"Sure. And if we meet up with Ap, I'll be likely to use it on him, too!" growled Fred, angrily.
Bobby decided that it was useless to try to pacify his chum at the moment. It seemed to relieve Fred to threaten the absent Ap Plunkit, and it did that individual no bodily harm!
So the boys found stout clubs and started up the bank of the creek. Fred was feeling so badly that he did not pick more of the "summer sweetnin's" when they came to the apple tree.
They crawled through the hole in the boundary fence of the Plunkit Farm and kept on up the creek-side. First they crossed the pasture, then they climbed a tight fence and entered a big cornfield. The corn was taller than their heads and there were acres and acres of it. It was planted right along the edge of the creek bank, and they had to walk between the rows.
"If old Plunkit sees us in his corn, he'll be mad," said Fred, at last.
"This is the nearest way to the house, and we've got to try and get your clothes," said Bobby, firmly.
After that, he took the lead. The nearer they approached the farmhouse, the more Fred lagged. But suddenly, in the midst of the long cornfield, Master Martin uttered a cry.
"Look there, Bob!"
"What's the matter with you? I thought it was the dog."
"No, sir! See yonder, will you?"