Also, the redfaced man had himself proclaimed his wares nourishing for the weak stummick.
Penrod placed the nickel in the red hand of the red-faced man.
He ate two of the three greasy, cigarlike shapes cordially pressed upon him in return.

The first bite convinced him that he had made a mistake; these winnies seemed of a very inferior flavour, almost unpleasant, in fact.

But he felt obliged to conceal his poor opinion of them, for fear of offending the red-faced man.

He ate without haste or eagerness--so slowly, indeed, that he began to think the redfaced man might dislike him, as a deterrent of trade.

Perhaps Penrod's mind was not working well, for he failed to remember that no law compelled him to remain under the eye of the red-faced man, but the virulent repulsion excited by his attempt to take a bite of the third sausage inspired him with at least an excuse for postponement.
"Mighty good," he murmured feebly, placing the sausage in the pocket of his jacket with a shaking hand.