"Guilty!" responded all the other officers.
"Does he see it?" demanded the C. B.
"He don't see it."
"Let him see it!"
Then the R. P. F. and the L. P. F. seized the white cap by the corners, and jerked it violently from Clyde's head, and laid it on the floor before him, with the letters right side up to him. All the officers pointed at the cap, with the most extravagant expressions of surprise and indignation upon their faces.
"Behold the bag!" exclaimed the group, in concert.
"And it has our mark upon it," replied Scott, with indignation in his looks and tones. Then suddenly changing his voice and manner, he continued, very gently, "Brother Blacklock, this degree is founded upon the story of a vile Indian in the wilds of America. Some emigrants were travelling over the prairies of the great west, intending to settle in Nevada. One of them had a favorite Maltese cat, of which the whole party were very fond. They were very much afraid of losing the creature, and for greater security they carried her in a bag,—precisely like that just found upon you,—bearing upon it the initials of the owner's name, which was, in full, Andrew Thomas Vincent Iverson. For a guide they had a vile Indian, who, like all vile Indians, was very fond of whiskey. One night this vile Indian was particularly 'dry.' and wanted to 'wet his whistle' with fire-water. After the emigrants had gone to sleep, he searched the camp for some of his favorite beverage. He came across the bag containing the Maltese cat. As the contents thereof seemed to be lively, he thought it contained a bottle of whiskey. He opened the bag, and the cat leaped out, not whiskey; in other words, he let the cat out of the bag—at all times a very grave and terrible offence. When he saw what he had done, he was alarmed, and concealed the bag within his clothes, intending to make the emigrants believe that the cat had run away, carrying the bag with her. But, vile Indian that he was, his employers suspected him, and punching him in the ribs, they discovered the bag. Then they knew that he had let the cat out of the bag, and as the penalty of his crime, they compelled him to eat Bologna sausage until he couldn't help barking. Brother Blacklock, this solemn ceremony is intended to convince you that, should you ever let the cat out of the bag, you will be subjected to the same penalty as the vile Indian, who was A 'Ticklarly Vile Indian. This bag bears our mark,—AT-VI.,—which relates to the hour you were caught—at six. It also means A 'Ticklarly Vile Indian, and alludes, besides, to the rallying number of our order—AT., eighty; VI., six. Brother Blacklock, it is your next move. Take a seat where you find one."
"This will never do," interposed the D. C. B. "Some of the members will die of old age before we can give them the second degree at this rate."
"I was thinking of that myself," replied Scott; "and I have the remedy. We will go through the first part with the candidates singly, and explain the meaning of it to the crowd all together. Then it won't take two minutes apiece."