For Quiz, whose curiosity threatened to be the death of him some day, and who was always snooping around, learned, not many days later, that the Crows were planning to give a great banquet in a room over the only restaurant in the village.  This feast had been intended as a grand finale to the season of hazing, and it was to be paid for by the poor wretches who had been given the pleasure of being hazed, and taxed a dollar apiece for the privilege.  Strange to say, the two Lakerim men whom the Crows had tried to haze were neither invited to pay the tax nor to be present at the banquet.  In fact, the unkind behavior of the Lakerimmers had hurt the feelings of the Crows very badly, and cast a gloom over the whole idea of the banquet.

As soon as Quiz learned, in a roundabout way, where and when the feast was to be held, he came rushing into Tug’s room, where the Dozen had gathered Saturday evening after a long day spent in skating on the first heavy ice of the winter.

Quiz crashed through the door, and smashed it shut behind him, and yelled:  “I’ve got it!  I’ve got it!” with such zeal that Sleepy, who was taking a little doze in a tilted chair, went over backward into a corner, and had to be pulled out by the heels.

History spoke up, as usual, with one of his eternal school-book memories, and piped out: 

“You remind me, Quiz, of the day when Archimeter jumped out of his bath-tub and ran around yelling, ’Euraker!  Euraker!”

But Heady shouted: 

“Somebody stuff a sofa-cushion down History’s mouth until we learn what it is that Quiz has got.”

“Or what it is that’s got Quiz,” added Jumbo.

When History had been upset, and Sleepy set up, Quiz, who had run several blocks with his news, found breath to gasp: 

“The Crows are going to have a banquet!”

Then he flopped over on the couch and proceeded to pant like a steam-roller.

The rest of the Dozen stared at Quiz a moment, then passed a look around as if they thought that either Quiz was out of his head or they were.  Then they all exclaimed in chorus: 

“Well, what of it?”

And Jumbo added sarcastically: 

“It’ll be a nice day to-morrow if it doesn’t rain.”

Quiz was a long time getting his breath and opening his eyes; then it was his turn to look around in amazement and to exclaim: 

“What of it?  What of it?  Why, you numskulls, don’t you see it’s just the chance you wanted for revenge?”

“What do you mean?” exclaimed the others.  “Do you mean that we should go down and eat the banquet for ’em?” queried Sleepy, whose first thought was always either for a round sleep or a square meal.

“I hadn’t thought of that,” said Quiz.  “That would be a good idea, too.  What I had in my mind was doing what they do in the big colleges sometimes:  kidnap the president of the crowd so that he can’t go to the dinner.”

“Great head!  Great scheme!” the others exclaimed; and they jumped to their feet and indulged in a war-dance that shook the whole building.

When they had done with this jollification, Tug, who objected to doing things by halves, asked: 

“Why not kidnap the whole kit and boodle of them?”

Then there was another merry-go-round.  But they all stopped suddenly, and Quiz expressed the sentiment of all of them when he said: 

“But how are we going to do it?”

Then they all put their heads together for a long and serious debate, the result of which was a plan that seemed to promise success.

The banquet was to be held on the next Friday night at night o’clock, and the Dozen had nearly a week for perfecting their plot.

Sawed-Off suggested the first plan that looked feasible for taking care of the whole crowd of the Crows, about two dozen in number.  The chapel, over which Sawed-Off had his room, had a large bell-tower as Sawed-Off well knew, since it was one of his duties to ring the bell on all the many occasions when it was to be rung.  In this cupola there was a loft of good size; it was reached by a heavy ladder, which could be removed with some difficulty.  Under the chapel there was a large cellar, which seemed never to have been used for any particular purpose, though it was divided into a number of compartments separated by the stone walls of the foundation or by heavy boarding.  A few hundred old books from the library were about its only contents.  The only occupant of the chapel, except at morning prayers and on Sundays, was Sawed-Off.  The gymnasium on the ground floor was not lighted up after dark, and so the building was completely deserted every evening.

Some unusual scheme must be devised to enable twelve men to take care of twenty-four.  Fortunately it happened that half a dozen of the twenty-four took the six-o’clock train for their homes in neighboring towns, where they went to spend Saturday and Sunday with their parents.  This reduced the number to eighteen.  Friday evening a number of the Crows appeared at the “Slaughterhouse,” though there was to be a banquet at eight o’clock.  With true boyhood appetite, they felt, that a bun in the hand is worth two in the future; and besides, what self-respecting boy would refuse to take care of two meals where he had been in the habit of only one?  It would be flying in the face of Providence.

Now, Sawed-Off, who, as you know, was paying his way through the Academy, earned his board by waiting on the table.  He had an excellent chance, therefore, for tucking under the plates of all the Crows a note which read: 

  The Crows will meet at the Gymnasium after dark and go to
  Moore’s resteront in a body.

  N.B.  Keep this conphedential.

To half a dozen of the notes these words were added: 

  You are wanted at the Gymnasium at a 1/4 to 7 to serve on a cummitty. 
  Be there sharp.

The Crows naturally did not know the handwriting of every one of their number, and did not recognize that the notes were of History’s manufacture.  They were a little mystified, but suspected nothing.

The Dozen gathered in full force at the gymnasium as soon after supper as they could without attracting attention.  Sawed-Off, who had the keys of the building, then posted a strong guard at the heavy door, and explained and rehearsed his plan in detail.

