Mr. Collins once more brought into play the dreadful eye-to-eye scowl as practised “up at the Third,” and, sometimes, also by young leading men upon the stage. Frowning appallingly, and thrusting forward his underlip, he placed his nose almost in contact with the nose of Penrod, whose eyes naturally became crossed.
“Dan kills the rats. See?” hissed the fat-faced boy, maintaining the horrible juxtaposition.
“Well, all right,” said Penrod, swallowing. “I don't want 'em much.” And when the pose had been relaxed, he stared at his new friend for a moment, almost with reverence. Then he brightened.
“Come on, Rupe!” he cried enthusiastically, as he climbed the fence. “We'll give our dogs a little live meat—'bo!”
CHAPTER XXII THE IMITATOR
At the dinner-table, that evening, Penrod Surprised his family by remarking, in a voice they had never heard him attempt—a law-giving voice of intentional gruffness:
“Any man that's makin' a hunderd dollars a month is makin' good money.”
“What?” asked Mr. Schofield, staring, for the previous conversation had concerned the illness of an infant relative in Council Bluffs.
“Any man that's makin' a hunderd dollars a month is makin' good money.”