“I am,” said McMurdo.
“And you accept the rule of the Bodymaster for the time being under all circum-stances?”
“I do.”
“Then in the name of Lodge 341, Vermissa, I welcome you to its privileges and debates. You will put the liquor on the table, Brother Scanlan, and we will drink to our worthy brother.”
McMurdo’s coat had been brought to him; but before putting it on he examined his right arm, which still smarted heavily. There on the flesh of the forearm was a circle with a triangle within it, deep and red, as the branding iron had left it. One or two of his neighbours pulled up their sleeves and showed their own lodge marks.
“We’ve all had it,” said one; “but not all as brave as you over it.”
“Tut! It was nothing,” said he; but it burned and ached all the same.
When the drinks which
