In the midst of all this, and immediately after tea, the “B. O W. C.” had called a meeting in the Rawdons’ rooms. Who or what the “B. O. W. C.” is, or was, will be explained on a future occasion; let it suffice for the present that the “B. O. W. C.” called a meeting, and the Rawdons’ rooms had the honor, of receiving that august assemblage. Not that it was very numerous. Only four or five could be counted; but then what they lacked a number, they made up in quality and in style. The utmost had been done to bring the rooms up to the level of so great an occasion. The table had been turned upside down, and transformed into a dais; the book-case had been, covered over with the table-cloth; the couch had been placed on one end in the corner; and in the middle of the room was a flour barrel covered with red flannel, on which was placed a phrenological bust. Added to this, the room was darkened—a smoky lamp shedding a feeble and fitful ray over the scene, and dimly disclosing four figures at one end.
These four figures were all dressed in white. The costume was a simple, but a highly effective one. It consisted apparently of a sheet thrown over the head and falling to the feet, with two holes for the eyes. In this attire the four figures bore not a little resemblance to some of those orders of monks which exist in Europe. The table, which lay on the floor, legs upward, with the addition of the ottoman, served as a dais, on which stood a figure with an immense militia captain’s sword in his hand. On each side was also a figure holding a huge wooden battle-axe, while the fourth stood between the dais and the bust.
Soon the silence was disturbed by a knock at the door communicating with the bed-room. The boy near the bust gave it three smart raps, upon which the door opened, and a figure entered clothed like the others in the room. On entering he made a low bow, and then stood erect.
The four figures in the room raised their hands to their faces with a peculiar gesture.
“Blood!” said they in solemn tones.
“Thunder!” said the boy at the door, making the same gesture.
“Is the Grand Panjandrum with you, Venerable Warden?” said the figure on the dais.
“He is, Most Venerable Patriarch.”
“Let him enter.”
At this the Venerable Warden left the room, and in a few moments reappeared, ushering in the personage alluded to as the Grand Panjandrum.