tery over power, though, of course, Penrod did not
know that this was how he really felt about the matter.

Grandiloquent sketches were passing and interchanging before his mind's
eye--Penrod, in noble raiment, marching down the staring street,
his shoulders swaying professionally, the roar of the horn he bore
submerging all other sounds; Penrod on horseback, blowing the enormous
horn and leading wild hordes to battle, while Marjorie Jones looked on
from the sidewalk; Penrod astounding his mother and father and sister
by suddenly serenading them in the library. "Why, Penrod, where DID you
learn to play like this?"

These were vague and shimmering glories of vision rather than definite
plans for his life work, yet he did with all his will determine to own
and play upon some roaring instrument of brass. And, after all, this
was no new desire of his; it was only an old one inflamed to take a new
form. Nor was music the root of it, for the identical desire is often
uproarious among them that hate music. What stirred in Penrod was new
neither in him nor in the world, but old--old as old Adam, old as the
childishness of man. All children have it, of course: they are all
anxious to Make a Noise in the World.

While the band approached, Penrod marked the time with his feet; then he
fell into step and accompanied the musicians down the street, keeping as
near as possible to the little man with the big horn. There were four or
five other boys, strangers, also marching with the band, but these were
light spirits, their flushed faces and prancing legs proving that they
were merely in a state of emotional reaction to music. Penrod, on the
contrary, was grave. He kept his eyes upon the big horn, and, now and
then, he gave an imitation of it. His fingers moved upon invisible keys,
his cheeks puffed out, and, from far down in his throat, he produced
strange sounds: "Taw, p'taw-p'taw! Taw, p'taw-p'taw! PAW!"

The other boys turned back when the musicians ceased to play, but Penrod
marched on, still keeping close to what so inspired him. He stayed with
the band till the last member of it disappeared up a staircase in an
office-building, down at the business end of the street; and even after
that he lingered a while, looking at the staircase.

Finally, however, he set his face toward home, whither he marched in a
procession, the visible part of which consisted of himself alone. All
the way the rhythmic movements of his head kept time