"All right," muttered Sube, "if you call that playin'."
"But what'll I tell her 'bout my clo's bein' all wet?" asked Biscuit.
"Tell her you left 'em too near the bank, and they got pushed in—"
"Oh! I wouldn't tell my mother a lie for anything!"
"Lie? That's no lie! If you'd left 'em back there in the bushes they wouldn't of got in the water, now would they?"
"Oh, no! Not if I'd left 'em way back there."
"So you did leave 'em too near the water, jus' as I said!"
Biscuit blinked in wordless approval.
That evening while Seth Bissett and Warren Sours with a number of their associates were enjoying their evening dip, a hooked stick slowly reached out from the nearby shrubbery, and having become attached to one of the many articles of wearing apparel lying on the grass, drew it gently into the bushes. After a moment it was restored in the same way and another article taken. After this had gone on for some time the stick disappeared and was seen no more.
When the swimmers came out of the water at the approach of darkness it was apparent that something had gone wrong. An aroma that could not be wholly disregarded made known its undesirable presence. At first it seemed to be located somewhere about the grass plot, but as they finished dressing and started for home they discovered that it was apparently everywhere.