She cut him dead.
He threw his invalid's airs to the winds, and hastened after her.
"Marjorie," he pleaded, "what's the matter? Are you mad? Honest, that day you said to come back next morning, and you'd be on the corner, I was sick. Honest, I was awful sick, Marjorie! I had to have the doctor"
"Doctor!" She whirled upon him, her lovely eyes blazing. "I guess we've had to have the doctor enough at our house, thanks to you, Mister Penrod Schofield. Papa says you haven't got near sense enough to come in out of the rain, after what you did to poor little Mitchy-Mitch"
"What?"
"Yes, and he's sick in bed yet!" Marjorie went on, with unabated fury. "And papa says if he ever catches you in this part of town"
"What'd I do to Mitchy-Mitch?" gasped Penrod.
"You know well enough what you did to Mitchy-Mitch!" she cried. "You gave him that great, big, nasty two-cent piece!"
"Well, what of it?"
"Mitchy-Mitch swallowed it!"
"What!"
