And with their preparation in the most hazy and uncertain state, the three occupants of Study No. 9 hurried down to class. That afternoon the Star was still in place, and Billy breathed freely. "I suppose it's as safe there as anywhere," he thought. "I say, Jack, what's that hideous din?"
[CHAPTER VII]
THE CALAMITOUS CRIPPLES
Jack looked out of the window. Then he gurgled.
"By the Brass-eyed bull!" he exclaimed. "Look here, just cast your optic in this direction, old fellow. That's all, old man—just a look!"
From the quadrangle below them came the blare of bugles, and the gaps were filled up by a miscellaneous din emanating from tins, whistles, combs and paper. Billy hurried over, and the two chums leaned from their window in astonishment.
"A giddy procession," murmured Billy.
It was; but a procession of the kind rarely seen outside of a circus. There were about forty boys in the show; and every one of them was attired as a cripple of the most dilapidated kind. They all looked as if they had been rolled upon by a steam-roller, and then passed through a chaff-cutter. Bandages enwrapped their heads, and their arms and legs appeared to be broken in numerous places. Many carried crutches, and an odd effect was given by one humorist who elected to appear on stilts, which were liberally bandaged. Two buglers headed the procession; and most of the others had instruments of some sort or other. At arranged intervals they gave vent to sepulchral groans. In the van was a tattered banner, bearing the words, "The Calamitous Cripples. Break your leg and join."
"What is it?" asked the mystified Jack. "What's the giddy wheeze?"