“Well,” said Toby, “I thought maybe you’d like to see if you weren’t mistaken about the color of my hair.”
Arnold looked at Frank and at Phebe, and finally at Toby’s gently smiling countenance and swallowed hard. Finally: “Well, it isn’t as red as I thought it was,” he muttered. “I suppose the sun being on it——”
“Sure! But just you take another look; take a good hard one now. Sort of brown, isn’t it?”
Arnold hesitated, cast a fleeting glance at the exposed hair, and grinned in a sickly way. “I guess that’s so,” he allowed. “I—I’d say it was quite brown.”
“Not the least bit red, eh?”
Arnold shook his head: “Not a bit.”
“And, seeing you were mistaken this morning, maybe you’d like to sort of apologize,” suggested Toby. Phebe was observing Arnold with an expression that seemed to convey to him an apology for her brother’s conduct, and perhaps her look helped him over his embarrassment. At all events, when Frank Lamson, puzzled and resentful, broke in with: “What’s the fuss about? Who cares whether his hair’s brown or——” Arnold interrupted quickly.
“Whoa, Frank! This chap’s right.” He laughed good humoredly. “I take it back, Tucker, and apologize. You’re all right! And—and you can stop whistling!”