But Marjorie jumped up and ran around to him abandoning her escort. All the children were leaving their chairs and moving toward the dancing-rooms; the orchestra was playing dance-music again. “Come on, Penrod!” Marjorie cried. “Let's go dance this together. Come on!” With seeming reluctance, he suffered her to lead him away. “Well, I'll go with you; but I won't dance,” he said “I wouldn't dance with the President of the United States” “Why, Penrod?” “Well--because well, I won't DO it!” “All right. I don't care. I guess I've danced plenty, anyhow. Let's go in here.” She led him into a room too small for dancing, used ordinarily by Miss Amy Rennsdale's father as his study, and now vacant. For a while there was silence; but finally Marjorie pointed to the window and said shyly: “Look, Penrod, it's getting dark. The party'll be over pretty soon, and you've never danced one single time!” “Well, I guess I know that, don't I?” He was unable to cast aside his outward truculence though it was but a relic. However, his voice was gentler, and Marjorie seemed satisfied. From the other rooms came the swinging music, shouts of “Gotcher bumpus!” sounds of stumbling, of scrambling, of running, of muffled concus signs and squeals of dismay. Penrod's followers were renewing the wild work, even in the absence of their chief. “Penrod Schofield, you bad boy,” said Marjorie, “you started every bit of that! You ought to be ashamed of yourself.” “_I_ didn't do anything,” he said--and he believed it. “Pick on me for everything!” “Well, they wouldn't if you didn't do so much,” said Marjorie. “They would, too.” “They wouldn't, either. Who would?” “That Miss Lowe,” he specified bitterly. “Yes, and Baby Rennsdale's aunts. If the house'd burn down, I bet they'd say Penrod Schofield did it! Anybody does anything at ALL, they say, 'Penrod Schofield, shame on you!' When you and Carlie were dan--” “Penrod, I just hate that little Carlie Chitten. P'fesser Bartet made me learn that dance with him; but I just hate him.” Penrod was now almost completely mollified; nevertheless, he continued to set forth his grievance. “Well, they all turned around to me and they said, 'Why, Penrod Schofield, shame on you!' And I hadn't done a single thing! I was just standin' there. They got to blame ME, though!” Marjorie laughed airily. “Well, if you aren't the foolishest--” “They would, too,” he asserted, with renewed bitterness. “If the house was to fall down, you'd see! They'd all say--” Marjorie interrupted him. She put her hand on the top of her head, looking a little startled. “What's that?” she said. “What's what?” “Like rain!” Marjorie cried. “Like it was raining in here! A drop fell on my--”