it at the breast of the intruder.

"Halt!" Brown obeyed.

"Who goes there?" The formula had been borrowed from a thrilling Civil
War story.

"Friend," came the prompt reply.

"Advance, friend, and give the countersign."

Red opened his mouth doubtfully, then hesitated.

"Hurry up."

"I've forgotten it."

"Aw, think--_hard_."

John jabbed the muzzle of the revolver into his ribs with a steadily
increasing pressure. Brown thought--hard. Finally he broke out,

"It's easy enough for you to remember. You made it up."

Which was true, for the master-at-arms, who was also the secretary, had
drafted the rules and was responsible for the initiation ceremonies and
passwords of the organization.

"Go on. I'll help you."

"Can't," hopelessly. "It's clean out of my head."

"Have to stay away from the meeting, then."

"Aw, John, quit your fooling. It doesn't matter."

"Here's the start. 'Oppy.'"

"Oppy--"

"What's the rest of it?"

"'Nother 'Oppy,' wasn't there?"

"No, it was 'Oppy-poppy--'"

"'Oppy-poppy--'"

"'Oppy-poppy-oppy-nox.' Let's hear you say it all."

Red repeated it triumphantly.

"Right. Pass friend to the meeting of the 'Tigers.'"

All the other members had trouble with the tongue twister. Either they
left out the distinguishing "p" in the third syllable, or forgot the
final "oppy" and had to have their memories refreshed in much the same
manner as that of the first arrival. This was precisely what John had
intended. What was the use of being both secretary and master-at-arms of
a club if you couldn't have some fun at the expense of your fellow
members?

Inside, Silvey's glance took in the prostrate figures of Sid, Red Brown,
and Perry Alford, who were packed so closely together in the enclosure
that they could scarcely move, then roamed listlessly past John with his
insignia of office, out to the sunlit fence and railroad tracks. Red
yawned wearily.

"Hurry up and do something, Sil."

"Where's Skinny?" asked the president.

"Down town with Mrs. Mosher," Sid volunteered. "She wanted him to help
her carry packages home."

"Gee," commented Perry, sympathetically. "If I had her for a mother, I'd
run away. Honest, I would!"

"And the Harrison kids?"

"Both sick in bed. Too many pork chops again."

"Master-at-arms and secretary," Silvey raised his voice. "Come on in."

John squatted in the doorway and gazed meaningly at his superior. They
had walked home from school together t