"That Teall is a dirty sneak," cried Hi.
"He was simply a comical genius as long as he took only our clothes," Dick retorted. "But now that your things are gone as well, it's a mean, low-down bit of business."
"Martin," observed Tom Reade dramatically, "thine own ox is gored."
"Talking won't bring back any duds," grunted Harry Hazelton. "Teall can't have gotten very far with such a load. Let's rush after him."
"You lead the way, then, son," suggested Dick, "and instead of following you, we'll wait here until you bring the things back."
"I wonder which way he went?" puzzled Hazelton.
"Probably straight to the road," smiled Dick grimly. "That's the shortest cut, and the road isn't far from here."
"But I can't go near the road in this—-this—-fix," sputtered
Harry, looking down at his wet, glistening skin.
"Exactly," nodded Prescott. "Nor can any of us go. That's the joke. Like it? Ha, ha, ha!"
Dick's laugh had anything but a merry sound. None of the boys had a truly jovial look, nor was it to be expected of them. Tom was solemn as an owl, Harry fussy; Dan was grinning in a sickly sort of way, as was Dave Darrin. Greg Holmes, utterly silent, stood with his fists clenched, thinking how he would like to be able at this moment to pounce upon Ted Teall.