One after another the victims were sent down the wooden slide. Some came down silently, like martyrs, while others yelled in alarm. Nat Poole was the last to be brought forward. He was well blindfolded.
"Be careful, Nat!" cried one student, gravely. "Don't hit your head when you go down."
"And don't scratch yourself on any of the nails," added another.
"As soon as you hit the water somebody will haul you in with a boathook," came from a third.
"I—I don't want to slide into the water, I tell you!" screamed the money-lender's son. "I'll catch my death of cold!"
"You run all the way back to school and get into bed and you'll be all right!" said a fourth hazer.
"I—I can't swim very well! You let me go!" And now Nat was fairly whining.
"Can't do it, Nat! Here is where you get a first-class, A No. 1, bath!" was the cry, and then the victim was sent flat on his back on the wooden slide. He let up a shriek of agony, and another shriek as he commenced to slide down. Then he lost his nerve completely, and uttered yell after yell, only ending when he struck the sawdust with such force that he turned a complete somersault and got some sawdust in his mouth and nose.
"My, but he certainly knows how to scream!" remarked Dave, as he and the others rushed below, to join the crowd. "I hope he doesn't rouse the neighborhood."
When the cloth was removed from Nat's eyes, and he had a chance to see where he had landed, he was the maddest lad present. All the other victims were laughing at him, and the club members almost doubled up in their mirth.