"You vos all look like der Oldt Boy, ain't it! I guess I go me back to der camp kvick!" and he started to run.
Hans did not get far, for a foot send him sprawling, and by the time he was again on his feet four masked cadets had him by the hands and arms, so that he could not get away.

He started to yell when of a sudden somebody threw a handful of dry flour into his wide open mouth.
"Wuog!" he gasped.

"Wuog! Do--you--wants--to choke me alretty!" And then he started to sneeze, as some of the flour entered his nose.
There was a moment of silence and then one of the masked figures advanced slowly.
"Hans Mueller, are you prepared to meet your doom"?
was the question put, in a deep bass voice.
"Doom?
Vot's dot ?" asked the German boy, slightly frightened.
"Are you prepared to die ?" "Die?
Not by a jugful I ain't.

You let me go!" "Are you prepared to become a full-fledged member of the Order of Black Skulls." "Not much, I ton't belong to noddings," gasped Hans.
"Then you must prepare to meet your fate.

Away with him, fellows, to his doom!" Before Hans could resist he was caught up once again.