Some three hours later, Mr. Samuel Williams, waxen clean and in sweet
raiment, made his reappearance in Penrod's yard, yodelling a code-signal
to summon forth his friend. He yodelled loud, long, and frequently,
finally securing a faint response from the upper air.

"Where are you?" shouted Mr. Williams, his roving glance searching
ambient heights. Another low-spirited yodel reaching his ear, he
perceived the head and shoulders of his friend projecting above the
roofridge of the stable. The rest of Penrod's body was concealed from
view, reposing upon the opposite slant of the gable and precariously
secured by the crooking of his elbows over the ridge.

"Yay! What you doin' up there?"

"Nothin'."

"You better be careful!" Sam called. "You'll slide off and fall down in
the alley if you don't look out. I come pert' near it last time we was
up there. Come on down! Ain't you goin' to the cotillon?"

Penrod made no reply. Sam came nearer.

"Say," he called up in a guarded voice, "I went to our telephone a while
ago and ast him how he was feelin', and he said he felt fine!"

"So did I," said Penrod. "He told me he felt bully!"

Sam thrust his hands in his pockets and brooded. The opening of the