"And let's have a motto," cried Indian, becoming infected with the excitement. "'Down with the yearlings.'"
"I suggest 'We die but we never surrender,' b'gee."
"'Veni, vidi, vici,'" remarked the Parson, "or else 'Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori,' in the immortal words of Horace, poet of the Sabine farm."
"A motto should be brief," laughed Mark. "I can beat you all. I'll give you a motto in three letters of the alphabet."
"Three letters!" echoed the crowd. "Three letters! What is it?"
"It expresses all our objects in forming," said Mark, "and we'll have lots of fun if we obey it. My motto is 'B. B. J.'"
"Bully, b'gee!" cried Dewey, and the rest echoed his approval with a rush.
That was, all except the unobtrusive Indian in the corner.
"I—I don't quite," he stammered, "quite see it. Why is——"
"Ahem!" Mark straightened himself up and put on his best professional air in imitation of the Parson. "Ahem! If you had lived in Boston, and devoted yourself to the cultivation of the intellectualities—yea, by Zeus!—instead of learning to lose your temper and chase yearlings like a wild Texan—— However, I'll explain it."