“See here, Moran, who’s the president of this club?”

“You are.”

“Well, then, I’ll take my own time,” replied Duncan, loftily.

“Go ahead then.  But you’ll have to do without me,” rejoined Moran, considerably provoked by the other’s domineering tone.

“I will?”

“Yes.  I’ve got other things to do besides standing here gassing all day.”

“Indeed!” sneered Duncan.

“Yes, indeed!”

I enjoyed the scene.  It looked very much as if there would be lively times without my aid.

“You’re getting up on your dignity mighty quick, Dan Moran.”

“I don’t intend to play servant-in-waiting for any one, Duncan Woodward.”

“Who asked you to?”

" ‘Actions speak louder than words.’ "

“I’m the president of the Models, am I not?”

“Yes, but you’re not a model president.”

I could not help smiling at Moran’s pun.  He was not a bad chap, and had he not been to a great extent under Duncan’s influence he might have been a first-rate fellow.

Of course, as is the fashion among men as well as boys, all the others groaned at the pun; and then Ellery broke in:—­

“Come, come, this will never do.  Go ahead with Strong, Dunc.”

“I intend to,” was the president’s rejoinder.  “But you all promised to stick by me, and I don’t want any one to back out.”

“I’m not backing out,” put in Moran.  “I only want to hurry matters up.”

There was a pause after this speech, then Duncan addressed me:—­

“Perhaps you are anxious to know why I brought you here?”

“Not particularly,” I returned coldly.

Duncan gave a sniff.

“I guess that’s all put on.”

“Not at all.  What I am anxious to know is, what you intend to do with me.”

“Well, first of all I want you to get down on your knees and apologize for your conduct toward me this morning.”

“Not much!” I cried.

“You are in my power.”

“I don’t care.  Go ahead and do your worst,” I replied recklessly, willing to suffer almost anything rather than apologize to such a chap as Duncan Woodward.

Besides, what had I done to call for an apology?  I had certainly treated him no worse than he deserved.  He was a spoilt boy and a bully, and I would die rather than go down on my knees to him.

“You don’t know what’s in store for you,” said Dunce, nonplussed by my manner.

“As I said before, I’ll risk it.”

“Very well.  Where is the rope, boys?”

“Here you are,” answered Pultzer.  “Plenty of it.”

As he spoke he produced a stout clothes line, five or six yards in length.

“We’ll bind his hands a little tighter first,” instructed Duncan, “and then his legs.  Be sure and make the knots strong, so they won’t slip.  He must not escape us.”

I tried to protest against these proceedings, but with my hands already bound it was useless.