“Must be. Anyway, you’ve taken a shine to it! Wonder where he picked up that Lantern chap?”
“Lamson, it was.”
“Lamson, then. He’s a surly beggar.” Toby frowned. “He came mighty near getting into trouble, too. He almost said my hair was red. If Deering hadn’t stopped him just when he did——”
“Toby, you’re too silly for words about the color of your hair. You know very well that it is—well, reddish, and I don’t see why you don’t make up your mind to it.”
“You’ve got a pimple on the end of your nose, but——”
“Toby! I haven’t!” Phebe investigated agitatedly. “It’s just the tiniest bit of a one, then. Does it show much?”
“Well, you couldn’t see it across the harbor,” was the unfeeling reply. “Anyhow, it’s there, and I’ll bet you wouldn’t want folks to tell you about it. Well, it’s like that with my hair, sis. I know it’s sort of reddish—in the sunlight, maybe—but I don’t care to have fellows say so. When they do they either have to fight or apologize.”
“I don’t see how fighting proves anything,” objected Phebe.
“It doesn’t prove anything, no, but it sort of makes you forget the insult! Here we are. Take the wheel and I’ll fend her off. I hope there’s something good for supper!”