"Yes, sir--she is!" Penrod was generous enough to admit. "I expect she's
strong enough----" He paused in thought, and added:

"We haven't got a horse any more."

"I bet you she'd fix him if you had!" said Sam. And it may be that this
was no idle boast.

The pharmaceutical game was not resumed; the experiment upon Duke had
made the drug store commonplace and stimulated the appetite for stronger
meat. Lounging in the doorway, the near-vivisectionists sipped licorice
water alternately and conversed.

"I bet some of our smallpox medicine would fix ole P'fessor Bartet all
right!" quoth Penrod. "I wish he'd come along and ask us for some."

"We could tell him it was lickrish water," added Sam, liking the idea.
"The two bottles look almost the same."

"Then we wouldn't have to go to his ole cotillon this afternoon," Penrod
sighed. "There wouldn't be any!"

"Who's your partner, Pen?"

"Who's yours?"

"Who's yours? I just ast you."

"Oh, she's all right!" And Penrod smiled boastfully.