CHAPTER XIV

THE INITIATION

Made up, as it was, of members of all four classes in Boxwood Hall, the Bang-Ups was the largest secret society in the institution. It had a fraternity house of its own, not as elaborate as that of the Bull, the junior society, nor as large as the Ivy Vine, the exclusive house of the lordly senior society, but it was a very fine place for all that.

“I’m glad we’re going to be members,” said Jerry, talking over their election as they strolled past the fraternity house one afternoon.

“So am I,” added Bob. “We’ll have a nice place to spend our evenings.”

“I’m glad, too,” remarked Ned, “even though Frank and his cronies aren’t friendly with us.”

“I wonder what they’ll do at the initiation?” ventured Bob.

“Oh, don’t get nervous,” replied Jerry. “We’ll live through it.”

“Well, I wish it were over,” the stout lad went on.

“It will be, to-night,” said Ned.

Attendance at one of Professor Snodgrass’s lectures later that afternoon brought the work of our three friends to a close for the day, but when they were leaving the room the little scientist beckoned to Jerry.

“Have you anything special to do from now until supper time?” he asked.

“No,” was the answer.

“Then could you take me in your auto to Fox Swamp, near the town of Fairview? It is only about twenty miles, and if I know anything about the speed of you boys you can easily do it.”

“Of course we’ll take you!” exclaimed Jerry. “Are you going after a fox?”

“No, that is only a local name for a tract of land, which isn’t at all swampy, though it used to be. One of my students, an enthusiastic collector of butterflies, reported to me that he saw some _Vanessa antiopa_, sometimes called the Mourning Cloak, or Camberwell Beauty, over there the other day. They are the butterflies that have brown wings, with spots of blue and an outer band of yellow, but there is a rare variety in which the yellow band broadens out, and reaches almost to the middle of the wings. Only two or three such sports, as they are called, are known; but I hope I may find one. I have plenty of the ordinary variety of this butterfly, but I would like to get a sport or, as some collectors call them, ‘freaks’ or ‘aberrations.’”

“We’ll be glad to go with you,” Bob told him. “But I wouldn’t know one butterfly from another.”

“You should take more interest in zoology,” chided Professor Snodgrass. “Still I cannot complain of you boys, for you have often helped me to get some very rare specimens.”

The automobile was brought out of the professor’s garage, where it was kept, and in it the four were soon speeding toward Fairview. Fox Swamp lay beyond the town, and on the way, after passing through the town, stopping on Bob’s request for some ice cream, the boys saw a large tract, with buildings which looked as though it might be a place where fairs were held.

“That’s what it is,” Professor Snodgrass informed the boys. “There is a big fair held there every year, generally toward the end of October. This year, I understand, there is to be an exhibition of aeroplanes.”

“We’ll have to take that in,” declared Jerry.

“Here’s the place,” announced the scientist, as they passed along a road, on either side of which was a patch of woodland. “Here is where I hope to find one of the freak _Vanessa antiopa_.”

“We’ll come with you and help look for it, but you’ll have to tell us what to look for,” suggested Jerry.

“Well, call to me whenever you see any kind of butterfly,” the professor said, “and I can tell if it is one that I want.”

Leaving the automobile at the edge of the road, they went into the swamp, though, as Professor Snodgrass had said, it was not at all wet. They scattered, yet keeping within sight of one another, and then began the search for the butterfly.

At first none was seen, though the professor managed to get a green bug which he designated by some long Latin name, and said it was a great find.

Then Bob, who had gone deeper into the woods than the others, suddenly called:

“Here you are! Here, Professor! Here’s a butterfly with big yellow bands on its wings!”

“Watch him! Don’t let him get away! I’ll be there in a minute!” eagerly cried the little scientist.

“Shall I catch him under my hat?” asked Bob.

“No! Oh no! Never do that! You would crush the wings. I must get him in the net. I’m coming!”

Professor Snodgrass ran toward Bob, who stood near a bush, intently gazing at some object on it. With his long-handled net the professor raced forward. And then something happened.

His foot slipped, the handle of the net caught on a tree branch, and then went between his legs. The result may be imagined. The professor fell down full length, and there was a cracking sound when the handle of the net broke.

Ned and Jerry rushed forward to pick up the unfortunate little scientist, and Bob also turned away from the bush to lend his aid. But Professor Snodgrass saw Bob’s action, and raising himself to his knees, he cried:

“Don’t move, Bob! Don’t stir! Don’t take your eyes off that butterfly. It’s just what I’ve been seeking for many years. Watch him! I’m not hurt. I can get up myself.”

This he did, springing to his feet with the nimbleness of a boy, and without any aid from Ned or Jerry.

“Are you hurt?” asked the tall lad.

“Not a bit. The ground was soft.”

“Your net’s broken,” Ned informed him.

“That’s nothing!” cried Professor Snodgrass eagerly, as he again ran forward. “It’s only the handle, and I can fit a new one on. It is long enough as it is now. Is the Camberwell beauty there yet, Bob?”

“Yes, Professor, but I don’t call it much of a beauty. There it is--on that branch,” and he pointed out some object to the scientist.

The latter made a quick movement with his net, and brought it back to him with a sweeping motion. Then he eagerly peered within the folds of the mesh. A disappointed look came over his face, and he sighed deeply.

“Isn’t that the kind you want?” asked Bob. “It’s yellow.”

“It’s only a yellow leaf,” said the professor, showing it in his hand.

“All that work for nothing!” cried Jerry. “Breaking the professor’s net handle, tripping him up and all, for a yellow leaf. What’s the matter with your eyes, Bob?”

“Why--er--it looked like a butterfly!” insisted the stout lad.

