So challenged, the visitor did try, but, in the absence of an impartial jury, his effort was considered so pronounced a failure that he was howled down, derided, and mocked with great clamours.
"Anyway," said Roderick, when things had quieted down, "if I couldn't get up a better show than this I'd sell out and leave town."
Not having enough presence of mind to inquire what he would sell out, his adversaries replied with mere formless yells of scorn.
"I could get up a better show than this with my left hand,"
Roderick asserted.
"Well, what would you have in your ole show?" asked Penrod, condescending to language.
"That's all right, what I'd HAVE. I'd have enough!"
"You couldn't get Herman and Verman in your ole show."
"No, and I wouldn't want 'em, either!"
"Well, what WOULD you have?" insisted Penrod derisively.
"You'd have to have SUMPTHING--you couldn't be a show yourself!"
"How do YOU know?" This was but meandering while waiting for ideas, and evoked another yell.
"You think you could be a show all by yourself?" demanded Penrod.
"How do YOU know I couldn't?"
Two white boys and two black boys shrieked their scorn of the boaster.
"I could, too!" Roderick raised his voice to a sudden howl, obtaining a hearing.
"Well, why don't you tell us how?"
"Well, _I_ know HOW, all right," said Roderick. "If anybody asks you, you can just tell him I know HOW, all right."
"Why, you can't DO anything," Sam began argumentatively.
"You talk about being a show all by yourself; what could you try to do? Show us sumpthing you can do."
"I didn't say I was going to DO anything," returned the badgered one, still evading.
"Well, then, how'd you BE a show?" Penrod demanded.
"WE got a show here, even if Herman didn't point or Verman didn't talk. Their father stabbed a man with a pitchfork, I guess, didn't he?"
"How do _I_ know?"
"Well, I guess he's in jail, ain't he?"
"Well, what if their father is in jail? I didn't say he wasn't, did I?"
"Well, YOUR father ain't in jail, is he?"
"Well, I never said he was, did I?"
"Well, then," continued Penrod, "how could you be a----" He stopped abruptly, staring at Roderick, the birth of an idea plainly visible in his altered expression. He had suddenly remembered his intention to ask Roderick Magsworth Bitts, Junior, about Rena Magsworth, and this recollection collided in his mind with the irritation produced by Roderick's claiming some mysterious attainment which would warrant his setting up as a show in his single person. Penrod's whole manner changed instantly.
"Roddy," he asked, almost overwhelmed by a prescience of something vast and magnificent, "Roddy, are you any relation of Rena Magsworth?"
Roderick had never heard of Rena Magsworth, although a concentration of the sentence yesterday pronounced upon her had burned, black and horrific, upon the face of every newspaper in the country. He was not allowed to read the journals of the day and his family's indignation over the sacrilegious coincidence of the name had not been expressed in his presence. But he saw that it was an awesome name to Penrod Schofield and Samuel Williams.
Even Herman and Verman, though lacking many educational advantages on account of a long residence in the country, were informed on the subject of Rena Magsworth through hearsay, and they joined in the portentous silence.
"Roddy," repeated Penrod, "honest, is Rena Magsworth some relation of yours?"
