THE TALE OF A SCARECROW
"My goodness! you can't go home that way," said Bobby Blake, faintly.
He did not laugh at all. The situation had suddenly become tragic
instead of comic. Fred could not walk back to Clinton in his
bathing-trunks--that is, not until after dark.
"I wish I had hold of that Ap Plunkit," repeated Fred Martin. "_He_ did
it," he added.
"Oh, we don't know--"
"Of course we do. He sneaked along there after us and found my clothes,
and ran away with them--every one. And your shoes and stockings, too!"
"No he didn't, either!" cried Bobby, suddenly, staring up into the tall
tree over their heads.
"Eh?"
"There are the shoes and stockings--shoes, anyway," declared Bobby,
pointing.
It was a chestnut tree above their heads. It promised a full crop of
nuts in the fall, for the green burrs starred thickly the leafy
branches.
Whoever had disturbed the chums' possessions had climbed to the very
tip-top of the chestnut and hung the two pair of shoes far out on a
small branch.
"That's Ap Plunkit's work--I know," declared Fred, with conviction. "He
climbs trees like a monkey. You see how long his arms are. I've seen
him go up a taller tree than this."
"Maybe he's taken your clothes up there, too," said Bobby, going to the
trunk of the tree.
"The mean scamp!" exclaimed Fred. "How'll we get them, Bob? I--I can't
climb that tree this way."
"Neither can I," admitted his friend. "But wait till I run and get my
clothes on--"
"And you'd _better_ run, too!" exclaimed Fred, suddenly, "or you won't
find the rest of _your_ clothes."
Thus advised, Bobby Blake set out at once for the spot where he had been
dressing. There was no sign of Applethwaite Plunkit about--or of any
other marauder. Just the same, when Bobby was dressed and went down the
creek side again to Fred, he carried all their possessions with him.
That chestnut was a hard tree for Bobby to climb--especially barefooted.
There were so many prickly burrs that had dropped into the crotches of
the limbs, and, drying, had become quite stiff and sharp. He had to
stop several times as he mounted upward to pick the thorns from his
feet.
But he got the shoes and stockings, and, hanging them around his neck,
came down as swiftly as he could. Both boys at once sat down and put on
this part of their apparel. Fred was almost tempted to cry; but then,
he was too angry to "boo-hoo" much.
"I'll catch that Ap Plunkit, and I'll do something to him yet," he
declared. "I'll have him arrested for stealing my clothes, anyway."
"How can we prove he took them? We didn't see him," said Bobby,
thoughtfully.
"Well!"
"I tell you what," Bobby said. "Let's go up to his house and tell his
mother. We _know_ he did this, even if we didn't see him. Of course,
we got him mad first--"
"We didn't have to get him mad," declared Fred. "He's mad all the
time."
"Well, we plagued him. He just was getting square."
"But such a mean trick to steal a fellow's clothes!"
"Maybe his folks will see it that way and make Applethwaite give them
back."
"But I can't go up there to the house with only these old tights on!"
said Fred.
"No," and Bobby couldn't help grinning a little. "You wear my jacket."
"And if I have lost my clothes," wailed Fred, "and have to go home this
way, my father will give it to me good! Come on!"
"Let's each find a good club. That dog, you know," said Bobby.
"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?"
"Nothing but a scarecrow," said Bobby.
"Yes. But it has clothes on it. I'm going to take them. I'm not going
up to that house without anything more on me than what I've got."
Bobby began to chuckle at that. It seemed too funny for anything to rob
a scarecrow. But Fred was pushing his way through the corn toward the
absurd figure.
Suddenly Fred uttered another yell--this time his famous warwhoop:
"Scubbity-_yow_! I got him!"
"You got who?" demanded Bobby, hurrying after his chum.
"This is some o' that Ap Plunkit's doings--the mean thing! Look here!"
and he snatched the cap off the scarecrow's head of straw.
"Why--that looks like _your_ cap, Fred," gasped Bobby.
"And it _is_, too."
"That--that's just the stripe of your shirt!"
"And it is my shirt. And it's my pants, and all!" cried Fred. "I'll
get square with Ap Plunkit yet--you see if I don't. There's the old
ragged things this scarecrow wore, on the ground. And he's dressed it in
_my_ things. Oh, you wait till I catch him!"
Meanwhile Fred was hastily tearing off the garments that certainly were
his own. They were all here. Bobby kept away from him, and laughed
silently to himself. It was really too, too funny; but he did not want
to make Fred angry with _him_.
"Now I guess we'd better not go to the farmhouse--had we?" demanded
Bobby.
"Let's go home," grunted Fred, very sour. "It's almost sundown."
"All right," agreed his chum.
"He tore my shirt, too. And we might never have found these clothes.
I'm going to get square," Fred kept muttering, as they struck right down
between the corn rows toward the distant roadside fence.
Just as they climbed over the rails to leap into the road they were
hailed by a voice that said:
"Hey there! what you doin' in that cornfield?"
There was the Plunkit hopeful--otherwise Applethwaite, the white-headed
boy. He sat on the top rail near by and grinned at the two boys from
town.
"There you are--you mean thing!" cried Fred Martin, and before Bobby
could stop him, he rushed at the bigger fellow.
He was so quick--or Ap was so slow--that Fred seized the latter by the
ankles before he could get down from his perch.
"Git away! I'll fix you!" shouted the farm boy.
He kicked out, lost his balance, and Fred let him go. Ap fell backward
off the fence into the cornfield, and landed on his head and shoulders.
He set up a terrific howl, even before he scrambled to his feet. By his
actions he did not seem to be so badly hurt. He searched around for a
stone, found it, and threw it with all his force at Fred Martin.
Fortunately he missed the town boy.
Immediately Fred grabbed up a stone himself and poised it to fling at
his enemy. Bobby threw himself upon his chum and seized his raised arm.
"Now you stop that, Fred!" he commanded.
"Why shouldn't I hit him? He flung one at me," declared the angry boy.
"I know. But he didn't hit you. And you might hit him and do him harm.
Suppose you put his eye out--or something? Come on home, Fred--don't be
a chump."
"Aw--well," growled Fred, and threw the stone away.
"You know you are always getting into a muss," urged Bobby, hurrying his
chum along the road toward town. "What'll you do when you go to
Rockledge--"
"You got to go with me, Bob," declared Fred, grinning.
"Oh! I wish they'd let me," murmured his friend.
But as far as he could see then, no circumstances could arise that would
make such a wished for event possible.