“Gentlemen,” began Alf. “(For the moment we will suppose that you are gentlemen.) There is an adage which has it that Satan finds some mischief still for idle hands to do. At this time of year when the inclemency of the weather and—ah—lack of athletics deprive most of us of occupation, leaving us little wherewith to interest ourselves save degrading studies, it is especially desirable that our minds and hands should be kept busy to the end that Satan shall not get in his work with us. Let us keep out of mischief at all cost, say I.”
“Hooray!” applauded Dan. Alf bowed profoundly.
“Gentlemen, I thank you. Now, therefore, I have spent a profitable hour during your absence, and am happy to be able to say to you, gentlemen, that the problem is solved. In order that we have an interest above the drudgery of study, I submit to you plans for the forming of a society, a secret society which—Mr. Pennimore, kindly close the transom and guard the door. As I was about to say, a secret society, to be known as the ‘S. P. M.’” He paused dramatically.
“What’s that mean?” asked Tom.
“The Society of Predatory Marauders!”
“Bully name,” commented Dan, with a grin. “Who are we going to maraud, Alf?”
“Society in general; we will strive not to show favoritism or—or bias. I suggest that we begin with the faculty.”
Enthusiastic applause from the audience.
“After that we will settle scores with such of our personal friends as need attention.”
More applause.