"
"I never heard of a club having a captain," Oscar Brazier objected.
"Nor anyone else," agreed Joe. "Let's follow the Nihilist scheme and
elect a Number One, a Number Two and a Number Three. Number One can be
the boss, a sort of president, you know, Number Two can correspond to a
vice-president and Number Three can be secretary and treasurer. How's
that?"
"Suits me," said Steve. "Tear up some pieces of paper, Perry. We'll each
vote for the three officers, writing the names in order, then the fellow
getting the most votes--"
"I don't know as I ought to vote," said Neil Fairleigh, "because I'm not
sure I can go. Maybe I'd better not, eh?"
"Oh, shucks, never mind that," replied Perry. "You can join the club,
anyway, and be a sort of non-resident member. Here you are, fellows.
Who's got a pen or something?"
During the ensuing two or three minutes there was comparative silence in
Number 17, and while the seven occupants of the room busy themselves
with pens or pencils let us look them over since we are likely to spend
some time in their company from now on.
First of all there is Steve Chapman, seventeen years of age, a tall,
well-built and nicely proportioned youth with black hair and eyes, a
quick, determined manner and an incisive speech.
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