"Which finger?" asked the mystified Penrod, extending his hand.
"The middle one."
"Where?"
"There!" exclaimed Rupe Collins, seizing and vigorously twisting the wartless finger naïvely offered for his inspection.
"Quit!" shouted Penrod in agony. "Quee-yut!"
"Say your prayers!" commanded Rupe, and continued to twist the luckless finger until Penrod writhed to his knees.
"Ow!" The victim, released, looked grievously upon the still painful finger.
At this Rupe's scornful expression altered to one of contrition. "Well, I declare!" he exclaimed rmorsefully. "I didn't s'pose it would hurt. Turn about's fair play; so now you do that to me."
He extended the middle finger of his left hand and Penrod promptly seized it, but did not twist it, for he was instantly swung round with his back to his amiable new acquaintance: Rupe's right hand operated upon the back of Penrod's slender neck; Rupe's knee tortured the small of Penrod's back.
"Ow!" Penrod bent far forward involuntarily and went to his knees again.
