"But I thought he was going to stay to dinner!" she cried.

Mr. Schofield shook his head, admitting himself floored. Later, having
mentally gone over everything that might shed light on the curious
behaviour of old Joe, he said, without preface:

"He wasn't at all dissipated when we were in college."

Mrs. Schofield nodded severely. "Maybe this was just the best thing
could have happened to him, after all," she said.

"It may be," her husband returned. "I don't say it isn't. BUT that isn't
going to make any difference in what I'm going to do to Penrod!"

CHAPTER XXI. YEARNINGS

The next day a new ambition entered into Penrod Schofield; it was
heralded by a flourish of trumpets and set up a great noise within his
being.

On his way home from Sunday-school he had paused at a corner to listen
to a brass band, which was returning from a funeral, playing a medley of
airs from "The Merry Widow," and as the musicians came down the street,
walking so gracefully, the sun picked out the gold braid upon their
uniforms and splashed fire from their polished instruments. Penrod
marked the shapes of the great bass horns, the suave sculpture of their
brazen coils, and the grand, sensational flare of their mouths. And he
saw plainly that these noble things, to be mastered, needed no more than
some breath blown into them during the fingering of a few simple keys.
Then obediently they gave forth those vast but dulcet sounds which
stirred his spirit as no other sounds could stir it quite.

The leader of the band, walking ahead, was a pleasing figure, nothing
more. Penrod supposed him to be a mere decoration, and had never
sympathized with Sam Williams' deep feeling about drum-majors. The
cornets, the trombones, the smaller horns were rather interesting, of
course; and the drums had charm, especially the bass drum, which must
be partially supported by a youth in front; but, immeasurably above all
these, what fascinated Penrod was the little man with the monster horn.
There Penrod's widening eyes remained transfixed--upon the horn,
so dazzling, with its broad spaces of brassy highlights, and so
overwhelming, with its mouth as wide as a tub; that there was something
almost threatening about it.

The little, elderly band-musician walked manfully as he blew his great
horn; and in that pompous engine of sound, the boy beheld a spectacle
of huge forces under human control. To Penrod, the horn meant power, and
the musician meant mas