pointed to the window and said shyly:

"Look, Penrod, it's getting dark. The party'll be over pretty
soon, and you've never danced one single time!"

"Well, I guess I know that, don't I?"

He was unable to cast aside his outward truculence though it was
but a relic. However, his voice was gentler, and Marjorie seemed
satisfied. From the other rooms came the swinging music, shouts
of "Gotcher bumpus!" sounds of stumbling, of scrambling, of
running, of muffled concus signs and squeals of dismay. Penrod's
followers were renewing the wild work, even in the absence of
their chief.

"Penrod Schofield, you bad boy," said Marjorie, "you started
every bit of that! You ought to be ashamed of yourself."

"_I_ didn't do anything," he said--and he believed it. "Pick on
me for everything!"

"Well, they wouldn't if you didn't do so much," said Marjorie.

"They would, too."

"They wouldn't, either. Who would?"

"That Miss Lowe," he specified bitterly. "Yes, and Baby
Rennsdale's aunts. If the house'd burn down, I bet they'd say
Penrod Schofield did it! Anybody does anything at ALL, they say,