That settled the matter.

No girl that ever lived should giggle at him, much less lock him up like a small child.

Without a word, he made a grab at Polly's arm, for the hand holding the key was still in her, pocket.

With her other hand she clutched her frock, and for a minute held on stoutly.

But Tom's strong fingers were irresistible; rip went the pocket, out came the hand, and with a cry of pain from Polly, the key fell on the floor.
"It 's your own fault if you 're hurt.