"Ye-es." Penrod's answer, like the look he lifted to the impressive stranger, was meek and placative. "Rupe Collins is the principal at your school, I guess."
The other yelled with jeering laughter, and mocked Penrod's manner and voice. "'Rupe Collins is the principal at your school, I guess!" He laughed harshly again, then suddenly showed truculence. "Say, 'bo, whyn't you learn enough to go in the house when it rains? What's the matter of you, anyhow?"
"Well," urged Penrod timidly, "nobody ever told me who Rupe Collins is: I got a right to think he's the principal, haven't I?"
The fat-faced boy shook his head disgustedly. "Honest, you make me sick!"
Penrod's expression became one of despair. "Well, who is he?" he cried.
"'Who is he?'" mocked the other, with a scorn that withered. "'Who is he?' Me!"
"Oh!" Penrod was humiliated but relieved: he felt that he had proved himself criminally ignorant, yet a peril seemed to have passed. "Rupe Collins is your name, then, I guess. I kind of thought it was, all the time."
