for the unusual term of an hour, with many jocular and
cunning eyes constantly upon him; and, when he was released at noon,
horrid shouts and shrieks pursued him every step of his homeward way.
For his laughter-loving little schoolmates spared him not--neither boy
nor girl.

"Yay, Penrod!" they shouted. "How's your beautiful hair?" And, "Hi,
Penrod! When you goin' to get your parents' consent?" And, "Say, blue
stars in heaven, how's your beautiful eyes?" And, "Say, Penrod, how's
your tree-mores?" "Does your tree-mores thrill your bein', Penrod?" And
many other facetious inquiries, hard to bear in public.

And when he reached the temporary shelter of his home, he experienced
no relief upon finding that Margaret was out for lunch. He was as deeply
embittered toward her as toward any other, and, considering her largely
responsible for his misfortune, he would have welcomed an opportunity to
show her what he thought of her.

CHAPTER XVI. WEDNESDAY MADNESS

How long he was "kept in" after school that afternoon is not a matter of
record; but it was long. Before he finally appeared upon the street, he
had composed an ample letter on a subject of general interest, namely
"School Life", under the supervision of Miss Spencer. He had also
received some scorching admonitions in respect to honourable behaviour
regarding other people's letters; and Margaret's had been returned to
him with severe instructions to bear it straight to the original owner
accompanied by full confession and apology. As a measure of insurance
that these things be done, Miss Spence stated definitely her intention
to hold a conversation by telephone with Margaret that evening.
Altogether, the day had been unusually awful, even for Wednesday, and
Penrod left the school-house with the heart of an anarchist throbbing
in his hot bosom. It were more accurate, indeed, to liken him to the
anarchist's characteristic weapon; for as Penrod came out to the street
he was, in all inward respects, a bomb, loaded and ticking.

He walked moodily, with a visible aspect of soreness. A murmurous
sound was thick about his head, wherefore it is to be surmised that he
communed with his familiar, and one vehement, oft-repeated phrase beat
like a tocsin of revolt upon the air: "Daw-gone 'em!"

He meant everybody--the universe.

Particularly included, evidently, was a sparrow, offensively cheerful
upon a lamp-post. This self-centred little bird allowed a pebble to pass
ove