The other boy frowned with bitter scorn. “Teachers! Teachers don't order ME around, I can tell you! They're mighty careful how they try to run over Rupe Collins.”
“Who's Rupe Collins?”
“Who is he?” echoed the fat-faced boy incredulously. “Say, ain't you got ANY sense?”
“What?”
“Say, wouldn't you be just as happy if you had SOME sense?”
“Ye-es.” Penrod's answer, like the look he lifted to the impressive stranger, was meek and placative. “Rupe Collins is the principal at your school, guess.”
The other yelled with jeering laughter, and mocked Penrod's manner and voice. “'Rupe Collins is the principal at your school, I guess!'” He laughed harshly again, then suddenly showed truculence. “Say, 'bo, whyn't you learn enough to go in the house when it rains? What's the matter of you, anyhow?”
“Well,” urged Penrod timidly, “nobody ever TOLD me who Rupe Collins is: I got a RIGHT to think he's the principal, haven't I?”
The fat-faced boy shook his head disgustedly. “Honest, you make me sick!”
Penrod's expression became one of despair. “Well, who IS he?” he cried.