CAUGHT
Ned, Bob and Jerry were each good swimmers, and instinctively they held
their breath as they fell into the water and struck out--but for where
they knew not, for all about them was still as black as night, and even
the phosphorous glow had vanished.
“Cæsar’s aunt!” spluttered Bob, when he could get his head above water.
“What happened?”
“It’s part of the initiation,” said Jerry.
“Say, but this water’s cold!” came from Ned shiveringly.
“Silence!” was shouted, and with the word the lights flashed up and
the boys found themselves in a tank, from which the water was rapidly
running, as they could see by the lowering level. They looked about
them. Standing up on the edge of the tank stood a figure in pure white,
with head and body covered with a long cloak.
“Come up from the tank and put on these,” the figure said, indicating
some dry underwear, towels and other robes on chairs at the edge of
the tank.
The lights went out for an instant, and when they went up again there
was no one in the room but the three chums, and the tank was almost
empty. They were standing on the bottom of it. They saw some steps
which led up out of the tank, and going up these they changed to dry
garments.
Once more the lights went out, and when they glowed again there stood a
figure in red.
“Ye are to be blindfolded, candidates,” came in deep tones, “and now
for the test by blood. Ye have well withstood the test by water. That
by fire is yet to come.”
Ned, Bob and Jerry allowed themselves to be blindfolded and were once
more led forward. They could tell that lights were glowing in the room
now, for faint gleams came under the blinding cloths. And there were
subdued whisperings, denoting that there were many in the apartment.
“Hold out your right arms,” came the command. The boys obeyed. They
could feel their sleeves being pulled up, and a moment later there was
a sharp pain. They could feel that their skin had been pricked, though
only enough to permit a drop of blood to flow.
“Ouch!” cried Bob involuntarily.
“Silence!” came the command. “And for that _you_ must be punctured
again.”
This time Bob grimly tightened his lips and said nothing.
The initiates suddenly felt a sensation as though a sharp knife had
been drawn across their arms, and a voice said:
“Hold a basin. They are flowing well.”
The three chums might have imagined that they really had been cut, but
they knew something of initiations, and they realized that a piece of
ice drawn over the skin may feel like a knife, while water dripping
into a basin has the same sound as blood. So they were not at all
alarmed.
“They are standing the blood-test well,” said a solemn voice. “And now
for the test by fire.”
“That may not be so nice,” mused Jerry. “I hope they don’t scorch us
too much.”
Blindfolded they were led onward. They could feel an increase of
temperature, and they heard the roaring of flames.
“Are the irons hot, Keeper of the Sacred Fire?” a voice asked.
“They are, Most Noble President.”
“’Tis well. Seal the candidates that we may always know them!”
For an instant Bob, Ned and Jerry shrank back as they felt hot irons
brought near their faces. There was a tingling sensation, and then a
burning and itching. Jerry knew what had happened.
A warm iron had been brought near them that they might feel the heat.
Then they were touched with a piece of ice, and some cow-itch rubbed on
them. Cow-itch is a powder which stings like nettles, and is painful
while it lasts. The more one rubs it the worse it burns.
“Keep your hands away from it,” advised Jerry in a low voice to his
chums.
“Silence!” came the command.
There was a pause, and then a voice went on:
“They have been tested by fire, by water and by blood. So far all is
well. Now for the merriment!”
Before the three candidates could move they were seized and their hands
bound behind them.
“Run the course!” came the command, and they were pushed forward. The
chums started off.
“Faster! Faster! Run, don’t crawl!” was shouted at them, and run they
did.
All sorts of things happened to them. They fell down, and got up. They
stumbled and were buffeted on all sides. Nor were the blows gentle,
some in fact being staggering ones.
That the buffetings were too rough was evidenced when one of the unseen
initiators called out sharply:
“Here, cut some of that out! We don’t want to lame ’em.”
“I’ll do as I please!” was the retort, and Jerry was sure the last
speaker was Frank Watson.
“He’s taking advantage of us now and making his blows as hard as
possible,” thought Jerry, “but we won’t squeal.”
Nor did he, while Bob and Ned also bore it all bravely.
The initiation, while rough, was not unduly so for a secret society,
and the three chums had been through worse experiences.
