"Fine!" said Penrod casually. "G'-night, Sam."




CHAPTER III. THE MILITARIST

PENROD SCHOFIELD, having been "kept-in" for the unjust period of
twenty minutes after school, emerged to a deserted street. That
is, the street was deserted so far as Penrod was concerned. Here
and there people were to be seen upon the sidewalks, but they
were adults, and they and the shade trees had about the same
quality of significance in Penrod's consciousness. Usually he saw
grown people in the mass, which is to say, they were virtually
invisible to him, though exceptions must be taken in favour of
policemen, firemen, street-car conductors, motormen, and all
other men in any sort of uniform or regalia. But this afternoon
none of these met the roving eye, and Penrod set out upon his
homeward way wholly dependent upon his own resources.

To one of Penrod's inner texture, a mere unadorned walk from one
point to another was intolerable, and he had not gone a block
without achieving some slight remedy for the tameness of life. An
electric-light pole at the corner, invested with powers of
observation, might have been surprised to find itself suddenly
enacting a role of dubious honour in improvised melodrama.
Penrod, approaching, gave the pole a look of sharp suspicion,
then one of conviction; slapped it lightly and contemptuously
with his open hand; passed on a few paces, but turned abruptly,