This is a boy's lot: anything he does, anything whatever, may afterward
turn out to have been a crime--he never knows.

And punishment and clemency are alike inexplicable.

Mr. Williams took his son by the ear.

"You march home!" he commanded.

Sam marched, not looking back, and his father followed the small figure
implacably.

"You goin' to whip me?" quavered Penrod, alone with Justice.

"Wash your face at that hydrant," said his father sternly.

About fifteen minutes later, Penrod, hurriedly entering the corner drug
store, two blocks distant, was astonished to perceive a familiar form at
the soda counter.

"Yay, Penrod," said Sam Williams. "Want some sody? Come on. He didn't
lick me. He didn't do anything to me at all. He gave me a quarter."

"So'd mine," said Penrod.



CHAPTER XVIII MUSIC