A FEW nights later came the rally of the Progressives before their election for playground officers. Since the episode of the stilts Hector had taken a prominent part in playground affairs, and some thought it was hurting his candidacy for president of the student body,—that it was too small a matter for high-school students to consider. But he held to his course.

The election for president was due the next week. Jim had decided on the next afternoon, Friday, for Walter Buckman’s last demonstration. Hector’s party had held their preËlection meeting also; but this playground rally would be one more opportunity to test Hector’s strength.

The benches were arranged on the ball ground this time, and Billy, who was manager, saw that everything was ready before he went home for dinner. When he came again he found Mumps, Redtop, and the squad of freshmen left on guard, looking as if there had been things doing.

“It’s good the cop’s coming to-night; the Kid’s crowd intend to act up,” Mumps said as Billy came up.

“What makes you think so?”

“They tried to beat us out of the benches.”

“How did you stop it? I see they haven’t been touched.”

“Mumps is the keen kid,” Redtop commended; “he told ’em we had those benches from the supervisor and could keep them here till to-morrow morning; and that we had a cop to see that no one interfered with them.”

“Bully for you, Mumps!”

“Redtop told the Kid that if they get busy hoodooing the Progressives that’s all we ask; it will be the prettiest sort of a finish for the Kid and Buckman.”

“Do you think that fixes them?”

“Yes, unless—They have some plan hatching to beat Hector that we can’t find out. The election’s no walk-over for Hector; I can tell you that.”

Billy noticed that the Buckman boys were rather quiet, standing about in small groups on the edge of the crowd; and also that whenever he went near them the talking suddenly stopped; and once he caught a significant lifting of the brow and a sneering smile.

There were many people already on the ground besides school children, some walking about in the waning sunlight. Even at half-past eight the torches seemed a joke this late May evening.

But the band was no joke. It was the band of the Chetwoot (black bear) Troop of Scouts, the newsboys’ troop, and Mr. Streeter’s pride. Their uniform was handsome, their marching excellent, and their music remarkable considering they had been playing together less than a year. Under the guidance of the best teacher Mr. Streeter could hire for them, and with an enthusiasm that warmed his heart, the little chaps worked together night after night; and now, when they came up the street, and filed into their places, proud of being invited to play before such a large audience, he led the clapping, which lasted till long after the boys were seated.

Billy made a good chairman. Everything went off in orderly fashion. The girls were represented by two short speeches in which the importance of good manners on the playground was emphasized; the band played several selections; Hector spoke convincingly of the responsibility of the Fifth Avenue High for the good name of the playground, and Reginald Steele won the fathers and mothers present by telling of Mr. Streeter’s Good Citizens’ Clubs, and how their work should dovetail with all that the Progressives were working for in their proposed playground government.

Billy expected some demonstration from Jim and his followers, but none came; and the meeting was dismissed after band and audience had joined in “America.”

The crowning triumph was a surprise; and provided by the girls. It was a potato roast on a vacant lot across the street from the playground. Every one present was invited, the parents being especially urged to join the feast.

The bonfire made both light and cheer that were welcome in the cool evening; and the girls with very rosy faces poked the ashes with long sticks and rolled out bushels and bushels of hot potatoes. They had thoughtfully graded them as to size, so that the smaller ones were served first, though all had as many as they could eat. Salt, butter, and sliced ham, with pickles for a relish, made a high mark for evening outdoor fun.

The surprise was complete. Even the opposition could find no chance to gibe.

“The girls take the cake but we get the potato!” shouted Walter Buckman. “Three cheers for the potato roast!” he proposed with a heartiness that showed him an adroit politician. They were given with vigor. And the band played again, and they dispersed.

Billy felt well pleased with the evening, till at the very last of the frolic, when he stepped into the edge of the crowd, he caught a low sentence spoken with incautious clearness. “Oh, yes, they are hollering to-night, but we’ve got the jump on them. The Kid is laying low.”

The words troubled him all the way home. And Erminie had not been there as he had hoped. He did not agree with her that she should keep aloof from the school activities; it was like acknowledging a wrong that did not exist.

But he was tired, and too young and normal to lie awake long over any anxieties—save those “Betsey kicked in for,” and he “hit the hay with eyes already shut,” he told his mother the next morning.