Thereafter did Penrod—with complete approval from Mitchy-Mitch—play the accordion for his lady to his heart's content, and hers. Never had he so won upon her; never had she let him feel so close to her before. They strolled up and down upon the sidewalk, eating, one thought between them, and soon she had learned to play the accordion almost as well as he. So passed a happy hour, which the Good King Rene of Anjou would have envied them, while Mitchy-Mitch made friends with Duke, romped about his sister and her swain, and clung to the hand of the latter, at intervals, with fondest affection and trust.
The noon whistles failed to disturb this little Arcady; only the sound of Mrs. Jones' voice for the third time summoning Marjorie and Mitchy-Mitch to lunch—sent Penrod on his way.
“I could come back this afternoon, I guess,” he said, in parting.
“I'm not goin' to be here. I'm goin' to Baby Rennsdale's party.”
Penrod looked blank, as she intended he should. Having thus satisfied herself, she added:
“There aren't goin' to be any boys there.”
He was instantly radiant again.
“Marjorie——”
“Hum?”
“Do you wish I was goin' to be there?”