When he had gone in, Penrod wandered down the yard to the back fence, climbed upon it, and sat in reverie there.
A slight figure appeared, likewise upon a fence, beyond two neighbouring yards.
“Yay, Penrod!” called comrade Sam Williams.
“Yay!” returned Penrod, mechanically.
“I caught Billy Blue Hill!” shouted Sam, describing retribution in a manner perfectly clear to his friend. “You were mighty lucky to get out of it.”
“I know that!”
“You wouldn't of, if it hadn't been for Marjorie.”
“Well, don't I know that?” Penrod shouted, with heat.
“Well, so long!” called Sam, dropping from his fence; and the friendly voice came then, more faintly, “Many happy returns of the day, Penrod!”
And now, a plaintive little whine sounded from below Penrod's feet, and, looking down, he saw that Duke, his wistful, old, scraggly dog sat in the grass, gazing seekingly up at him.