“Never mind,” said the professor soothingly. “You meant all right, and, for the moment, I myself was deceived.”

Bob expressed his contrition, and redoubled his efforts to find what the professor sought, but to no end. The _Vanessa antiopa_ seemed to have deserted Fox Swamp.

“Ah, here’s a butterfly. Sure, this time!” cried Bob a little later. “I’m not sure it’s the kind you want, but I know it isn’t a leaf, Professor.”

The scientist hurried to the spot where Bob stood, and this time there was no accident. But again came a look of disappointment to the face of Professor Snodgrass.

“Isn’t that a butterfly?” asked Bob. “See, it’s moving away. Why don’t you get it?” for the professor did not move his net.

“It’s a moth, not a butterfly,” said the scientist, “and I have enough of that variety.”

“A moth!” exclaimed Ned. “It looked just like a butterfly.”

“Some moths are hard to distinguish from butterflies,” the professor went on. “They are quite different in their habits, however. Butterflies fly by day, and like the sunshine. Moths, on the other hand, are night-flying insects, though there are exceptions to both rules.”

“How can you tell a butterfly from a moth?” Jerry asked with interest.

“The best way, for an amateur, is to tell by the antennæ, or feelers. In a butterfly the feelers are thread-like, and have a small knob, or club, on the end, and naturalists give them the name _rhopalocera_, formed of two Greek nouns, one meaning a ‘club’ and the other a ‘horn.’

“Moths have all sorts of antennæ, or feelers, and we naturalists call them _heterocera_, which is made up of two Greek words, one meaning ‘all sorts,’ and the other (keras) a horn, as in the case of butterflies. So then we have these definitions: Moths are _lepidoptera_ having _all sorts_ of feelers, except those that are knob-shaped on the end, while butterflies are _lepidoptera_ which have _only_ feelers which end in knobs. Though in some tropical countries there are moths with feelers just like those of a butterfly. But I forgot I was not in the class room,” and Professor Snodgrass ended his little lecture.

“Go on, we like it!” exclaimed Ned, so while they were hunting for the rare specimen of the butterfly, Mr. Snodgrass told the boys more about the beautiful insects.

“I’ve a good notion to make a collection myself,” said Jerry.

“I wish you would,” returned the professor. “Though it is a little late to start this season. Begin with me next spring.”

“I will,” declared the tall lad.

They had to give up the unavailing search and return to Boxwood Hall, reaching there just in time for supper.

“Where have you fellows been?” demanded George Fitch. “Don’t you know this is the night you are to be initiated into the Bang-Ups?”

“Sure we know it!” said Bob.

“I thought you had skipped out--afraid of the ordeal,” said Tom Bacon.

“Nothing like that,” came from Jerry, as he told the boys where they had been.

“Got your nerve with you?” George demanded.

“Why?” inquired Ned.

“Oh, you’ll need it all right,” was the laughing response. “The word has gone around and there’ll be a gladsome crowd to assist you through the portals and into the inner sanctum.”

“Go as far as you like,” said Jerry, with a laugh. “I think they’re trying to bluff us,” he confided later to Ned and Bob.

George Fitch escorted Ned, Bob and Jerry to the fraternity house of the Bang-Ups. They were admitted to a room, beyond the door of which could be heard talking and laughter.

“You’ll soon be one of us,” George said. “I’ll leave you now. Better take off your clothes--that is, all except your underwear, and put on these,” and he handed the boys bath robes. “There’s some rough work, and there’s no use spoiling a good suit.”

“That’s right,” agreed Jerry, and they proceeded to invest themselves in the robes.

“Well, I wonder what’s next,” remarked Ned, as they waited in the room which George had left. “How long do we stay here?”

The question was answered a moment later, for the door opened, showing nothing but a vast black expanse beyond. Then a figure, which seemed to be a living skeleton, advanced. The three chums saw at once that the effect was produced by a black cloak on which had been drawn the outlines of a skeleton in phosphorous paint.

“Are ye the fearsome candidates?” asked the figure, in a deep voice.

“Candidates, but not fearsome,” answered Jerry.

“Silence!” came the sharp order. “Answer yea and nay, but no more.”

“Aye,” responded Jerry.

“Then follow me and we shall see if ye are able to stand the test of fire, of water, and of death. If so be ye may prove worthy members of our ancient and secret order. If not ye shall be cast into outer darkness. Advance!”

The skeleton figure turned and walked into the black void. Ned, Bob and Jerry followed, being able to see only a little way into the room by the light in the one where they had donned the bath robes. But, even as they turned, this light went out, and they were left in total darkness, with only the phosphorus glow to guide them.

“Follow me!” came in solemn tones from the skeleton one.

The three walked onward, but there were obstructions in the way, and though the glowing figure in front avoided them, our heroes were not so fortunate. In turn Jerry, Ned and Bob stumbled over something and went down heavily.

“Hang it all!” muttered Ned, rubbing his shins.

“Silence!” came the sharp command. “The path to the Olympian heights is rough, but ye are not worthy if ye fall discouraged. Follow on!”

Those had been no gentle falls that had come to the three chums, but with repressed groans over aching bones and skinned knuckles and knees they went on. The glow in front of them was their only guide, and, for all they really knew, the skeleton was their only companion in that dark room. But Jerry fancied he could hear the breathing of many, and did not doubt that the room was filled with students who were taking part in the initiation.

“Be careful, we may fall again,” whispered Ned. He hoped his voice was not heard, but the glowing figure again commanded:

“Silence!”

Hardly had he spoken than the three initiates, who were walking together, arm in arm, suddenly became aware of a void beneath their feet, and a moment later they felt themselves falling. Then they plunged into a tank of icy water, sinking down until it closed over their heads.