Miss Schofield stamped heartily upon the musical floor.
"It's Penrod," she explained. "The lattice at the end of the porch is loose, and he crawls under and comes out all bugs. He's been having a dreadful singing fit lately—running away to picture shows and vaudeville, I suppose."
Mr. Robert Williams looked upon her yearningly. He touched a thrilling chord on his guitar and leaned nearer. "But you said you have missed me," he began. "I"
The voice of Penrod drowned all other sounds.
"So-o-o rem-mem-bur, whi-i-ilst you're young,
That the da-a-ys to you will come,
When you're o-o-old and only in the way.
Do not scoff at them bee-cause"
"Penrod!" Miss Schofield stamped again.
"You did say you'd missed me," said Mr. Robert Williams, seizing hurriedly upon the silence. "Didn't you say"
A livelier tune rose upward.
"Oh, you talk about your fascinating beauties,
Of your dem-o-zells, your belles,
But the littil dame I met, while in the city,
