" Duke was facing the
closed door and sitting up and begging, and now he also spoke--in a
loud, clear bark.
There was an open transom over the door, and from this descended--hurled
by an unseen agency--a can half filled with old paint.
It caught the small besieger of the door on his thoroughly surprised
right ear, encouraged him to some remarkable acrobatics, and turned
large portions of him a dull blue. Allowing only a moment to perplexity,
and deciding, after a single and evidently unappetizing experiment,
not to cleanse himself of paint, the loyal animal resumed his quaint,
upright posture.
Mr. Schofield seated himself on the window-sill, whence he could keep in
view that pathetic picture of unrequited love.
"Go on with your story, mamma," he said. "I think I can find Penrod when
we want him."
And a few minutes later he added, "And I think I know the place to do it
in."
Again the faithful voice of Duke was heard, pleading outside the bolted
door.
CHAPTER XII MISS RENNSDALE ACCEPTS
"One-two-three; one-two-three--glide!" said Professor Bartet,
emphasizing his instructions by a brisk collision of his palms at
"glide." "One-two-three; one-two-three--glide!"
The school week was over, at last, but Penrod's troubles were not.
Round and round the ballroom went the seventeen struggling little
couples of the Friday Afternoon Dancing Class. Round and round went
their reflections with them, swimming rhythmically in the polished, dark
floor--white and blue and pink for the girls; black, with dabs of white,
for the white-collared, white-gloved boys; and sparks and slivers
of high light everywhere as the glistening pumps flickered along the
surface like a school of flying fish.
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