Verman endeavoured to oblige, though giggles continued to leak from him at intervals, and the three boys stole along the fence in single file, proceeding in this fashion until they reached Penrod's own front gate. Here the leader ascertained, by a reconnaissance as far as the corner, that the hostile forces were still looking for them in another direction. He returned in a stealthy but important manner to his disgruntled follower and the hilarious captive.
“Well,” said Sam impatiently, “I guess I'm not goin' to stand around here all day, I guess! You got anything you want to do, why'n't you go on and DO it?”
Penrod's brow was already contorted to present the appearance of detached and lofty concentration—a histrionic failure, since it did not deceive the audience. He raised a hushing hand.
“SH!” he murmured. “I got to think.”
“Bugs!” the impolite Mr. Williams said again.
Verman bent double, squealing and sputtering; indeed, he was ultimately forced to sit upon the ground, so exhausting was the mirth to which he now gave way. Penrod's composure was somewhat affected and he showed annoyance.
“Oh, I guess you won't laugh quite so much about minute from now, ole Mister Verman!” he said severely. “You get up from there and do like I tell you.”
“Well, why'n't you TELL him why he won't laugh so much, then?” Sam demanded, as Verman rose. “Why'n't you do sumpthing and quit talkin' so much about it?”
Penrod haughtily led the way into the yard.
“You follow me,” he said, “and I guess you'll learn a little sense!”