“That’s it. You can spot ’em. Father worth half a million, half a pound of extra hair. Father worth—by report—twenty thousand, two pounds of the most startling hair.”
Sydney took up the comparison. “Father worth many millions and mother a lady, just her own hair worn—worn—Well, that’s where I fall down. Billy, how does Miss Smith wear her hair?”
Billy laughed. “And how does Miss Jones?”
“Oh, I don’t know. It looks awfully easy. It’s not bandaged like a broken head, and it’s nicer than all those buns and cart wheels and things. It’s curly.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because often she wears no hat, and the more it rains the curlier it gets. That’s the way with Max’s.”
Billy sent a glance to the other visitor. “There’s surely some class to him.” He stared at Max a moment but came abruptly back to the question. “Who is Miss Jones’ father?”
“She has neither father nor mother. She just takes care of herself; works right along for her board.”
Billy whistled. “That’s the little joker that turns up the other girls’ noses.”