For months a yearning had grown more and more poignant in his vitals, and this yearning was symbolized by one of his most profound secrets.

In the inner pocket of his jacket, he carried a bit of wood whittled into the distant likeness of a pistol, but not even Sam Williams had seen it.

The wooden pistol never knew the light of day, save when Penrod was in solitude; and yet it never left his side except at night, when it was placed under his pillow.

Still, it did not satisfy; it was but the token of his yearning and his dream.

With all his might and main Penrod longed for one thing beyond all others.