Won't you, dear ?" But Penrod felt that he was almost upon the point of attaining a mastery equal to Sam Williams's.

He had just managed to do something in his throat that he had never done before, and he felt that unless he kept on doing it at this time, his new-born facility might evade him later.
"Gunk!" he croaked.

"Gunk--gunk-gunk!" And he continued to croak, persevering monotonously, his expression indicating the depth of his preoccupation.
His mother looked down solicitously, murmured in a melancholy undertone, shook her head; then disappeared from the window, and, after a moment or two, opened the front door.
"Come in, dear," she said; "I've got something for you." Penrod's look of preoccupation vanished; he brightened and ceased to croak.

His mother had already given him a small leather pocketbook with a nickel in it, as a souvenir of her journey.

Evidently she had brought another gift as well, delaying its presentation until now.