well-known fellow citizen rumbled out from behind a
deadly weapon. He was marched out, to the same minor music, and the
first act was ended.

The really esoteric part of it, Amidon felt, was to come, as he could
see no reason for making a secret of these very solemn and edifying
matters. Stevens felt very much the same way about it, and was full of
expectancy when informed that the next degree would test his obedience.
He highly resolved to obey to the letter.

The next act disclosed Stevens hoodwinked, and the room light. He was
informed that he was in the Catacombs, familiar to the early Christians,
and must make his way alone and in darkness, following the Clue of Faith
which was placed in his hands. This Clue was a white cord similar to the
sort used by masons (in the building-trades). He groped his way along by
it to the station of the next officer, who warned him of the deadly
consequences of disobedience. Thence he made his way onward, holding to
the Clue of Faith--until he touched a trigger of some sort, which let
down upon him an avalanche of tinware and such light and noisy articles,
which frightened him so that he started to run, and was dexteriously
tripped by the Deacon Militant and a spearman, and caught in a net held
by two others. A titter ran about the room.

"Obey," thundered the Vice-Pontiff, "and all will be well!"

Stevens resumed the Clue. At the station of the next officer to whom it
brought him, the nature of faith was explained to him, and he was given
the password, "Ichthus," whispered so that all in that part of the room
could hear the interdicted syllables. But he was adjured never, never to
utter it, unless to the Guardian of the Portal on entering the lodge, to
the Deacon Militant on the opening thereof, or to a member, when he,
Stevens, should become Sovereign Pontiff. Then he was faced toward the
Vice-Pontiff, and told to answer loudly and distinctly the questions
asked him.

"What is the lesson inculcated in this Degree?" asked the Vice-Pontiff
from the other end of the room.

"Obedience!" shouted Stevens in reply.

"What is the password of this Degree?"

"Ichthus!" responded Stevens.

A roll of stage-thunder sounded deafeningly over his head. The piano was
swept by a storm of bass passion; and deep cries of "Treason! Treason!"
echoed from every side. Poor Stevens tottered, and fell into a chair
placed by the Deacon Militant. He saw the enormity of the deed of shame
he had co