"How will you help it, Miss Prim?"
"So." And Polly locked the door, put the key in her pocket, and nodded at him defiantly.
Tom was a pepper-pot as to temper, and anything like opposition always had a bad effect. Forgetting his costume, he strode up to Polly, saying, with a threatening wag of the head, "None of that. I won't stand it."
"Promise not to plague Fan, and I'll let you out."
"Won't promise anything. Give me that key, or I'll make you."
"Now, Tom, don't be savage. I only want to keep you out of a scrape, for Fan will be raging if you go. Take off her things, and I'll give up."
Tom vouchsafed no reply, but marched to the other door, which was fast, as Polly knew, looked out of the three-story window, and finding no escape possible, came back with a wrathful face. "Will you give me that key?"
"No, I won't," said Polly, valiantly.
"I'm stronger than you are; so, you'd better hand over.'
"I know you are; but it's cowardly for a great boy like you to rob a girl."
"I don't want to hurt you; but, by George! I won't stand this!"
Tom paused as Polly spoke, evidently ashamed of himself; but his temper was up, and he wouldn't give in. If Polly had cried a little just here, he would have yielded; unfortunately she giggled, for Tom's fierce attitude was such a funny contrast to his dress that she couldn't help it. That settled the matter.
