The approaching figure broke into a run and came down upon them, the hair under dispute glowing to the utmost justification of its accuser, but the girl did not come like an avenging angel; her smile had widened and her eyes laughed with her lips, though it was a strong grasp that seized a shoulder of each combatant and swung them apart. “Here, you young heathens, what’s the matter with you? Fend fighting!” she cried in a breezy, clear young voice. “Tony Caprioli, slow down! Mike McGinty, what’s wrong with you? Breaking the law! Fend fighting, you know, you scalawags!” “He said you’d got red hair. I said ’tain’t,” muttered Tony, not yet “slowed down.” “He hit me first. I didn’t mean nawthin’ but--it looked red.” Mike delicately altered the statement that he was about to make, implying that the appearance of the hair was a thing of the past. The girl threw back her head and the brilliant hair seemed to scintillate as she laughed a jolly laugh. “Tony, your name means goat--Caprioli--and I’m afraid you’re it! Shame, my dear, when you’re doing your best to bleach my hair, but Mike scores! My hair is red, hot red, and what’s more I’m not sorry it is! Shake, boys, and stop your scrapping! Red hair is what gives me pep, and pep is what makes me hustle around--when I’m late, too!--and buy toffy squares for the crowd! So it’s all right, friend Tony, though I’m much obliged to you for standing up for me! Catch, fellows! I bought a box, two boxes, three squares apiece, and good luck to you all! Hurry up! It’s almost one o’clock, and I’ll have to run the rest of the way, or the girl I relieve will fight _me_!” The animosity in the air cleared up like magic under the spell of this girl’s merry laughter of eyes and lips. She rapidly dealt out sticky squares of toffy to the crowd, and boyishly, though daintily, licked her finger tips when the last square had left them. “Enough of that!” she cried. “Suck it; don’t chew it! You’ll get no more toffy till cool weather comes! I was a dunce to buy anything so messy. Balls, or peanuts, or anything neat for mine--and so for yours!--till September! So long, boys, dear; I’ve got to hustle. Hope you’ll each sell more than any of the rest! Every last paper you take out. Good-bye!” She waved her hand to the adoring group; each boy waved back again and shouted: “Good-bye!” in spite of the difficulty of enunciation caused by a large, soft toffy square in the roof of the mouth. The girl hurried away, not running as she had threatened to do, but walking so fast that running would have been easier.