on a small raised platform at the end of the room. Each one wore a white carnation in his buttonhole, from which hung the badge of membership, a silver interrogation point, Fred’s gift. Four of them were armed with impressive rolls of manuscript, while Fred carried a large, loose bunch of roses that, with Bessie’s help, he placed before a picture of Sam that stood on a small table in their midst.
Then, in a few words, Bess reminded the audience of the object and work of the club. Of what it had done in the past six months, they could judge by the evening’s entertainment; the secret of what its members would do in the future lay hidden in the boys themselves. She added a few tender words, referring to the member who had left them, and then, after saying that the essays were the work of the boys, and that she had not even seen them, she introduced as the first reader. Master Philip Cameron.
Phil rose with a rather sheepish giggle, hastily smoothed down his scalp-lock that would stand aggressively erect, bowed to the audience, and announced his subject.
