"That's the
way we do up at the Third," became staple explanation of violence, for
Penrod, like Tartarin, was plastic in the hands of his own imagination,
and at times convinced himself that he really was one of those dark
and murderous spirits exclusively of whom "the Third" was
composed--according to Rupe Collins.
Then, when Penrod had exhausted himself repeating to nausea accounts of
the prowess of himself and his great friend, he would turn to two other
subjects for vainglory. These were his father and Duke.
Mothers must accept the fact that between babyhood and manhood their
sons do not boast of them. The boy, with boys, is a Choctaw; and either
the influence or the protection of women is shameful. "Your mother won't
let you," is an insult. But, "My father won't let me," is a dignified
explanation and cannot be hooted. A boy is ruined among his fellows if
he talks much of his mother or sisters; and he must recognize it as
his duty to offer at least the appearance of persecution to all things
ranked as female, such as cats and every species of fowl. But he must
champion his father and his dog, and, ever, ready to pit either against
any challenger, must picture both as ravening for battle and absolutely
unconquerable.
Penrod, of course, had always talked by the code, but, under the new
stimulus, Duke was represented virtually as a cross between Bob, Son of
Battle, and a South American vampire; and this in spite of the fact that
Duke himself often sat close by, a living lie, with the hope of peace
in his heart.
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