“What for?” Penrod showed little interest.
“Well, I said I'd show you if you came on over, didn't I?”
“But you haven't got anything I haven't got,” said Penrod indifferently. “I know everything that's in your yard and in your stable, and there isn't a thing—”
“I didn't say it was in the yard or in the stable, did I?”
“Well, there ain't anything in your house,” returned Penrod frankly, “that I'd walk two feet to look at—not a thing!”
“Oh, no!” Sam assumed mockery. “Oh, no, you wouldn't! You know what it is, don't you? Yes, you do!” Penrod's curiosity stirred somewhat. “Well, all right,” he said, “I got nothin' to do. I just as soon go. What is it?”
“You wait and see,” said Sam, as they climbed the fence. “I bet YOUR ole eyes'll open pretty far in about a minute or so!”
“I bet they don't. It takes a good deal to get me excited, unless it's sumpthing mighty—”
“You'll see!” Sam promised.
He opened an alley, gate and stepped into his own yard in a manner signalling caution—though the exploit, thus far, certainly required none and Penrod began to be impressed and hopeful. They entered the house, silently, encountering no one, and Sam led the way upstairs, tiptoeing, implying unusual and increasing peril. Turning, in the upper hall, they went into Sam's father's bedroom, and Sam closed the door with a caution so genuine that already Penrod's eyes began to fulfil his host's prediction. Adventures in another boy's house are trying to the nerves; and another boy's father's bedroom, when invaded, has a violated sanctity that is almost appalling. Penrod felt that something was about to happen—something much more important than he had anticipated.