"Don't fret about that," her husband said. "He was trying to learn Sam Williams's imitation of a bullfrog's croak. I used to do that myself when I was a boy. Gl-glump, gallump! No; I can't do it now. But nearly all boys feel obliged to learn it."
"You're entirely mistaken, Henry," she returned a little sharply.
"That isn't the way he goes in his throat. Penrod is getting to be a VERY nervous boy, and he makes noises because he can't help it. He works part of his face, too, sometimes, so much that I've been afraid it would interfere with his looks."
"Interfere with his what?" For the moment, Mr. Schofield seemed to be dazed.
"When he's himself," she returned crisply, "he's quite a handsome boy."
"He is?"
"Handsomer than the average, anyhow," Mrs. Schofield eaid firmly.
"No wonder you don't see it--when we've let his system get all run down like this!"
"Good heavens!" the mystified Mr. Schofield murmured. "Penrod's system hasn't been running down; it's just the same as it always was. He's absolutely all right."
"Indeed he is not!" she said severely. "We've got to take better care of him than we have been."
"Why, how could--"
"I know what I'm talking about," she interrupted. "Penrod is anything but a strong boy, and it's all our fault. We haven't been watchful enough of his health; that's what's the matter with him and makes him so nervous."
Thus she continued, and, as she talked on, Mr. Schofield began, by imperceptible processes, to adopt her views. As for Mrs.
Schofield herself, these views became substantial by becoming vocal. This is to say, with all deference, that as soon as she heard herself stating them she was convinced that they accurately represented facts. And the determined look in her eyes deepened when the "deepoe hack" turned the familiar corner and she saw Penrod running to the gate, followed by Duke.