security and permanent security is left for grown people. To
Penrod, security was security, and before his dinner was half
eaten his spirit had become fairly serene.

Nevertheless, when he entered the empty carriage-house of the
stable, on his return from school the next afternoon, his
expression was not altogether without apprehension, and he stood
in the doorway looking well about him before he lifted a loosened
plank in the flooring and took from beneath it the grand old
weapon of the Williams family. Not did his eye lighten with any
pleasurable excitement as he sat himself down in a shadowy corner
and began some sketchy experiments with the mechanism. The allure
of first sight was gone. In Mr. Williams' bedchamber, with Sam
clamouring for possession, it had seemed to Penrod that nothing
in the world was so desirable as to have that revolver in his own
hands--it was his dream come true. But, for reasons not
definitely known to him, the charm had departed; he turned the
cylinder gingerly, almost with distaste; and slowly there stole
over him a feeling that there was something repellent and
threatening in the heavy blue steel.

Thus does the long-dreamed Real misbehave--not only for Penrod!

More out of a sense of duty to bingism in general than for any
other reason, he pointed the revolver at the lawn-mower, and
gloomily murmured, "Bing!"

Simultaneously, a low and cautious voice sounded from the yard
outside, "Yay, Penrod!" and Sam Williams darkened the doorway,
his eye falling instantly upon the weapon in his friend's hand.