fortune looked his way.

It was the habit of Penrod's mother not to throw away anything
whatsoever until years of storage conclusively proved there would never
be a use for it; but a recent house-cleaning had ejected upon the back
porch a great quantity of bottles and other paraphernalia of medicine,
left over from illnesses in the family during a period of several years.
This debris Della, the cook, had collected in a large market basket,
adding to it some bottles of flavouring extracts that had proved
unpopular in the household; also, old catsup bottles; a jar or two of
preserves gone bad; various rejected dental liquids--and other things.
And she carried the basket out to the storeroom in the stable.

Penrod was at first unaware of what lay before him. Chin on palms, he
sat upon the iron rim of a former aquarium and stared morbidly through
the open door at the checkered departing back of Della. It was another
who saw treasure in the basket she had left.

Mr. Samuel Williams, aged eleven, and congenial to Penrod in years,
sex, and disposition, appeared in the doorway, shaking into foam a black
liquid within a pint bottle, stoppered by a thumb.

"Yay, Penrod!" the visitor gave greeting.

"Yay," said Penrod with slight enthusiasm. "What you got?"

"Lickrish water."

"Drinkin's!" demanded Penrod promptly. This is equivalent to the cry of
"Biters" when an apple is shown, and establishes unquestionable title.