“In order to become successful members of this society, it is necessary for you to sing.  You may all sing the first verse and the chorus of any song you know, only be sure that you don’t choose the same song, and don’t stop until you have finished,” directed Grace.  “Begin after I have counted three.  I will wait for a minute while you choose your song.  The orchestra will accompany you.”

There was considerable subdued laughter from the orchestra, who had been instructed to play “The Star Spangled Banner,” oblivious of whatever the candidates might sing.

“One, two, three!” counted Grace, and the concert began.

Eva Allen chose “John Brown’s Body.”  Miriam Nesbit, “Old Kentucky Home.”  Marian Barber, “Schooldays,” while Eleanor contributed “The Marseillaise” in French.  The orchestra dutifully burst forth with “The Star Spangled Banner,” and the effect was indescribable.

The orchestra broke down before they reached their chorus, and the accompaniment ended in a shriek of suppressed mirth, but the candidates went stolidly on without a smile and finished almost together.

“Very well done,” commended Grace.  “I see you will be valuable additions to the society.”

The girls were then put through a series of ridiculous tests that the four chums had devised.  They were made to dip their hands in water charged with electricity, caress a mechanical rubber snake that wriggled realistically, drink a cup of boneset tea apiece, and were directed finally to bare their arms for the branding of the letters of the society.

The branding was done with a piece of ice, pressed hard against their bare arms, and the shock made the victims gasp for a second and wonder if they really were being burned.

“You will now hold up your right hands and repeat after me,” said Grace, “I do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute my duties as a member of the Phi Sigma Tau, and will, to the best of my ability, preserve, protect and defend its laws.”

This done, the girls received the grip of the society, the handkerchiefs were removed from their eyes and they were pronounced full-fledged members.

“That oath has a rather familiar sound,” remarked Miriam Nesbit, trying to recollect where she had heard it before.

“I know,” she said at last.  “It’s the oath of office taken by the President of the United States at inauguration, only you changed it to suit this sorority.”

“You’ve guessed it exactly,” replied Grace.  “I chose it because it sounded so much more expressive than to say, ’May my bones be crushed and my heart cut out if ever I am unfaithful to my vows.’”

There was a general laugh at this, the girls agreeing that Grace’s choice was infinitely less blood-thirsty.

“Now that you have so bravely endured the trials of initiation, you shall receive your reward,” declared Jessica.  “Follow me.”

She led the way to the dining room, where a bountiful lunch awaited them, to which, after the manner of hungry school girls, they did full justice.