“In the closet? Do you suppose I’d call you home if they were in the closet? They aren’t anywhere!” Ernest’s tone verged on the disrespectful.
Mrs. Morton toiled upstairs with a sigh. Was there to be a repetition of the bread episode?
172Ernest had spoken the truth, the aforesaid clothes were not anywhere. The boys exchanged glances both wrathful and sheepish. Ernest had already exhausted every swear word that his mother’s presence permitted. Sherm, also restrained by her presence–he had retired to bed while she searched their room and closet–thought all the exclamations he hesitated to utter. Three young young ladies in the arbor beneath listened to such fragments of conversation as floated down to them with unholy glee.
“Well, Ernest, they’re certainly not here; I’ll go look in Chicken Little’s room.”
Ernest accompanied her. Sherm scrambled out of bed and speedily resumed his ordinary wearing apparel. He was startled to perceive a bulky object suddenly darken their window. It was a peculiar-looking bundle from which coat sleeves and trousers’ legs dangled indiscriminately. He had no difficulty in recognizing their missing clothes. He rushed to the window and raised the screen, calling to Ernest excitedly. He half expected to see the things disappear as mysteriously as they had come, but the bundle remained stationary. It had been raised to the window by means of a pulley contrived from an old clothes line and the hanging basket hook. The end of the cord was hidden in the arbor.
The boys secured their possessions, hastily assuring themselves that they were all there. Mrs. Morton 173started thankfully downstairs, but had barely reached the foot when a vigorous exclamation and a loud “Mother!” recalled her.
Mrs. Morton had never seen Ernest so furious. Sherm didn’t say much, but his face was wrathfully red.
“What now?”
“Look at this!” Ernest’s voice was tragic as he held the garment up to view. His trousers’ legs had been neatly stitched across twice on the sewing machine. Sherm’s, ditto. All four pair of sleeves were also carefully stitched with a tight tension, so they could not be readily ripped out.
Mrs. Morton looked aghast. “It will take an hour to get that out!”