d, roused Jeff also. We all sat up.

Terry swung his legs out of bed, stood up, stretched himself mightily.
He was in a long nightrobe, a sort of seamless garment, undoubtedly
comfortable--we all found ourselves so covered. Shoes were beside each
bed, also quite comfortable and goodlooking though by no means like our
own.

We looked for our clothes--they were not there, nor anything of all the
varied contents of our pockets.

A door stood somewhat ajar; it opened into a most attractive bathroom,
copiously provided with towels, soap, mirrors, and all such convenient
comforts, with indeed our toothbrushes and combs, our notebooks, and
thank goodness, our watches--but no clothes.

Then we made a search of the big room again and found a large airy
closet, holding plenty of clothing, but not ours.

"A council of war!" demanded Terry. "Come on back to bed--the bed's all
right anyhow. Now then, my scientific friend, let us consider our case
dispassionately."

He meant me, but Jeff seemed most impressed.

"They haven't hurt us in the least!" he said. "They could have killed
us--or--or anything--and I never felt better in my life."

"That argues that they are all women," I suggested, "and highly
civilized. You know you hit one in the last scrimmage--I heard her sing
out--and we kicked awfully."

Terry was grinning at us. "So you realize what these ladies have done to
us?" he pleasantly inquired. "They have taken away all our possessions,
all our clothes--every stitch. We have been stripped and washed and put
to bed like so many yearling babies--by these highly civilized women."

Jeff actually blushed. He had a poetic imagination. Terry had
imagination enough, of a different kind. So had I, also different.
I always flattered myself I had the scientific imagination, which,
incidentally, I considered the highest sort. One has a right to a
certain amount of egotism if founded on fact--and kept to one's self--I
think.

"No use kicking, boys," I said. "They've got us, and apparently they're
perfectly harmless. It remains for us to cook up some plan of escape
like any other bottled heroes. Meanwhile we've got to put on these
clothes--Hobson's choice."

The garments were simple in the extreme, and absolutely comfortable,
physically, though of course we all felt like supes in the theater.
There was a one-piece cotton undergarment, thin and soft, that reached
over the knees and shoulders, something like the one-piece pajama