Other surprises were arranged for the absent workmen. The caldron was
almost full, and the surface of the tar near the rim.
Penrod endeavoured to ascertain how many pebbles and brickbats, dropped
in, would cause an overflow. Labouring heartily to this end, he
had almost accomplished it, when he received the suggestion for an
experiment on a much larger scale. Embedded at the corner of a
grassplot across the street was a whitewashed stone, the size of a small
watermelon and serving no purpose whatever save the questionable one of
decoration. It was easily pried up with a stick; though getting it to
the caldron tested the full strength of the ardent labourer. Instructed
to perform such a task, he would have sincerely maintained its
impossibility but now, as it was unbidden, and promised rather
destructive results, he set about it with unconquerable energy, feeling
certain that he would be rewarded with a mighty splash. Perspiring,
grunting vehemently, his back aching and all muscles strained, he
progressed in short stages until the big stone lay at the base of the
caldron. He rested a moment, panting, then lifted the stone, and was
bending his shoulders for the heave that would lift it over the rim,
when a sweet, taunting voice, close behind him, startled him cruelly.
"How do you do, LITTLE GENTLEMAN!"
Penrod squawked, dropped the stone, and shouted, "Shut up, you dern
fool!" purely from instinct, even before his about-face made him aware
who had so spitefully addressed him.
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