"Aw ri'," said Herman. "Ow sistuh Queenie, she a growed-up woman; she
got a goituh."
"Got a what?"
"Goituh. Swellin' on her neck--grea' big swellin'. She heppin' mammy
move in now. You look in de front-room winduh wheres she sweepin'; you
kin see it on her."
Penrod looked in the window and was rewarded by a fine view of Queenie's
goitre. He had never before seen one, and only the lure of further
conversation on the part of Verman brought him from the window.
"Verman say tell you 'bout pappy," explained Herman. "Mammy an' Queenie
move in town an' go git de house all fix up befo' pappy git out."
"Out of where?"
"Jail. Pappy cut a man, an' de police done kep' him in jail evuh sense
Chris'mus-time; but dey goin' tuhn him loose ag'in nex' week."
"What'd he cut the other man with?"
"Wif a pitchfawk."
Penrod began to feel that a lifetime spent with this fascinating family
were all too short. The brothers, glowing with amiability, were as
enraptured as he. For the first time in their lives they moved in the
rich glamour of sensationalism. Herman was prodigal of gesture with his
right hand; and Verman, chuckling with delight, talked fluently,
though somewhat consciously. They cheerfully agreed to keep the
raccoon--already beginning to be mentioned as "our 'coon" by Penrod--in
Mr. Schofield's empty stable, and, when the animal had been chained to
the wall near the box of rats and supplied with a pan of fair water,
they assented to their new friend's suggestion (inspired by a fine
sense of the artistic harmonies) that the heretofore nameless pet be
christened Sherman, in honour of their deceased relative.
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