Come on and
look at 'em."
"All right," said the fat-faced boy, slightly mollified. "We'll let Dan
kill 'em."
"No, SIR! I'm goin' to keep 'em. They're kind of pets; I've had 'em all
summer--I got names for em, and----"
"Looky here, 'bo. Did you hear me say we'll let 'Dan kill 'em?"
"Yes, but I won't----"
"WHAT won't you?" Rupe became sinister immediately. "It seems to me
you're gettin' pretty fresh around here."
"Well, I don't want----"
Mr. Collins once more brought into play the dreadful eye-to-eye scowl as
practised "up at the Third," and, sometimes, also by young leading
men upon the stage. Frowning appallingly, and thrusting forward his
underlip, he placed his nose almost in contact with the nose of Penrod,
whose eyes naturally became crossed.
"Dan kills the rats. See?" hissed the fat-faced boy, maintaining the
horrible juxtaposition.
"Well, all right," said Penrod, swallowing. "I don't want 'em much."
And when the pose had been relaxed, he stared at his new friend for a
moment, almost with reverence. Then he brightened.
"Come on, Rupe!" he cried enthusiastically, as he climbed the fence.
"We'll give our dogs a little live meat--'bo!"
CHAPTER XXII THE IMITATOR
At the dinner-table, that evening, Penrod Surprised his family by
remarking, in a voice they had never heard him attempt--a law-giving
voice of intentional gruffness:
"Any man that's makin' a hunderd dollars a month is makin' good money.
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