“Now, it wasn't such a bad taste,” Mrs. Schofield said rather nervously. “Don't go acting THAT way, Penrod!”
But Penrod could not help himself. In truth, even a grown person hardened to all manner of flavours, and able to eat caviar or liquid Camembert, would have found the cloudy brown liquor virulently repulsive. It contained in solution, with other things, the vital element of surprise, for it was comparatively odourless, and, unlike the chivalrous rattlesnake, gave no warning of what it was about to do. In the case of Penrod, the surprise was complete and its effect visibly shocking.
The distention by which he began to express his emotion appeared to be increasing; his slender throat swelled as his cheeks puffed. His shoulders rose toward his ears; he lifted his right leg in an unnatural way and held it rigidly in the air.
“Stop that, Penrod!” Mrs. Schofield commanded. “You stop it!”
He found his voice.
“Uff! OOOFF!” he said thickly, and collapsed—a mere, ordinary, every-day convulsion taking the place of his pneumatic symptoms. He began to writhe, at the same time opening and closing his mouth rapidly and repeatedly, waving his arms, stamping on the floor.
“Ow! Ow-ow-OW!” he vociferated.
Reassured by these normal demonstrations, of a type with which she was familiar, Mrs. Schofield resumed her fond smile.
“YOU'RE all right, little boysie!” she said heartily. Then, picking up the bottle, she replenished the tablespoon, and told Penrod something she had considered it undiplomatic to mention before.
“Here's the other one,” she said sweetly.