"A club? What do you mean?" asked Roger. "Do you mean for us to get up a club?"
"Yes, the Oak Hall Club, to be composed of fellows who attended Oak Hall for a year or more."
"Great!"
"Let us do it!"
"We'll make Dave president," cried Roger.
"And you treasurer," added Phil.
"And Shadow chief story-teller," put in Luke, with a grin.
"Huh! What's the use of being chief story-teller when you won't let me tell a story?" grumbled Shadow. "But I know what I'll do," he added, with a sudden twinkle in his eye. "If you won't let me talk, I'll write it down. And I'll write a sentence none of you can read and be sure of," he went on.
"What's that?" asked Phil, curiously. "A sentence none of us can read? Maybe you'll write it in Choctaw, or Chinese."
"No, I'll write it in plain, every-day United States, and none of you will be sure how to read it."
"What's the riddle?" demanded Dave, who saw that the story-teller had something up his sleeve.
"Give me a sheet of paper and a pencil and I'll show you," returned Shadow.
