But it was just Hadley's innocent fun. He hadn't harmed anyone, even if he did squirt a little water on the postman and a delivery boy. She had not minded it herself, and no one had been rude to him until I'd come chasing in and handled him so rough. That was an outrage, and Martha thought I ought to get a life sentence for it.
"Humph!" says Zenobia, turnin' to me. "Now, young man, what have you got to say?"
"Ah, what's the use?" says I. "You've got the whole story now. I'd do the same again."
"Relying on the fact that your uncle is a police captain?" says she.
"Nah," says I. "That was hot air."
"There, Zenobia!" says Martha. "I told you he was a bad boy."
"Are you?" says Zenobia.
"Well," says I, "that all depends on how you size me up. I ain't in the crook class, nor I don't wear any Sunday-school medals, either."
"Who are you?" says she.
"Why, just Torchy," says I. "See—torch, Torchy," and I points to my sunset coiffure.