"I spent it. I bought an air-gun for a dollar and sixty-five cents, and three sodies and some candy with the rest. I'll owe you the two dollars, Penrod. I'm willing to do that much."
"Well, why don't you give him the air-gun," asked the satirical Sam, "and owe him the rest?"
"I can't. Papa took the air-gun away from me because he didn't like sumpthing I did with it. I got to owe you the whole two dollars, Penrod."
"Look here, Roddy," said Penrod. "Don't you s'pose I'd rather keep this horn and blow on it than have you owe me two dollars?"
There was something about this simple question which convinced Roddy that his cause was lost. His hopes had been but faint from the beginning of the interview.
"Well--" said Roddy. For a time he scuffed the floor with his shoe. "Daw-gone it!" he said, at last; and he departed morosely.
Penrod had already begun to "practice" again, and Mr. Williams, after vain appeals to be permitted to practice in turn, sank into the wheelbarrow in a state of boredom, not remarkable under the circumstances. Then Penrod contrived--it may have been accidental--to produce at one blast two tones which varied in pitch.
His pride and excitement were extreme though not contagious.
"Listen, Sam!" he shouted. "How's THAT for high?"
The bored Sam made no response other than to rise languidly to his feet, stretch, and start for home.