Jack looked closely at the severed locks. “A pretty color,” he mused. “Sort of burnished gold!”
This attempt at the poetical brought the unrestrained wrath of his companions on his head, for both Walter and Ed simply “fell to,” and pounded Jack “good and proper.”
He begged for mercy. Then they did let him go.
“Now, honest Injun,” started Walter, “tell us about it.”
But the strange race through the hedge was really too unusual to be comprehended or believed at once. Still Jack insisted upon every detail of the affair, and his friends finally did believe a part of it, at least.
“And whose locks do you suppose they are?” asked Ed when the opportunity for that question arrived.
“If I—only—knew!” reiterated Jack.
“Let me see!” murmured the prudent Walter. “What was the shade of hair worn by the runaways of the strawberry patch? If I mistake not——”
“You win!” interrupted Jack. “They were strawberry blondes!”
“And it’s as clear as the nose on your face that they had to cut the locks off—that they are here in the hotel at this very moment——”