"What's the matter?" asked Bobby.
"Matter enough!" returned his chum. "Don't you see?"
"Not—not your clothes gone?" gasped Bobby.
"Yes they are. Every stitch. And your shoes, too. What do you think of that?"
"Why—why—Somebody's taken them?"
"Of course somebody has. And it's your fault," said Fred, very much provoked. "If you had helped me pitch in and lick that Ap Plunkit, he wouldn't have dared do this."
"Maybe—maybe he'd have licked us," stammered Bobby.
"He'll—he'll just have to lick me when I meet up with him next time, or else he'll take the biggest licking he ever took," threatened the wrathful Master Martin, wiping a couple of angry tears out of his eyes with a scratched knuckle.
CHAPTER V
THE TALE OF A SCARECROW