d direction, but not by the route
he had just travelled, though his motive for the change was not
humanitarian. It was his desire to display himself thus troubadouring
to the gaze of Marjorie Jones. Heralding his advance by continuous
experiments in the music of the future, he pranced upon his blithesome
way, the faithful Duke at his heels. (It was easier for Duke than it
would have been for a younger dog, because, with advancing age, he had
begun to grow a little deaf.)

Turning the corner nearest to the glamoured mansion of the Joneses,
the boy jongleur came suddenly face to face with Marjorie, and, in
the delicious surprise of the encounter, ceased to play, his hands, in
agitation, falling from the instrument.

Bareheaded, the sunshine glorious upon her amber curls, Marjorie was
strolling hand-in-hand with her baby brother, Mitchell, four years
old. She wore pink that day--unforgettable pink, with a broad, black
patent-leather belt, shimmering reflections dancing upon its surface.
How beautiful she was! How sacred the sweet little baby brother, whose
privilege it was to cling to that small hand, delicately powdered with
freckles.

"Hello, Marjorie," said Penrod, affecting carelessness.

"Hello!" said Marjorie, with unexpected cordiality. She bent over her
baby brother with motherly affectations. "Say 'howdy' to the gentymuns,
Mitchy-Mitch," she urged sweetly, turning him to face Penrod.

"WON'T!" said Mitchy-Mitch, and, to emphasize his refusal, kicked the
gentymuns upon the shin.

Penrod's feelings underwent instant change, and in the sole occupation
of disliking Mitchy-Mitch, he wasted precious seconds which might have
been better employed in philosophic consideration of the startling
example, just afforded, of how a given law operates throughout the
universe in precisely the same manner perpetually. Mr. Robert Williams
would have understood this, easily.

"Oh, oh!" Marjorie cried, and put Mitchy-Mitch behind her with too much
sweetness. "Maurice Levy's gone to Atlantic City with his mamma," she
remarked conversationally, as if the kicking incident were quite closed.

"That's nothin'," returned Penrod, keeping his eye uneasily
upon Mitchy-Mitch. "I know plenty people been better places than
that--Chicago and everywhere."

There was unconscious ingratitude in his low rating of Atlantic City,
for it was largely to the attractions of that resort he owed Miss Jones'
present attitude of friendliness.

Of co