so
unreasonable, he murmurs aloud, "_Well, hasn't this been a day!_"
Because of the humour in "Penrod" there is a pathos as true and real as
those parts in the "Pickwick Papers" where fortunately Dickens is
pathetic in a real sense because he did not strive for pathos. Everybody
admits now that Dickens becomes almost repellent when he wilfully tries
to be pathetic.

One could pick out of "Seventeen" a score of delightful situations which
seem to ripple from the pen of Booth Tarkington, one of the best being
the scene between the hero and his mother when that _esprit terrible_,
his sister, seems to stand between him and the lady of his thoughts. And
"Penrod" is full of them. The description of that young gallant's
entrance into society is of Mr. Tarkington's best. Penrod is expected to
find, according to the rules of dancing academies, a partner for the
cotillion. It is his duty to call on the only young lady unengaged, who
was Miss Rennsdale, aged eight. Penrod, carefully tutored, makes his
call.

A decorous maid conducted the long-belated applicant to her where
she sat upon a sofa beside a nursery governess. The decorous maid
announced him composedly as he made his entrance.

"Mr. Penrod Schofield!"

Miss Rennsdale suddenly burst into loud sobs.

"Oh!" she wailed. "I just knew it would be him!"

The decorous maid's composure vanished at once--likewise her
decorum. She clapped her hand over her mouth and fled, uttering
sounds. The governess, however, set herself to comfort her
heartbroken charge, and presently succeeded in restoring Miss
Rennsdale to a semblance of that poise with which a lady receives
callers and accepts invitations to dance cotillons. But she
continued to sob at intervals.

Feeling himself at perhaps a disadvantage, Penrod made offer of his
hand for the morrow with a little embarrassment. Following the form
prescribed by Professor Bartet, he advanced several paces toward
the stricken lady and bowed formally.

"I hope," he said by rote, "you're well, and your parents also in
good health. May I have the pleasure of dancing the cotillon as
your partner t'-morrow afternoon?"

The wet eyes of Miss Rennsdale searched his countenance without
pleasure, and a shudder wrung her small shoulders; but the
governess whispered to her instructively, and she made a great
effort.

"