your name, then, I guess. I kind of thought it was, all the
time."

The fat-faced boy still appeared embittered, burlesquing this speech in
a hateful falsetto. "'Rupe Collins is YOUR name, then, I guess!' Oh, you
'kind of thought it was, all the time,' did you?" Suddenly concentrating
his brow into a histrionic scowl he thrust his face within an inch of
Penrod's. "Yes, sonny, Rupe Collins is my name, and you better look
out what you say when he's around or you'll get in big trouble! YOU
UNDERSTAND THAT, 'BO?"

Penrod was cowed but fascinated: he felt that there was something
dangerous and dashing about this newcomer.

"Yes," he said, feebly, drawing back. "My name's Penrod Schofield."

"Then I reckon your father and mother ain't got good sense," said Mr.
Collins promptly, this also being formula.

"Why?"

"'Cause if they had they'd of give you a good name!" And the agreeable
youth instantly rewarded himself for the wit with another yell of
rasping laughter, after which he pointed suddenly at Penrod's right
hand.

"Where'd you get that wart on your finger?" he demanded severely.

"Which finger?" asked the mystified Penrod, extending his hand.

"The middle one."

"Where?"

"There!" exclaimed Rupe Collins, seizing and vigorously twisting the
wartless finger naively offered for his inspection.

"Quit!" shouted Penrod in agony. "QUEE-yut!"

"Say your prayers!" commanded Rupe, and continued to twist the luckless
finger until Penrod writhed to his knees.

"OW!" The victim, released, looked grievously upon the still painful
finger.

At this Rupe's scornful expression altered to one of contrition. "Well,
I declare!" he exclaimed remorsefully. "I didn't s'pose it would hurt.
Turn about's fair play; so now you do that to me."

He extended the middle finger of his left hand and Penrod promptly
seized it, but did not twist it, for he was instantly swung round with
his back to his amiable new acquaintance: Rupe's right hand operated
upon the back of Penrod's slender neck; Rupe's knee tortured the small
of Penrod's back.

"OW!" Penrod bent far forward involuntarily and went to his knees again.

"Lick dirt," commanded Rupe, forcing the captive's face to the sidewalk;
and the suffering Penrod completed this ceremony.

Mr. Collins evinced satisfaction by means of his horse laugh.

"You'd last jest about one day up at the Third!" he said. "You'd come
runnin' home, yellin' 'MOM-MUH, MOM-muh,'