At a quarter of seven the six who had been requested to serve on the “cummitty” came in a body, and finding the door of the gymnasium fastened, knocked gently.  They heard a low voice from the inside ask: 

“Who’s there?”

And they gave their names.

“Do you all belong to the Crows?”

Of course they answered:  “Yes.”

They were then admitted in single file into the vestibule, which was absolutely dark.  As each one stepped in, a hand was laid on each arm and he was requested in a whisper to “Come this way.”  Between his two escorts he stumbled along through the dark, until suddenly the door was heard to close, and the key to snap in the lock; then immediately his mouth was covered with a boxing-glove (borrowed from the gymnasium), his feet were kicked out from under him, and before he knew it his two courteous escorts had their knees in the small of his back and were tying him hand and foot.

One or two of the Crows put up a good fight, and managed to squirm away from the gagging boxing-gloves and let out a yelp; but the heavy door of the gymnasium kept the secret mum, and there was something so surprising about the ambuscade in the dark that the Dozen soon had the half-dozen securely gagged and fettered.  Then they were toted like meal-bags up the stairs of the chapel, and on up and up into the loft, and into the bell-tower.  There they were laid out on the floor, and their angry eyes discovered that they were left to the tender mercies of Reddy and Heady.  The only light was a lantern, and Reddy and Heady each carried an Indian club (also borrowed from the gymnasium), and with this they promised to tap any of the Crows on the head if he made the slightest disturbance.

The ten other Lakerimmers hastened down to the ground floor again just in time to welcome the earliest of the Crows to arrive.  This was a fellow who had always believed up to this time in being punctual; but he was very much discouraged in this excellent habit by the reception he got at the gymnasium.  For, on saying, in answer to the voice behind the door, that he had the honor of being a Crow, he was ushered in and treated to the same knock-down hospitality that had been meted out to the Committee of Six.

The wisdom of using the words “after dark” on the forged invitation was soon made evident, because the Crows did not come all at once, but gradually, by ones and twos, every few minutes between seven and half-past.  In this way eleven more of the Crows were taken in.  These were bundled down into the dark cellar, and stowed away in groups of three or four in three of the compartments of the cellar, each with a guard armed with a lantern and an Indian club.

By a quarter to eight the Lakerimmers believed that they had accounted for all of the twenty-four Crows except the president, MacManus.  Six had left town, six were stowed aloft in the cupola, and eleven were, as B.J., the sailor, expressed it, “below hatches.”  Five of the Dozen were posted as guards, and that left seven to go out upon the war-path and bring in the chief of the Ravens.

He had felt his dignity too great to permit him to take two meals in one evening; besides, he was very solemnly engaged in preparing a speech to deliver at the banquet; and his task was very difficult, since he had to make a great splurge about the glories of the campaign, without reminding every one of the inglorious result of the attempt to haze the Dozen.

No note had been sent to him, and it seemed necessary to concoct some scheme to decoy him from his room, because any attempt to drag him out would probably bring one of the professors down upon the scene.

Tug had an idea; and leaving three of the seven to guard the door, he took the other three and hurried to the dormitory where MacManus roomed, and threw pebbles against his window.  The chief Crow soon stuck his head out and peered down into the dark, asking what was the matter.  A voice that he did not recognize or suspect came out of the blackness to inform him that some of the Crows were in trouble at the gymnasium, and he must come at once.

After waiting a moment they saw his light go out and heard his feet upon the stairs, for he had lost no time in stuffing into his pocket the notes for his address at the banquet, and flying to the rescue of the captive banqueters.  As soon as he stepped out of the door of the dormitory, History’s knit muffler was wrapped around his mouth, and he was seized and hustled along toward the gymnasium.

Tug felt a strong desire to inflict punishment then and there upon the man who had tortured him when he was helpless, but that was not according to the Lakerim code.  Another idea, however, which was quite as cruel, but had the saving grace of fun, suggested itself to him, and he said to the others, when they had reached the gymnasium: 

“I’ll tell you what, fellows ”

“What?” said the reunited seven, in one breath.

“Instead of putting MacManus with the rest of ’em, let’s take him along and make him look on while we eat the Crows’ banquet.”

“Make him ‘eat crow’ himself, you mean,” suggested Jumbo.

The idea appealed strongly to the Lakerimmers, who, after all, were human, and couldn’t help, now and then, enjoying the misery of those who had made them miserable.  While MacManus was securely held by two of the Dozen, Sawed-Off and Tug went to the cupola to summon the Twins.  The knots with which the “cummitty” were tied were carefully looked to and strengthened, and then the Lakerimmers withdrew from the cupola, taking the lantern with them, dragging a heavy trap-door over their heads as they descended the ladder, and then taking the ladder away and laying it on the floor.  They hurried down the stairs then, and went to the cellar, looking alive again to the fetters of the Crows, and closing and barring the heavy wooden doors between the compartments as securely as they could.

They came up the stairs, and put down and bolted the cellar door, and moved upon it with great difficulty the parallel bars with their iron supports, from the gymnasium, and several 25-pound dumb-bells, as well as the heavy vaulting-horse.  Reddy and Heady were in favor also of blocking up the narrow little windows set high in the walls of the cellar, well over the head of the tallest of the Crows; but Tug said that these windows were necessary for ventilation, and History was reminded of the Black Hole of Calcutta, so it was decided to leave the windows open for the sake of the air, even if it did give the Crows a loophole of possible escape.

“There’s no fun in an affair of this kind if the other side hasn’t even a chance,” said Tug; and this appealed to the Lakerim theory of sport.