PENROD AND SAM

By Booth Tarkington

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I.   PENROD AND SAM

CHAPTER II.   THE BONDED PRISONER

CHAPTER III.   THE MILITARIST

CHAPTER IV.   BINGISM

CHAPTER V.   THE IN-OR-IN

CHAPTER VI.   GEORGIE BECOMES A MEMBER

CHAPTER VII.   WHITEY

CHAPTER VIII.   SALVAGE

CHAPTER IX.   REWARD OF MERIT

CHAPTER X.   CONSCIENCE

CHAPTER XI.   THE TONIC

CHAPTER XII.   GIPSY

CHAPTER XIII.   CONCERNING TROUSERS

CHAPTER XIV.   CAMERA WORK IN THE JUNGLE

CHAPTER XV.   A MODEL LETTER TO A FRIEND

CHAPTER XVI.   WEDNESDAY MADNESS

CHAPTER XVII.   PENROD'S BUSY DAY

CHAPTER XVIII.   ON ACCOUNT OF THE WEATHER

CHAPTER XIX.   CREATIVE ART

CHAPTER XX.   THE DEPARTING GUEST

CHAPTER XXI.   YEARNINGS

CHAPTER XXII.   THE HORN OF FAME

CHAPTER XXIII.     THE PARTY

CHAPTER XXIV.   THE HEART OF MARJORIE JONES

CHAPTER I. PENROD AND SAM

During the daylight hours of several autumn Saturdays there had been severe outbreaks of cavalry in the Schofield neighbourhood. The sabres were of wood; the steeds were imaginary, and both were employed in a game called "bonded pris'ner" by its inventors, Masters Penrod Schofield and Samuel Williams. The pastime was not intricate. When two enemies met, they fenced spectacularly until the person of one or the other was touched by the opposing weapon; then, when the ensuing claims of foul play had been disallowed and the subsequent argument settled, the combatant touched was considered to be a prisoner until such time as he might be touched by the hilt of a sword belonging to one of his own party, which effected his release and restored to him the full enjoyment of hostile activity. Pending such rescue, however, he was obliged to accompany the forces of his captor whithersoever their strategical necessities led them, which included many strange places. For the game was exciting, and, at its highest pitch, would sweep out of an alley into a stable, out of that stable and into a yard, out of that yard and into a house, and through that house with the sound (and effect upon furniture) of trampling herds. In fact, this very similarity must have been in the mind of the distressed coloured woman in Mrs. Williams's kitchen, when she declared that she might "jes' as well try to cook right spang in the middle o' the stock-yards."

All up and down the neighbourhood the campaigns were waged, accompanied by the martial clashing of wood upon wood and by many clamorous arguments.

"You're a pris'ner, Roddy Bitts!"

"I am not!"

"You are, too! I touched you."

"Where, I'd like to know!"

"On the sleeve."

"You did not! I never felt it. I guess I'd 'a' felt it, wouldn't I?"

"What if you didn't? I touched you, and you're bonded. I leave it to Sam Williams."

"Yah! Course you would! He's on your side! I leave it to Herman."

"No, you won't! If you can't show any SENSE about it, we'll do it over, and I guess you'll see whether you feel it or not! There! NOW, I guess you—"

"Aw, squash!"

Strangely enough, the undoubted champion proved to be the youngest and darkest of all the combatants, one Verman, coloured, brother to Herman, and substantially under the size to which his nine years entitled him. Verman was unfortunately tongue-tied, but he was valiant beyond all others, and, in spite of every handicap, he became at once the chief support of his own party and the despair of the opposition.

On the third Saturday this opposition had been worn down by the successive captures of Maurice Levy and Georgie Bassett until it consisted of only Sam Williams and Penrod. Hence, it behooved these two to be wary, lest they be wiped out altogether; and Sam was dismayed indeed, upon cautiously scouting round a corner of his own stable, to find himself face to face with the valorous and skilful Verman, who was acting as an outpost, or picket, of the enemy.

Verman immediately fell upon Sam, horse and foot, and