“Well, once,” said Sam, “once when a kitten fell down OUR cistern, Papa took a pair of his trousers, and he held 'em by the end of one leg, and let 'em hang down through the hole till the end of the other leg was in the water, and the kitten went and clawed hold of it, and he pulled it right up, easy as anything. Well, that's the way to do now, 'cause if a kitten could keep hold of a pair of trousers, I guess this ole cat could. It's the biggest cat I ever saw! All you got to do is to go and ast your mother for a pair of your father's trousers, and we'll have this ole cat out o' there in no time.”
Penrod glanced toward the house perplexedly.
“She ain't home, and I'd be afraid to—”
“Well, take your own, then,” Sam suggested briskly.
“You take 'em off in the stable, and wait in there, and I and Herman'll get the cat out.”
Penrod had no enthusiasm for this plan; but he affected to consider it.
“Well, I don't know 'bout that,” he said, and then, after gazing attentively into the cistern and making some eye measurements of his knickerbockers, he shook his head. “They'd be too short. They wouldn't be NEAR long enough!”
“Then neither would mine,” said Sam promptly.
“Herman's would,” said Penrod.
“No, suh!” Herman had recently been promoted to long trousers, and he expressed a strong disinclination to fall in with Penrod's idea. “My Mammy sit up late nights sewin' on 'ese britches fer me, makin' 'em outen of a pair o' pappy's, an' they mighty good britches. Ain' goin' have no wet cat climbin' up 'em! No, suh!”