"Penrod!" Mrs. Lora Rewbush stood in the doorway, indignantly gazing upon a Child Sir Lancelot mantled to the heels. "Do you know that you have kept an audience of five hundred people waiting for ten minutes?" She, also, detained the five hundred while she spake further.
"Well," said Penrod contentedly, as he followed her toward the buzzing stage, "I was just sitting there thinking."
Two minutes later the curtain rose on a medieval castle hall richly done in the new stage-craft made in Germany and consisting of pink and blue cheesecloth. The Child King Arthur and the Child Queen Guinevere were disclosed upon thrones, with the Child Elaine and many other celebrities in attendance; while about fifteen Child Knights were seated at a dining-room table round, which was covered with a large Oriental rug, and displayed (for the knights' refreshment) a banquet service of silver loving-cups and trophies, borrowed from the Country Club and some local automobile manufacturers.
In addition to this splendour, potted plants and palms have seldom been more lavishly used in any castle on the stage or off.
The footlights were aided by a "spot-light" from the rear of the hall; and the children were revealed in a blaze of glory.
A hushed, multitudinous "O-OH" of admiration came from the decorous and delighted audience. Then the children sang feebly:
"Chuldrun of the Tabul Round, Lit-tul knights and ladies we.
Let our voy-siz all resound Faith and hope and charitee!"
The Child King Arthur rose, extended his sceptre with the decisive gesture of a semaphore, and spake:
"Each littul knight and lady born Has noble deeds TO perform In THEE child-world of shivullree, No matter how small his share may be.
Let each advance and tell in turn What claim has each to knighthood earn."
The Child Sir Mordred, the villain of this piece, rose in his place at the table round, and piped the only lines ever written by Mrs. Lora Rewbush which Penrod Schofield could have pronounced without loathing. Georgie Bassett, a really angelic boy, had been selected for the role of Mordred. His perfect conduct had earned for him the sardonic sobriquet, "The Little Gentleman," among his boy acquaintances. (Naturally he had no friends.)
Hence the other boys supposed that he had been selected for the wicked Mordred as a reward of virtue. He declaimed serenely:
"I hight Sir Mordred the Child, and I teach Lessons of selfishest evil, and reach Out into darkness. Thoughtless, unkind, And ruthless is Mordred, and unrefined."
The Child Mordred was properly rebuked and denied the accolade, though, like the others, he seemed to have assumed the title already. He made a plotter's exit. Whereupon Maurice Levy rose, bowed, announced that he highted the Child Sir Galahad, and continued with perfect sang-froid:
"I am the purest of the pure.
I have but kindest thoughts each day.
I give my riches to the poor, And follow in the Master's way."
This elicited tokens of approval from the Child King Arthur, and he bade Maurice "stand forth" and come near the throne, a command obeyed with the easy grace of conscious merit.
It was Penrod's turn. He stepped back from his chair, the table between him and the audience, and began in a high, breathless monotone:
"I hight Sir Lancelot du Lake, the Child, Gentul-hearted, meek, and mild.
What though I'm BUT a littul child, Gentul-heartud, meek, and mild, I do my share though but--though but----"
Penrod paused and gulped. The voice of Mrs. Lora Rewbush was heard from the wings, prompting irritably, and the Child. Sir Lancelot repeated:
"I do my share though but--though but a tot, I pray you knight Sir Lancelot!"
This also met the royal favour, and Penrod was bidden to join Sir Galahad at the throne. As he crossed the stage, Mrs.
Schofield whispered to Margaret:
"That boy! He's unpinned his mantle and fixed it to cover his whole costume. After we worked so hard to make it becoming!"
"Never mind; he'll have to take the cape off in a minute," returned Margaret. She leaned forward suddenly, narrowing her eyes to see better. "What IS that thing hanging about his left ankle?" she whispered uneasily. "How queer! He must have got tangled in something."
"Where?" asked Mrs. Schofield, in alarm.
"His left foot. It makes him stumble. Don't you see? It looks--it looks like an elephant's foot!"
