“Where’s yer clothes?” asked the exhausted first lieutenant.
“He’s took ’em,” replied Tom, resentfully. “’E ’adn’t no right whatever. I could summons ’im if I wanted to. But I don’t want to. We’ve got to get out of this.”
“Yes,” agreed Dave; “I reckon the sooner we get out of it the better. It ain’t lucky.”
“I wouldn’t wonder if that holey sixpence had something to do with it,” observed Tom. “But the bad luck oughter to run itself out now. I wish I ’ad a pair o’ pants though. Let’s go round to the washshed an’ see if we can nick a pair o’ the old man’s. This is the second time since we bin piratin’ I’ve been done in for clothes.”
They found some of the farmer’s working clothes in the shed and appropriated them.
Tom rolled them into a bundle and tucked them under his arms.
They fossicked round for a few minutes longer, and picked up some eatables, including the commandeered fowls which had caused the trouble.
They were hanging up by the feet in the stock-shed, and Tom reached them down with a grunt of satisfaction.
“These’ll pay for my togs,” he said; “that makes ’im an’ me square. ’E’s got my trousers, an’ I got ’is fowls.”
The pirates chuckled over this joke as they took their way to the boat.