“No,” Stumpy said, “if one of us is guilty we all are—only, as a matter of fact, none of us is. We’ll find that bracelet yet, and the missing turtle, too. If not this fall or winter, we will this spring. I know a new swamp where lots of turtles are, and we’ll have a try at that some day,” he told his chums.
Meanwhile matters at school continued to fill most of the time of the chums. The Darewell institution was a large one, and, of late, a number of secret societies had been formed among the junior and senior students. Sandy Merton was president of one of the junior organizations, known as the “Shamma Shig,” in comic reference to some of the college Greek letter fraternities.
“Why don’t you fellows join our society?” Sandy asked Bart and his chums, one day.
“I’m afraid we’d be ballotted against, and it would spoil our good records,” answered Fenn.
“Get out!” exclaimed Sandy, good-naturedly. “Come on, let me propose your names. We want a bigger membership, and I can guarantee that you’ll get through all right.”
“What about the initiation?” asked Frank. “Some we’ve been through have been pretty stiff.”
“Well, we don’t claim to have the easiest rites in the school, but they’re not so fierce,” replied the president proudly. “I can tip the fellows off, and we can make an exception in your cases, if you like, only——”
“No, you don’t!” exclaimed Bart, quickly. “We’ll take all that’s coming to us—that is if we join. We’ll think about it.”
The chums talked matters over among themselves that night, and came to the conclusion that it would be a good plan to join the “Shamma Shigs.”
“All right, then, we’ll do it,” concluded Bart. “I’ll let Sandy know, and he can get the goat ready for us to ride.”