I suppose we could have just as easily have tiptoed downstairs and out the back door, but it would have spoiled the romance of it all. The absolute stillness and the pitch black darkness of the night were awe-inspiring. The roll of a pebble or the crack of a twig under foot would set us all a-tingle as we stole out to our cave house. Sometimes the night was so black that we could hardly find the entrance of the cave. Once inside, in the light of a few candles, the nervous tension was relieved, and we reveled in a banquet of cold victuals and dainties, purchased out of the monthly club dues. Our meetings in the cave lasted scarcely half an hour. In fact, the meeting, and even the banquet, were mere incidentals. The main enjoyment consisted in stealing out to the cave and back again, always at the risk of getting caught. Usually when we got to bed again we would be too excited to fall asleep right away, and when we did finally drop off our sleep was so sound that several times the breakfast bell caught one or more of us still napping.