him to lay down on his stummick, and he kind of fell
up against the door and it came open and he ran out in the yard. He was
tryin' to get the blindfold off his eyes, but he couldn't because it
was a towel in a pretty hard knot; and he went tearin' all around the
backyard, and we didn't chase him, or anything. All we did was just
watch him--and that's when he fell in the cellar. Well, it didn't hurt
him any. It didn't hurt him at all; but he was muddier than what he
would of been if he'd just had sense enough to lay down in the shack.
Well, so we thought, long as he was down in the cellar anyway, we might
as well have the rest of the 'nishiation down there. So we brought the
things down and--and 'nishiated him--and that's all. That's every bit we
did to him."

"Yes," Mr. Williams said sardonically; "I see. What were the details of
the initiation?"

"Sir?"

"I want to know what else you did to him? What was the initiation?"

"It's--it's secret," Sam murmured piteously.

"Not any longer, I assure you! The society is a thing of the past and
you'll find your friend Penrod's parents agree with me in that. Mrs.
Bassett had already telephoned them when she called us up. You go on
with your story!"

Sam sighed deeply, and yet it may have been a consolation to know that
his present misery was not altogether without its counterpart. Through
the falling dusk his spirit may have crossed the intervening distance
to catch a glimpse of his friend suffering simultaneously and standing
within the same peril. And if Sam's spirit did thus behold Penrod in
jeopardy, it was a true vision.

"Go on!" Mr. Williams said.

"Well, there wasn't any fire in the furnace because it's too warm
yet, and we weren't goin' to do anything'd HURT him, so we put him in
there--"

"In the FURNACE?"

"It was cold," Sam protested. "There hadn't been any fire there since
last spring. Course we told him there was fire in it. We HAD to
do that," he continued earnestly, "because that was part of the
'nishiation. We only kept him in it a little while and kind of hammered
on the outside a little and then we took him out and got him to lay down
on his stummick, because he was all muddy anyway, where he fell down the
cellar; and how could it matter to anybody that had any sense at all?
Well, then we had the rixual, and--and--why, the teeny little paddlin'
he got wouldn't hurt a flea! It was that little coloured boy lives in
the alley did it--he isn't anywa