But it was still able to disgorge
sounds--loud, strange, compelling sounds, which could be heard for a
remarkable distance in all directions; and it had one rich calf-like
tone that had gone to Penrod's heart. He obtained the instrument for
twenty-two cents, a price long since agreed upon with the junk-dealer,
who falsely claimed a loss of profit, Shylock that he was! He had found
the wreck in an alley.
With this purchase suspended from his shoulder by a faded green cord,
Penrod set out in a somewhat homeward 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.
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