rope off your shoulder! Now take that thing out of the dining-room and throw it in the ash-can! Where did you get it?"
"Where did I get what, papa?" asked Penrod meekly, depositing the accordion in the hall just outside the dining-room door.
"That da—that third-hand concertina."
"It's a 'cordion," said Penrod, taking his place at the table, and noticing that both Margaret and Mr. Robert Williams (who happened to be a guest) were growing red.
"I don't care what you call it," said Mr. Schofield irritably. "I want to know where you got it."
Penrod's eyes met Margaret's: hers had a strained expression. She very slightly shook her head. Penrod sent Mr. Williams a grateful look, and might have been startled if he could have seen himself in a mirror at that moment; for he regarded Mitchy-Mitch with concealed but vigorous aversion, and the resemblance would have horrified him.
"A man gave it to me," he answered gently, and was rewarded by the visibly regained ease of his patron's manner, while Margaret leaned back in her chair and looked at her brother with real devotion.
