With a merry shout the boys threw off their masks, and I was declared a regularly installed member of the R.M.C.
I afterwards had a good deal of sport out of the club, for these initiations, as you may imagine, were sometimes very comical spectacles, especially when the aspirant for centipedal honors happened to be of a timid disposition.

If he showed the slightest terror, he was certain to be tricked unmercifully.

One of our subsequent devices--a humble invention of my own--was to request the blindfolded candidate to put out his tongue, whereupon the First Centipede would say, in a low tone, as if not intended for the ear of the victim, "Diabolus, fetch me the red-hot iron!" The expedition with which that tongue would disappear was simply ridiculous.
Our meetings were held in various barns, at no stated periods, but as circumstances suggested.

Any member had a right to call a meeting.

Each boy who failed to report himself was fined one cent.