"Come in," said Mark, laughing. "Excuse me for interrupting, Parson, but this is Mr. Alan Dewey, b'gee, member Number Five of our band of desperate buccaneers, if you please. Mr. Dewey, allow me to introduce you to the gentleman who 'reminded' you of that last story, Mr. Peter Stanard, of Boston, Massachusetts, the cradle of liberty, the nurse of freedom, and the center and metropolis of the geological universe."
The Parson bowed gravely.
"While I am, together with all true Bostonians, proud of the reputation which my city has merited, yet I am——"
"Also to Mr. Jeremiah Powers," continued Mark, cutting the Parson off in his peroration.
"Son o' the Honorable Scrap Powers, o' Hurricane County, Texas," added Texas, himself.
Young Dewey shook hands all around, and then sat down on the bed, looking at Mark with a puzzled expression on his face, as much as to say, "what on earth have I struck—b'gee?" Mark saw his expression and undertook to inform him, making haste to start before the Parson could begin again on the relative merits of Boston and the rest of the civilized universe.
"Powers and Stanard," said he, "are the members of our organization, together with Indian, the fat boy."
"I see," said Dewey, at the same time thinking what a novel organization it must be. "There's Indian now."
Indian's round, scared face peered in through the open doorway just then. He was introduced to Number Five, whereupon Number Five remarked 'Very pleased to meet you, b'gee.' And Indian echoed 'Bless my soul!' and crept into the room and sat down in an inconspicuous corner.
There was a moment's pause and then the Parson commenced: