"They ain't," gasped the old sailor, paling, for he knew the lad always told the truth. "They're gone. Someone has stolen them."
"Whew," whistled Charley. "Some one of those murderers must have taken a fancy to them."
"I'd murder him, if I could get my hands on him," cried the captain, wrathfully. "How am I going to go into town in this fix."
Charley grinned as he caught the humor of the situation. "You could go into town all right," he said, "there wouldn't be any trouble about that. It's what they would do to you after you got into town. I don't really believe the police would stand for your present costume, Captain."
The old sailor glared at him in helpless wrath. "What am I to do?" he mourned. "My back is burning already."
"Sit down in the shade of that tree," Walter suggested, "the sun won't hit you there. We'll have to think up something for you. We would hardly care to enter the city with you in your present condition."
Charley had quickly seized upon a plan to clothe the old sailor but he could not resist the temptation to tease him a little.
"If we only had a barrel we could fix you out all right," he said, reflectively. "We could knock out the head and hang it from your neck by ropes."
"But we haven't got the barrel," said Walter, regretfully, catching his chum's wink.