n to observe the
recumbent figure. Whitey's breathing was rather laboured but regular,
and, as Sam remarked, he looked "better", even in his slumber. It is not
to be doubted that although Whitey was suffering from a light attack of
colic his feelings were in the main those of contentment. After trouble,
he was solaced; after exposure, he was sheltered; after hunger and
thirst, he was fed and watered. He slept.

The noon whistles blew before Sam's task was finished; but by the time
he departed for lunch there was made a bed of such quality that Whitey
must needs have been a born fault-finder if he complained of it. The
friends parted, each urging the other to be prompt in returning; but
Penrod got into threatening difficulties as soon as he entered the
house.

CHAPTER IX. REWARD OF MERIT

"Penrod," said his mother, "what did you do with that loaf of bread
Della says you took from the table?"

"Ma'am? WHAT loaf o' bread?"

"I believe I can't let you go outdoors this afternoon," Mrs. Schofield
said severely. "If you were hungry, you know perfectly well all you had
to do was to--"

"But I wasn't hungry; I--"

"You can explain later," Mrs. Schofield said. "You'll have all
afternoon."

Penrod's heart grew cold.

"I CAN'T stay in," he protested. "I've asked Sam Williams to come over."

"I'll telephone Mrs. Williams."

"Mamma!" Penrod's voice became agonized. "I HAD to give that bread to
a--to a poor ole man. He was starving and so were his children and his
wife. They were all just STARVING--and they couldn't wait while I took
time to come and ask you, Mamma. I got to GO outdoors this afternoon. I
GOT to! Sam's--"

She relented.

In the carriage-house, half an hour later, Penrod gave an account of the
episode.

"Where'd we been, I'd just like to know," he concluded, "if I hadn't got
out here this afternoon?"

"Well, I guess I could managed him all right," Sam said. "I was in the
passageway, a minute ago, takin' a look at him. He's standin' up again.
I expect he wants more to eat."

"Well, we got to fix about that," said Penrod. "But what I mean--if I'd
had to stay in the house, where would we been about the most important
thing in the whole biz'nuss?"

"What you talkin' about?"

"Well, why can't you wait till I tell you?" Penrod's tone had become
peevish. For that matter, so had Sam's; they were developing one of the
little differences, or quarrels, that composed the very texture of their
friendsh