Part 4 (1/2)

”Blow your bugle!” shouted Sid to Juggie.

”Charge! Cavalry, forward!” Wort was shrieking.

It was a wild melee. The cavalry (go-cart) was shoved forward by Gov.

Grimes, running it against Pip and Billy, while the ”infantry” rushed ahead, each on his own hook, the color-bearer and the color-guard trying to get into place somewhere. Wort vainly endeavored to keep at the head of something or somebody. All this time Juggie was swelling his cheeks and sounding his horn, and this was the only thing that was successfully done.

Fortunately the ground to be charged across was not a long stretch, and in a moment they were all shoving against the fence.

”Wort, you didn't do that right,” claimed the president.

”Yes, I did.”

”No, you're wrong,” a.s.serted Sid.

”Let me try?” asked Rick.

”No, this will do,” said Sid. ”You may march us, Rick.”

This compromise was accepted. Away they all went, Rick strutting forward with great dignity, but Juggie waved his flag cautiously, for the flouris.h.i.+ng of such a long pole might lead to his capsizing. Tony followed Juggie. Billy and Pip still tugged at the go-cart that the president continued to monopolize. Charlie solemnly guarded the precious freight in the ”chariot.” Wort, who had been at the head of the column, had now wandered to the rear, and his face wore a puzzled look, as if he did not know where to put the chief marshal.

”You ought to have two policemen in front,” squeaked a little voice from the sidewalk. It was Tommy Keys, a small boy, who had seen a procession in Boston, and thought he knew how such things ought to be managed.

”Shet up,” shouted the governor, indignant at even the faintest suggestion of weakness, and he rushed upon Tommy with a drawn clothes-stick. Away went the terrified Tommy.

”So may all our foes be routed!” said the president, and to this sentiment there was a response of three cheers. Alas, how soon all that pride was to be humiliated! The column was now nearing the head of the lane which ran into Water Street, the leading business avenue of the town. Sid, who always had an eye out to the course that was prudent, was exclaiming, in low tones, ”Don't--don't go too near Water Street! Look out for down-townies, fellers!” It is often the case in a village of any size that there will be among the boys two parties representing two different sections and supposed to represent two different ideas and civilizations.

Seamont had its boy-clans, those at the lower end of the village being the down-townies, and those at the upper end were designated as up-townies.

The club belonged to the up-townies, ”the only fit cla.s.s for gentlemen,”

Sid had declared The down-townies delighted to hurl all kinds of epithets at the other boys, and these ”gentlemen” up-townies could sling t.i.tles almost as successfully, and both sides would sometimes give additional flavor to their epithets by means of missiles, even as mothers sometimes season their injunctions to boys with a twig from the old apple-tree in the yard. The club had had no hand in these intestine feuds, but sympathized with the warriors in their neighborhood, the up-townies. There had been war recently between the two hostile sections, so that the boys did not venture far from their homes, and what did our valiant column now run into but a band of six belligerent down-townies! The club, at Sid's suggestion, had already pa.s.sed a vote to give no quarter to down-townies, and that in case of trouble it should be ”war to the last drop!” They prudently did not say what that drop might be, blood or only perspiration.

Here was a grand test-hour close at hand. One of the down-townies raised a provoking cry, ”Ho, fellers; see those little ragam.u.f.fins!”

He pointed toward the column, whose advance Juggie was enthusiastically stimulating by loud and prolonged blasts on the fish-horn.

”Boys, let's go for 'em,” said one of the down-townies. Raising the war-whoop of the down-townies, which was a savage, senseless yell, and lacking the fine martial tones of the up-townies' battle-cry, the enemy made their charge. Sid Waters stepped, or leaped rather, from the ”chariot” and ran toward the barn. Away went the ”colors” in the hands of Juggie, almost capsizing him, as the tall standard swayed violently. Away went Wort, and away went Tony. Away rattled the go-cart, Billy and Pip making excellent time as they dragged it along. An engine rus.h.i.+ng to a fire could not have gone much faster.

”Don't run!” shouted Gov. Grimes. ”Stand your ground, my men! Rally!”

”No, sir,” said Charlie, replying to the first appeal, and then, in response to the second, said, quickly, ”Yes, sir.”

Charlie was the only one among ”my men” willing to ”rally.” But the governor was not discouraged. He was resolute, even at times to stubbornness.

He waved his clothes-stick and shrieked, ”Come on! I defy you!”

Charlie also looked defiant; but he was so intent on facing the enemy that he did not pay proper attention to his armor, and the sword that had been so loyal to grandsir now turned into a rebel to Charlie. It did what swords will sometimes do; it insisted on mixing up with his chubby legs as he changed his position, and over he went! Rick had grappled the enemy, but it was a hopeless struggle, and things looked ominous for that fragment of the club now in the battle.

Suddenly a sharp, penetrating, commanding voice was heard. ”Don't you touch 'em, you rascals,” and a tall, resolute figure rose above the prostrate Charlie, flouris.h.i.+ng a broom. It was Aunt Stanshy, who, from her window, had watched the boys, and, seeing the approach of that down-town thunder-cloud, rushed out to meet the storm. Her prowess was witnessed by Simes Badger, who, as a leading village gossip, was loafing away an hour of leisure in a flag-bottomed chair before Silas Trefethen's grocery. He told the story to all the village gossips of the masculine s.e.x who gathered at the grocery as soon as they had swallowed their tea and had done as few ch.o.r.es at home as possible.