"Oppy—"
"What's the rest of it?"
"'Nother 'Oppy,' wasn't there?"
"No, it was 'Oppy-poppy—'"
"'Oppy-poppy—'"
"'Oppy-poppy-oppy-nox.' Let's hear you say it all."
Red repeated it triumphantly.
"Right. Pass friend to the meeting of the 'Tigers.'"
All the other members had trouble with the tongue twister. Either they left out the distinguishing "p" in the third syllable, or forgot the final "oppy" and had to have their memories refreshed in much the same manner as that of the first arrival. This was precisely what John had intended. What was the use of being both secretary and master-at-arms of a club if you couldn't have some fun at the expense of your fellow members?
Inside, Silvey's glance took in the prostrate figures of Sid, Red Brown, and Perry Alford, who were packed so closely together in the enclosure that they could scarcely move, then roamed listlessly past John with his insignia of office, out to the sunlit fence and railroad tracks. Red yawned wearily.