Lounging in the doorway, the near-vivisectionists sipped licorice water alternately and conversed.
"I bet some of our smallpox medicine would fix ole P'fessor Bartet all right!" quoth Penrod.

"I wish he'd come along and ask us for some." "We could tell him it was lickrish water," added Sam, liking the idea.
"The two bottles look almost the same." "Then we wouldn't have to go to his ole cotillon this afternoon," Penrod sighed.

"There wouldn't be any!" "Who's your partner, Pen ?" "Who's yours ?" "Who's yours?
I just ast you." "Oh, she's all right!" And Penrod smiled boastfully.
"I bet you wanted to dance with Marjorie!" said his friend.
"Me?
I wouldn't dance with that girl if she begged me to! I wouldn't dance with her to save her from drowning! I wouldn't da----" "Oh, no--you wouldn't!" interrupted Mr.Williams skeptically.
Penrod changed his tone and became persuasive.
"Looky here, Sam," he said confidentially.

"I've got 'a mighty nice partner, but my mother don't like her mother; and so I've been thinking I better not dance with her.

I'll tell you what I'll do; I've got a mighty good sling in the house, and I'll give it to you if you'll change partners." "You want to change and you don't even know who mine is!" said Sam, and he made the simple though precocious deduction: "Yours must be a lala! Well, I invited Mabel Rorebeck, and she wouldn't let me change if I wanted to.