Finally, after they had rolled down some sort of inclined way
plentifully sprinkled with bumps, and had been tossed up in a blanket,
they were led together to some spot, and a voice said:
“’Tis well! Are ye now ready to subscribe to the sacred rolls, and
swear forever to hold inviolate the secret of our noble order of
Bang-Ups? Answer!”
“We are!” chorused Ned, Bob and Jerry.
“’Tis well. Loose their bonds and let them sign the sacred scrolls in
their own blood.”
The bonds were loosed, the cloths taken from their eyes, and the three
candidates found themselves in a big, brilliantly lighted room, while
about them stood their laughing fellow students.
That is, all were smiling save Frank Watson, Bart Haley and Bill
Hamilton, and they looked sneeringly at our heroes.
“Take the oath and sign in blood,” went on Harry French, a senior, who
was the president of the society.
A drastic oath was administered, and then pens were handed the three
chums, first having been dipped in some red fluid, whether blood or not
was not certain. Probably it was not.
“Well, how did you like it?” asked George Fitch, grinning as he came up
to shake hands with the initiates.
“Oh, it might have been worse,” said Jerry, philosophically.
“That ducking surprised me,” admitted Bob.
“It generally does,” chuckled the president. “But get on your clothes,
and we’ll have a little feed.”
A jolly time followed; jolly to Jerry and his chums from the fact that
Frank and his two particular cronies went away. Afterward our heroes
learned that the initiation had been made unusually severe, especially
the pummeling to which they were subjected by Frank, Bart and Bill.
“Oh, well, we stood it, so what’s the use of kicking?” remarked Jerry
resignedly.
Now full-fledged members of the Bang-Ups, a name which was well in
keeping with the initiatory process, Bob and his companions found that
they had many more friends, and they began to enjoy life more fully at
Boxwood Hall.
The football season was now in full swing, and several games had
been played. Our friends attended, and “rooted” to the best of their
ability.
On many occasions they invited their new friends to go out in their
automobile or in the motor boat, occasionally taking Professor
Snodgrass, who still kept up a search for bugs, though butterflies had
vanished until the spring.
“Do you know what I think we ought to do?” said Bob one day, as he
stretched out on a couch in Jerry’s room.
“I can pretty near guess,” ventured Ned, who was helping Jerry hang
up a set of boxing gloves in artistic fashion, over a pair of crossed
foils. “Hasn’t it something to do with eats, Bob?”
“Yes, but not for me alone, so don’t get fresh. But lots of the other
fellows have feeds in their rooms, even if it is against the rules, so
I don’t see why we can’t.”
“There’s no good reason,” admitted Jerry. “What are rules against eats
for if not to be broken? I’m in with you, Bob.”
“So am I,” agreed Ned. “We could have a swell feed here, as we can use
the three rooms as one.”
“Then let’s do it,” Jerry said. “We’ll leave it to Bob to buy the grub,
and we’ll all chip in. Go as far as you like, Chunky.”
“And we’ll ask some of the crowd in,” added Ned.
“Sure,” assented Jerry.
Now midnight lunches, or any other sort, in the students’ rooms were
strictly prohibited at Boxwood Hall, which made it all the more joyful
to elude “Thorny,” the proctor, and the other college officials, and
have them. Bob smuggled in the eatables, and the invitations were
given, and one evening several forms might have been observed quietly
making their way to Borton, and up to the rooms of Bob, Ned and Jerry.
There is no need to describe what took place. If a boy has never taken
part in one he has imagined them. There were sandwiches galore, pies,
cake, bottles of olives and various tinned dainties.
“Say, this is all to the mustard!” exclaimed Ted Newton, who had
accepted an invitation, in spite of his football training.
The feasting began. Keyholes had been stuffed with paper, the windows
had been darkened and every precaution taken. Nevertheless, just as the
feast was about over, there came a knock on the door.
Ned stood up to switch off the lights. But it was too late. A key
grated in the lock, the door was suddenly thrown open, and there stood
Proctor Thornton, a grim smile on his face.
“Well, young gentlemen, you seem to be having a good time,” he said.
“You will kindly give me your names and go to your own rooms. Hopkins,
Baker, Slade--report to me to-morrow morning, and we will visit Dr.
Cole together!”