k, pulling a great white mass to the
desired stage of "candying," but Penrod did not pause to watch the
operation; in fact, he averted his eyes (which were slightly glazed) in
passing. He did not analyze his motives: simply, he was conscious that
he preferred not to look at the mass of taffy.

For some reason, he put a considerable distance between himself and the
taffy-stand, but before long halted in the presence of a red-faced man
who flourished a long fork over a small cooking apparatus and shouted
jovially: "Winnies! HERE'S your hot winnies! Hot winny-WURST! Food for
the over-worked brain, nourishing for the weak stummick, entertaining
for the tired business man! HERE'S your hot winnies, three for a nickel,
a half-a-dime, the twentieth-pot-of-a-dollah!"

This, above all nectar and ambrosia, was the favourite dish of Penrod
Schofield. Nothing inside him now craved it--on the contrary! But
memory is the great hypnotist; his mind argued against his inwards that
opportunity knocked at his door: "winny-wurst" was rigidly forbidden by
the home authorities. Besides, there was a last nickel in his pocket;
and nature protested against its survival. Also, the redfaced man had
himself proclaimed his wares nourishing for the weak stummick.

Penrod placed the nickel in the red hand of the red-faced man.

He ate two of the three greasy, cigarlike shapes cordially pressed upon
him in return. The first bite convinced him that he had made a mistake;
these winnies seemed of a very inferior flavour, almost unpleasant, in
fact. But he felt obliged to conceal his poor opinion of them, for fear
of offending the red-faced man. He ate without haste or eagerness--so
slowly, indeed, that he began to think the redfaced man might dislike
him, as a deterrent of trade. Perhaps Penrod's mind was not working
well, for he failed to remember that no law compelled him to remain
under the eye of the red-faced man, but the virulent repulsion excited
by his attempt to take a bite of the third sausage inspired him with at
least an excuse for postponement.

"Mighty good," he murmured feebly, placing the sausage in the pocket
of his jacket with a shaking hand. "Guess I'll save this one to eat at
home, after--after dinner."

He moved sluggishly away, wishing he had not thought of dinner. A
side-show, undiscovered until now, failed to arouse his interest, not
even exciting a wish that he had known of its existence when he had
money. For a time he star