He walked away, too languid to blow his balloon, and passed a
fresh-taffy booth with strange indifference. A bare-armed man was
manipulating the taffy over a hook, 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.
Pages:
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140